Rhubarb, March 17, 2007

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Rhubarb

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Garrison Keillor: It's March 17, St. Patrick's Day, and you're not Irish, you're English actually, but you've always wanted to be Irish sort of —

Tim Russell: They're just so— full of life. So ruddy-cheeked. So — Irish. And I love their lilting voices.

VS (IRISH): Bolting your door with a boiled carrot, were ya? -is it so bad to enjoy yourself for once, ya heathen you?

Sue Scott (IRISH): Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa--don't boil your cabbage twice, ya old kabeezler ya.

GK: So you put on a green cap and you go to the parade up Fifth Avenue (BAGPIPES) and even though it's cold and snowy, there's a corps of leprechauns (LEPRECHAUNS), throwing gold coins at the spectators, and a couple thousand sheep (TONS OF SHEEP), some of them leaving their mark (PLOP), men in Irish tartans throwing boiled potatoes and blood pudding into the crowd (WHOOSH WHOOSH, SPLAT SPLAT). It's a wonderful scene. Everyone full of love.

Vern Sutton (IRISH TENOR):
Ah put on your fancy woolens
And your skirt of emerald green
And we'll march down Fifth Avenue,
My darling Colleen.
You're a fat old woman
And your hair is white as snow
And you're full of bitter anger
But I love you cause you're Irish, don't you know.

Fred Newman (DRUNK): Hey, you know what? I love you. No, I so totally mean it. I love you so, so much. You're the best. No you are. You totally are. What's your name again?

GK: And you go to a bar and there's a man reciting poetry. In a bar. Only the Irish would do this.

TR (IRISH): It soared, a bird, a pure silver orb, serene, soaring high in the ether bosom of the heavens.

GK: And there's people singing traditional song.

VS (IRISH):
One morning, one morning, one morning in May
I met a young woman down by Galway Bay
And she was a weeping as she spun her yarn
On account of her father just fell off the barn.

GK: And it's so wonderful, and then you meet a wonderful girl Margaret Mary Kathleen O'Brady Mavourneen Finnegan and she is step-dancing in her plaid skirt— (DANCING FEET)

SS:
O fol de rol de rol de rol de fol de ray
O pis ca cada wada quoddy moggin that's what people say
And a fol de whack de fiddle de pisca wada quoddy
And if I were not a Catholic girl I might do something naughty.

GK: And you get this sudden joyful impulse and you dash around the corner and go into a tattoo parlor and you have them dye your hair and your entire body green (GLORPS, BLOBS) — And shave your eyebrows.

FN (GROWLY): No need to shave— I'll just put some wax on em— (TWO RIPS, TWO YELPS) There.

TR: What do I look like?

FN (GROWLY): You look green. Forty bucks.

SS: (DISGUSTED, IRISH) Ew. You look like a frog. That's not going to come out, you know. I hope you don't have to be anywhere on Monday.

TR: You don't like it? But I did it for you-

SS (IRISH): Sorry, I prefer blue men.

TR: But I love you—

SS (IRISH): Good luck getting that stuff out.

GK: And she's right-it doesn't come out. You wake up face-down on Sunday morning and you're still green. You spend the whole day in the shower, trying different soaps (SCRUBBING). Soaps with loofah (SCRUBBING), soaps with lava (SCRUBBING), soaps with gravel (SCRUBBING, WINCING), and nothing works. You're green from head to toe. So you make an appointment with a dermatologist.

FN: And you did this to yourself?

TR: I got carried away—

FN: Okay. I'm going to give you a pamphlet, it's titled “Holiday-Based Body Dysmorphic Dysfunction” —

GK: And he sends you down the hall to where they strip off all your clothes and send you through a laser machine (LASERS), and then electroshock therapy (ZAPPING), and then they pop an IV in your arm (POP) and fill you up with pink dye (BLUK BLUK BLUK) which gives you an almost-realistic skin-like color. And you go home and shave off the green hair. (ELECTRIC SHAVER) So you go back to the office on Monday looking like a man-sized hairless rat.

TR: Morning.

(SS SCREAM)

FN: Where's Larry? What did you do with him?

TR: It's me. I'm Larry.

SS: Oh my God. He's dead, isn't he? You killed him and you took his face—

TR: No, it's me-I'm Larry--I can explain-

SS: Don't move, don't touch me— I've got a stapler—

TR: It was St. Patrick's Day! I got carried away—listen to me—Susan-please—

SS: Don't you touch me!! I'm calling animal control—

TR: Please, don't—I need this job—

(SIRENS)

VS (COP, ON MEGAPHONE): Put your hands behind your back. We have a muzzle and we're bringing you back to the zoo. (GUNSHOT)

TR: Oh my gosh— they've shot a needle into my butt and—it's— relaxing — my muscles— (FOOTSTEPS RUNNING UP)

VS (COP): Okay, it's immobilized, whatever it is—

FN (COP): What do you think, Captain?

VS (COP): It looks like some sort of genetic experiment.

FN (COP): What do we do now?

VS (COP): I'll tell you one thing. We've got to make sure this thing won't be able to procreate—

FN (COP): What are you saying?

VS (COP): You know what I'm saying.

GK: Wouldn't this be a good time for a piece of Rhubarb pie? Yes, nothing gets the taste of shame and humiliation out of your mouth like Bebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.

(SINGS)
One little thing can revive a guy
And that is a piece of rhubarb pie.
Serve it up, nice and hot,
Maybe things aren't as bad as you thought.

ALL:
Mama's little baby loves rhubarb, rhubarb
Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.
Mama's little baby loves rhubarb, rhubarb
Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.
Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.

Old Sweet Songs: A Prairie Home Companion 1974-1976

Old Sweet Songs

Lovingly selected from the earliest archives of A Prairie Home Companion, this heirloom collection represents the music from earliest years of the now legendary show: 1974–1976. With songs and tunes from jazz pianist Butch Thompson, mandolin maestro Peter Ostroushko, Dakota Dave Hull and the first house band, The Powdermilk Biscuit Band (Adam Granger, Bob Douglas and Mary DuShane).

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