September
19, 2002
Historys Debacle
What can be said of the day Cheryl Tiegs encountered Honoré
de Balzac?
One a master of literary form, the other a nutrition guru, supermodel,
and staunch atheist utterly devoid of compassion and totally without
fear of God.
As she declared in her famous Declaration Against Communism
or Declaración Contre Communismo, I fear neither
God nor man!
Their meeting by sheer happenstance would lead to one of unrecorded
historys most magnificent clashes. It was quite a roundabout
and odd meeting as well, considering that Balzac (1799-1850) had
died nearly a hundred years before the birth of fraeulein Tiegs
(1947-20?? [barring advances in the bionic sciences which could
potentially result in 1947-30??; yet operating under the assumption
that Cheryl Tiegs has not already been bionically altered]).
The meeting took place in an isolated cafe in southern Ireland
frequented by the intellectuals of the time (i.e. 1496).
Balzac was sipping at a whisky cappuccino when Tiegs entered the
cafe (or café, as they say in Ireland). What
immediately struck him about Tiegs was the fact that she hadnt
been born yet, nor would be born for another few centuries. This
greatly impressed Balzac, a man who was not easily impressed.
Balzacs philosophy, espoused within the pages of his numerous
works, was one of words. As La Comédie Humaine demonstrates,
most of Balzacs philosophy was French, and thus slightly offensive
to foreign audiences. Nevertheless, through such works as Père
Goriot, Sir Malcolme DeForest: The Wiggler, Le Hominid,
El Intamutiable Terminable, and A Modern Examination of
Germ Warfare, Balzac was able to capture the imagination of
15th century Irelands in a way that none of his contemporaries
could.
To Tiegs, the only philosophy worth considering was Sports Illustrated.
It was not simply a magazine; it was the attainment of perpetual
bliss. To her, life was encapsulated entirely within. Its helmets
shouted passion; its spherical objects spoke of wisdom. Yet its
glossy pages were a perpetual reminder of her own fragile mortality
(barring potential bionic alterations).
Unlike Balzac, Tiegss philosophy was one of philosophy. And
it was extremely philosophical.
As she strode into the cafe (or café, as they
say in Ireland), the tangy aroma of goats ale and fermented
mule hit her like poop on a cannonball. She ordered a carbonated
horse drink and leaned against the bar as they mashed it in the
back.
It was then that Balzac nodded his head in her directión
and she turned her eyes to acknowledge the writer. And with that,
the endgame was met as Balzacs comment drifted across the
room upon the stench of freshly mutilated horse; a challenge to
her very existence.
I say madam, you have not yet been born.
Cheryl Tiegs gingerly scratched her arm before lifting a fresh
mug of horse to retort with a response now legendary for its terse
simplicity: neither have you.
A pause ensued.
Touché, Balzac responded. Well played
Ms. Tiegs, well played.
And, upon that note concluded one of historys most spirited
and memorable exchanges, the likes of which mankind is, lamentably,
not likely to ever witness again.
Finis
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