fat oscar

“You’re like Oscar Wilde,” a friend once told me “You haven’t got any family, so there’s nothing to hold you back.” I considered. “Oscar Wilde had a wife. Children too.”

“Okay, not Oscar Wilde – the other one. The fat one.”

“Fat and named Oscar?” I asked.

“Or Duncan. Um, you know. Ate ten avocados at once and an entire ham. Fat bastard. Funny as hell.” I shook my head. I knew of no such Oscar, and said so. Lou was exasperated with me – he insisted I loved this fat Oscar. “You saw that movie of his that time.” I still shrugged. I was beginning to get a headache. “Do you mean John Candy, maybe?”

“No! Huge movie . . . Citizen . . .”

“Oh no, really? ‘Citizen Kane’? Orson Welles?” “Yes! Yeah, that dude – Orson Welles. You could be like him.” He paused for a moment, thought. “Hey, how’d he die, anyway? He’s dead, right?”


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