LAST EDITED ON 01-21-04 AT 03:34 AM (EST)

Hi Peeps! Almost through with WSC3 and because of my tumultuous move I've contributed nothing. Zilch. Nada. Zero. I feel so ashamed. Well I do have a couple of photos or VA I could share but my computer is at war with SB. Can't upload images, I can't get into my user utility to change my email addy. I'm cursed! You may see no echogirl photos during WSC3

Anyway I am also very busy unpacking, looking for work, and hyping the third edition of the Pick The Bootee Game I run on Fanatics. Somehow a short paragraphed spiralled out of control and I came up with this mess. It really wasn't intended for WSC3, but since I have nothing better to offer than this silly piece, why not? Since I am the ultimate DAW (and I wasn't originally writing this for WSC3) it's pretty much all me! But don't fret, after I realized what I was doing I decided I would implement part two so I could include all the Peeps on the Permission Thread. Aren't you thrilled! Anyway this is one draft, bad punctuation, bad grammar, never ending paragraphs, and it's silly and stupid to boot. Perfect!

***

Welcome my friends and let the hype begin! Yes after 7 memorable seasons of Survivor we have the Mother of All Survivors. And she's pregnant! Yes All Star Survivor with 18 of your All-Time favorite Survivors. And to celebrate this monumental moment in television history we have the third edition of the Pick The Bootee Game, or to quote tribephyl, the Super-Special-Ass-Edition PTB. Our ratings may be mediocre, but after two seasons we have developed a fervent, cult-like following. We are huge at airports, communes, and frat houses! And we are the top-ranked show in Manitoba, the Bahamas and Weed, California! We've done so well the network decided to really hype ASS PTB. I was really excited thinking I was going to get this enormous budget with writers, advertising and my own personal masseuse. Instead I was given a pep talk, a box of Krispy Kremes, and all the loose change the executives found in their sofa cushions. Sheesh I had hired this really cool 12 piece band to do up a worldly tribal PTB Theme song and I had to send them back home with a Krispy Kreme. I was temporarily daunted, but I brainstormed a bit and returned with vigor and enthusiasm not seen by many. But I really wanted a theme song! Blink. Blink. That is my brain on cheetoes. Karaoke! YES! Brilliant. You know they have all these songs and they erase the vocals so no talent losers can sing? Kinda like American Idol? Yes! I will get Ruben! I mean he won the darn thing but that wimpy little guy Clay gets all of the hype and all of the record sales. I'm pretty sure Ruben would jump at the chance to sing the Pick The Bootee Theme Song! Maybe a latin/reggae beat? Hmmmm. Yes I'll call Ruben. "Hello my name is echogirl and I would like to talk to Ruben." "Echo...girl...yes." "I host the Pick The Bootee Game, I'm sure you've heard of it. Hello? I'm like the female version of Jeff Probst. My name? I told you! E-C-H-O-G-I-R-L. No girl isn't my last name. Hello. Hello." Well shoot she hung up! Certainly I can find someone. I'm sure the Yellow Pages has a list of entertainers. Let's see...clowns, dancers, more dancers, more dancers, even more dancers...hmmm I'm beginning to think these dancers don't wear much. Escorts, escorts, more escorts. This is ridiculous! Jugglers, Mimes. Mimes? Yes that will work! Okay here we go, singers. Hmmm this one sounds interesting. "Vinnie Romano....I kill for a song." Wow this guy must be passionate about his music! He's the man for me!

Echogirl gets in her car and drives down to the offices of Mr. Romano. Wow it's kind of dark and dreary down here. Looks like a bunch of abandoned warehouses to me. But I bet abandoned warehouses have excellent acoustics. Yes it makes perfect sense! I fumble with a piece of paper and find the address. This must be it. I open the office door and see this Italian guy sitting at a cluttered desk with a phone in one hand and a meatball sub in his other hand. "Give me State and the points", he screams into the phone, loosing a meatball in the process. He picks the meatball off the desk, shoves it into his mouth, lights up a cigarette and then notices me. "Who the f**k are you", he asks. A bit put off I reply, "My name is echogirl and I'm here to see Mr. Romano about singing the theme song to the Pick The Bootee Game". He looks confused. "Vinnie Romano, the guy who will kill for a song", I ask. "Yeah, yeah Vinnie likes to sing. So what." "May I speak with him", I politely ask. "Why the f**k not", the man replies. "Follow me".

I follow the rude Italian man into the warehouse where in one corner a bunch of men disassemble cars. They look like perfectly good cars so I'm not sure why they are taking them apart, but what do I care. In another corner of the warehouse I see men unloading racks of clothing and furs. Wow they have some nice stuff here! They must be a distributor of some sort. I mean there are crates and boxes of everything! I'm half tempted to ask the rude Italian man if I can do some shopping but then I realize my credit cards are all maxed out and I'm here to find a singer for my Theme Song. The rude Italian man then takes me to a back room where another Italian man, this one quite a bit older, sits behind another cluttered desk smoking a cigarette and reading some magazine with a nude lady on the cover who kinda resembles Heidi from the Amazon. "Vinnie this girl wants to talk to you....what did you say your name was..", the rude Italian man asks. "Echogirl, my name is echogirl and I'm here to see Mr. Romano about singing my theme song." Mr. Romano promptly drops his magazine and tells the rude Italian man to leave.

"Mr. Romano, I presume you're a singer", I sheepishly ask. "In your ad you say you will kill for a song so I assume you must be an excellent singer". Mr. Romano smiles and says, "I kill for a song". Okay I realize I'm blonde and I understand I might not always be the brightest girl in the world but I have seen The Godfather and Goodfellas. "Excuse me Mr. Romano, are you really a singer? If not that's okay....I mean lots of people can't sing. I for one can't sing. It's really okay if you can't sing...." Mr. Romano laughs and tells me to sit down. "You can call me Vinnie" he says. "Sing? Better than Tony Bennett and almost as good as Sinatra. But I'm really not a singer, I'm a businessman. The kind of businessman who needs to run legitimate businesses that don't make any money so the IRS won't discover our businesses that do make money. Do you know you're the first person to answer that ad in 8 months?" "No sir I didn't realize that", I reply. "By the way did you actually sing for them", I add. "Yes I did. It was at a funeral service", he responds. Okay I'm thinking to myself he's going to sing me some Sinatra song and then I'm going to end up buried in the desert somewhere. I just moved to the desert. Oh my god I'm phreaking brilliant! I'm going to die without a theme song and the Pick The Bootee Game is going to be cancelled and replaced by reruns of the Golden Girls. Oh well since I'm going to get whacked in some abandoned warehouse and have my bloodied body buried in a hole in the desert I might as well ask the guy. "Excuse me....Vinnie....does your business involve killing? I mean have you actually killed somebody?" Mr. Romano laughs, "I have not killed anybody in years! I have guys that do that for me now." Well that's reassuring I think to myself. "Now back to this theme song of yours", he summons. "I'm a talented singer and I would really love to help you out, but I'm not sure you can afford my fee." "Mr. Romano you're right", I say, "I'm on an extremely tight budget and I probably couldn't afford such a talented performer as yourself. Perhaps I should look elsewhere. So sorry to have taken your time, please have a nice day..", I hurriedly say as I turn to walk away. "Not so fast Ms. Girl. I like you. Your feisty and have class...my kind of gal. I tell you what I'll do, I'll sing your theme song in return for a favor." Oh my God no phreaking way, Chop my head off and bury me in the phreaking desert I think to myself. "I want you to dance for me. I only sing when I have a girl dancing for me", he says. "Just dancing....no touching or anything icky", I reply. "No touching, or nothing icky. Don't worry it hasn't worked since I got shot by the Spicolli Crew in 1986." "You got shot...", I mutter as Vinnie interrupts me. "Yeah I got shot there so phreaking rub it in will ya", he responds. Dumbfounded I say, "I'm so sorry...that must have hurt." Sheesh what a brilliant reply! "So what am I going to sing", he asks. "Oh I've got a really fun song. Originally I wanted to do something with a tribal theme but I couldn't afford a band. So I went to eBay and bought this Karaoke disc. But I need a Karaoke Machine. You don't happen to have any...do you?" "We have about ten in the warehouse", he replies, "I'll have the boys bring one in."

I open my purse, you know the black Kate Spade that's big enough to carry a medium sized appliance, or a karaoke machine, and fumble around looking for the CD all the while wondering what in the world I had gotten into. Meanwhile Vinnie retrieves a bottle of wine while two of his boys, Italian of course, set up the Karaoke Machine. Another man brings in a box addressed to Fredericks of Hollywood and I begin to feel sickly. The Italian men walk away, closing the door on their way out leaving me alone with Vinnie, a bottle of wine, a Karaoke Machine and a box of trashy lingerie. Perhaps I should reconsider this desert thing. Vinnie pours me a glass of wine and tells me to relax. "What will I be singing", he asks. "Well Mr. Romano..", I reply. "Vinnie", he interrupts. "Well Vinnie I decided I needed something upbeat, and something I could easily change the words around a bit to match the name of my game. It was a really popular song in the seventies, number one I think." "Drink my love, drink", Vinnie demands. Oh what the heck, if I'm going to where trashy lingerie or wind up buried in the desert I might as well have a good buzz first. "A toast, to my new friend and her theme song", he said. I chugged that glass of wine like it was water. And I was in the desert. Thirsty, and about to be dumped in a hole by some guy named Guido. Wearing some trashy fishnet stockings and a bustier. Whatever. "The song my love, what is the song." "Do you remember KC and the Sunshine Band? You know....disco! Shake Your Booty! Except I've changed the words to Pick The Bootee." Wine spews from Vinnie's mouth and I immediately assume he isn't a fan of KC and the Sunshine Band or disco. I'm so going to end up buried in the desert. I mean they may not even bother to dig a hole. They might just dump me in the Rio Grande where minnows will treat me like fish food. I'm pretty sure minnows are descendents of piranhas but if not I'm sure something will eat me. Something scaly and icky. Hopefully those bastard little minnows will get caught in my fishnet stockings and strangle to death. I'm not sure if fishies strangle, but I'm sure one of Vinnie's boys may be doing that to me. Darn why couldn't I have picked Sinatra, or Tony Bennett or Dean Martin or even Barry Manilow. I had to pick KC and the Sunshine Band. I mean the song just fit perfectly. I envisioned the opening music, and instead of flashing pictures of the PTB contestants, they are all dancing on the beach. Choreographed of course just like Saturday Night Fever or Fame. It would be so great! But no, instead I'm going to end up like Joe Pesci. Usually women don't get killed in Mob Movies, but sometimes they do. That one guy's wife? Well she got shot in the face. Dead. They didn't even bury her. I mean they will probably toss me in some dumpster, of course dressed in some trashy lingerie I would never even wear for my husband. If I had a husband, which I don‘t. I wouldn‘t even wear this for a boyfriend. If I had one. Which I don‘t. Gosh I‘m really depressed. Maybe the desert isn‘t such a bad idea afterall? But please, if you‘re going to dump me in a hole in the desert let me pick out something a little more tasteful. I mean Frederick's of Hollywood? At least they could have stolen some Victoria's Secret. Classy, not trashy. I wonder if they will miss me on fanatics or OT? Probably not. Take a deep breath girl. Deep breath taken, I look at Vinnie who is now stripped down to his underwear. To say this whole ordeal had become surreal would be the understatement of the year. It's downright bizarre!

"I will sing your song my dear," Vinnie says. Sure he will, then he'll dump me in a hole in the desert. "But first you must find something sexy to wear, and then you must dance." Great. Guess I'm not looking so hot in my black turtleneck. But I still had questions. "Now Vinnie you said no touching and nothing icky. Well I must say, and I hope you are not offended, but dancing in this (I randomly fumble through the box of lingerie) is borderline icky. Wait it is icky. However since this theme song is so important to me I will agree to wear anything in this box and dance. However if you want to touch me or expect me to get totally naked you will have to kill me first. I'm a good girl, well usually I am, and I have morals! Okay I admit I might have once, but this guy was a phreaking hottie! An Adonis. You...well no offense, but your an aging, out-of-shape Italian Guy who got shot in the.....oh I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that. That was very rude of me. But still I'm not taking off my clothes. I just can't....so shoot me if you must", I ramble. "Nothing icky, I won't touch you, and you don't have to totally strip. I just need some inspiration. Oh, and one last thing. I can't sing unless I'm naked", he says. Oh my phreaking God! Maybe I should reconsider. I mean I really don't want to see this. Maybe I could just keep my eyes closed. Yes, good idea echogirl! Keep your eyes closed. "Shall we begin", he said. It was too late. Oh my phreaking God! Ouch! I bet that hurt. Oh well guess I've seen everything now. Fredericks here I come! I pick out something really trashy, like I had a choice, in the color red of course. I stand up on the table as Vinnie starts the music....

Everybody, get on the floor, let's dance!
Don't fight your feelings, give yourself a chance!
Shake shake shake, shake shake shake,
Shake your booty! Shake your booty!
Oh, shake shake shake, shake shake shake,
Shake your booty! Shake your booty.
You can, you can do it very well.
You're the best in the world, I can tell.
Shake shake shake, shake shake shake,
Shake your booty! Shake your booty!
Oh, shake shake shake, shake shake shake,
Shake your booty! Shake your booty.
Shake shake, shake shake!
Shake shake, shake shake!
Shake shake shake, shake shake shake,
Shake your booty! Shake your booty!
Oh, shake shake shake, shake shake shake,
Shake your booty! Shake your booty.

I do my best Boogie Nights dance impression circa 1977 all the while conscious of what little I was wearing and hoping it wouldn’t fall off. I momentarily closed my eyes but all I could see was a roomful of Italian guys with dollar bills protruding from their lips. I felt so dirty I had to open my eyes. Well that was a mistake! I mean at least those other guys were fully clothed. Vinnie, well, Vinnie was stark naked. And did I mention where he got shot? Oh I’m sorry I guess I did. Poor guy, I bet that hurt. Poor guy? Poor me! And I’m doing this for a song. Wow I’m getting easy.

Meanwhile, Vinnie with my revised lyrics in hand, begins to croon.

Everybody, get on this boat, take a chance!
Don't fight your feelings, you might just advance!
Pick pick pick, pick pick pick,
Pick your Bootee! Pick your Bootee!
Oh, pick pick pick, pick pick pick,
Pick your Bootee! Pick your Bootee!

“Nooooo,” I scream. “Pick THE Bootee, not pick your bootee. Think about Vinnie, that’s kinda gross and totally sends the wrong impression about me and my little game. Besides my show airs during prime time and to think viewers might be picking their own booties before sitting down to dinner is not only unsanitary, it’s gross. And I don’t want them picking their booties while watching my show either. Keep your hands away from your butts, and Vinnie dear sir please read the lyrics. Thank you.” Vinnie didn’t look amused which is never a good sign from a guy whose business involves dumping people in the desert. Probably even moreso since he is so sensitive about what happened down there. But he could look on the bright side; think about how much money he will save not having to buy Viagra. Wait he probably steals that too. Nevermind. Vinnie begins to sing again as I play with my red feather boa.

Everybody, get on this boat, take a chance!
Don't fight your feelings, you might just advance!
Pick pick pick, pick pick pick,
Pick the Bootee! Pick the Bootee!
Oh, pick pick pick, pick pick pick,
Pick the Bootee! Pick the Bootee!
You may, you may do very well.
39 days without a shower, you may begin to smell.
Pick pick pick, pick pick pick,
Pick the Bootee! Pick the Bootee!
Oh, pick pick pick, pick pick pick,
Pick the Bootee! Pick the Bootee!
Pick Pick, Pick Pick,
Pick Pick, Pick Pick!
Pick pick pick, pick pick pick,
Pick the Bootee! Pick the Bootee!
Oh, pick pick pick, pick pick pick,
Pick the Bootee! Pick the Bootee!

Oh my God! He did it! That was so awesome. The man can sing! Now we just need to get this on tape and I have my very own theme song! Assuming of course I don’t end up buried in the desert.

To be continued…..