ever since you have moved back to Quebec to pursue your vocal career
you have changed. you are not only making Mama proud but you make Mama
jealous. I raised you on fine red wines and delicate olives. I see you
are making new friends and have begun a new enlightenment where you sing
ballads of the great and illustrious Titanic war ship of the "great
era." I raised you a small French queen and now you are in the rough and
tundra of the "hot land." out West, i am afraid you may meet posioneous
snakes with rattlers that may diminish your larynx cords if not
properly sustained. Celine, come back home. with your baguettes taped to your
back and sing to us here. chorus and chants and your mouse droppings. i
miss you celine and your new husband is fat. i do not like is ill
beard. celine are you eating enough also? you look like a small waif. almost
kate moss like. celine, if you wither away, wither in. wither into my
breast and then spring on them like hot coals. caress my soap bars that
have been left unattended for days in the shower. prance on the
rooftops the way gene kelley pranced on bob hopes octopus legs. forget the
yelling and oxy clean my body until i am shaped like a box. put a price
tag on me and guarnantee will spin my own commerce bank logo onto a
customized afghan.
sincerely,
Mama Dion