tagHumor & SatireCount of Monte Bistro

Count of Monte Bistro

byrattails©

AUTOR'S NOTE: Written with apologies to Edmond Dantes, Mercedes, Danglas, Fernand Mondgo, Fernando DeVille, Caderouse, Villefort, and of course to Alex, r.i.p.

*****

Eugene Danos was elated. Cadillac had accepted his proposal of marriage. The young Frenchman's highway to paradise was now assured. Together they would travel life's highways for better or worse; over roads both smooth and rough.

Cadillac, his betrothed, had just rejected Danos's rival, Fernando DeVille. There would be no Cadillac DeVille, after all. And oh boy was Fernando mad; mad as all Hell; all Dante's hell. So he planned to orchestrate a coup de ville.

DeVille wasn't the only one mad at Danos. There was Danglier who Cadillac had kept dangling on a leash and who was envious of Danos's wealth that he had inherited at such a young age.

Cadillac had cast her spell over Danglier and keep him dangling for quite a spell now. But with his elimination from the spelling bee she found him no longer engaging and broke off their engagement. Be gone with thee for I am no longer spellbound, you see. And off he went, bound no more by the bondage loving Cadillac.

And there also was Chene who was envious of Danos's higher station in life here in the south of France. Charles, Charlie to his friends, let it be known that if one ever allowed Eugene to call him Charlie, Chene would kick him in the shin and sock his chinny chin chin.

Finding out that he had once been promiscuous as a young teen, Cadillac kicks him out. "Get thee back to indoors China with all its chink chick brothels. There you will have to pay to be promiscuous, you yellow dog."

And thus it came to pass that Eugene Danos and Cadillac Monarch were at last to be wed for she had found her other suitors unsuited for her bridal bed.

Figuring that three heads were better than one, DeVille, Danglier and Chene devise a diabolic scheme. They would throw a bachelor's party from which Danos would vanish on the very eve of his wedding. In time this would make way for a Cadillac DeVille. Once that was done, Deville would have the ravaging rage of Marseille all to himself to ravage and rage after he had dropped that de-dangled Danglier and had dumped Chene into the South China Sea. He would have Cadillac all to himself until the day that she made him her ex in an ex parte divorce proceeding. But what the heck? Better that than becoming her beloved departed.

To this end to bring about Danos's end, the ménage a trois commissions the services of a rogue sea captain by the name of Villeneuve. It takes little effort as Marseille has an inexhaustible supply of rogues. But this Villeneuve was a vile villain all to himself.

The bachelor's party takes place there right smack in the port on Villeneuve's small vessel, Marooned. One rouge glass of rouge served by the rouge captain and Danos has to call it a night. The party is over for him. Que sera sera.

It was not until the following morning that Danos was awaken. "Get up, you French scum," said the Arab as he gave him a punch with his pole. "We're here."

"But this isn't Venice."

"So; and you ain't no paying passenger."

"And you're no gondolier, either. Looks like we're poles apart on this issue."

This "here'" is the infamous prison Chateau d'neuf on the island of Monte Bistro off the coast of North Africa. It is here where Frenchman seeking the Promised Land in North Africa would become marooned by error in their navigation. You see, due to the steep discount offered, the Marseille School Board had ordained that an out-of-date geography book be used. Now explorers think they are sailing the seven rivers.

As a further hindrance to navigation the cheap but out-of-date geography textbook has its maps showing magnetic north and south printed upside down.

If that wasn't bad enough, ship captains now had to follow the Rules of the Rouges.

Most sinister of all was the fact that others were deliberately sent to Monte Bistro to be held there for ransom. Yes, it was to that lovely isle where those who had managed to save up the money to pay rouges to smuggle them illegally into the promised lands of the Sahara, were sent when caught. And it was here they would stay until their ransoms were paid.

Cadillac was visibly disturbed over the news of Eugene's disappearance. It was widely known that the bachelor party had been a rip roaring success and that her betrothed had gotten plastered quite early. Beyond that nothing else was known. Even the standard payoff offer to the Marseille maritime authorities had been rejected. They had no clue. Had she tried Long Island?

Cadillac waits and waits. The minutes tick away. The minutes turn into hours. More hours pass, yet still no word. Then the hours turn into days, and yet nothing. She is truly a desperate damsel in distress in damned olde Marseille. Even her attempts to climb up to the widow's watch are thawed. That place my dear is only available for ladies-in-widowing.

She is told that disappearances in the port of Marseille are commonplace. Apparently he had become but one more victim to the infamous white slave trade to which trafficking tickets simply had to be paid. Yes, Danos was destined to become one more white-foot on the simmering Sahara sands. By cunning design it had been made his destiny by the vile DeVille who had known that Cadillac would never pay the buck eighty-five ransom.

Day after day Cadillac waits. Still nothing. On and on the days pass. Still nothing.

Finally when the days accumulate into a full week she threw in the sponge. In her grief Cadillac pumps the brakes and brakes down to become a broken wreck. Totaled; never to be recalled.

Even that great sage Carnac the Magnificent doesn't have a clue. He does though come close when he holds the envelope to his forehead and says "a buck eighty-five." Within the envelope is the question: Ransom, anyone?

Her only saving grace is that the buck eighty-five stays put in her savings account, drawing interest at 1.85 %, compounded.

Fernando DeVille now emerges from his hideaway and shows her a fake death certificate for one Danos, Eugene. Come with me now, he pleads. Together we can succeed; together we can create a renaissance. Together we can launch a new model!

Well, she thought; since her beloved Eugene has apparently gone to hell, what the heck? Or is it, what the hell?

Fernando is elated. His coup had worked. A Coup DeVille is his for the riding. Never mind that the marriage certificate would be issued by Triple A.

And thus Cadillac Deville comes to be inducted into Marseillaise society.

Vogue Magazine covers this new, oh so glamorous new model as she struts her stuff in 4 inch heels before the glaring, lustful leaches and heals of Marseille.

Down the ramp she sashays; down a very long ramp which oh so conveniently ends right smack in the showroom where salesmen are standing by.

Talk about a teaser. This is the ultimate bait and switch. The evening gown? Sorry monsieur, it's sold. A demo of the model then. Bien sur; she's called Cadillac.

And away they would go through the ville in the Cadillac with Cadillac doing the driving while on commission.

Marseillaise society is smitten. It summarily dismisses those spiteful rumors that she is a back-seat driver who futilely steers Johns into her rear, gambling on scoring the commission daily-double, when little Johnnie is merely wanting to score.

- - - - - - - -

Danos languishes in the Chateau d'neuf. His diet is so, so monotonous. Day in and day out the same food. Mediterranean fish and couscous. Lamb and couscous. How much couscous could one eat? Even dividing it with your fork into cous and cous didn't help. Sooner or later it would right back to couscous.

Please; I beg you; put me on some good old fashion bread and water. Anything but couscous. Shut up, you filthy French cochon and drink your Chateau de nuef. It's estate bottled right here on the estate, you know. It's better than its bitter old parent - chateauneuf du papa. And save room for dessert. The chef makes a simply divine couscous date cake.

Danos considers approaching the warden: Warden Villeneuve; Captain Villeneuve's one-third brother who the ragheads had hired to run things.

One day he finally he musters up the courage to do so. Sorry, he's not in today. Indeed, he rarely is. He's a ladies man, you know. Can't stand this chick-less hellhole. Let's the friar, friar Flag, run things here. No, the warden bangs away his time away in the Marseille brothels. When he's not there he's up on the Riviera where he has family: Three nice nieces in Nice, plus his one-third brother.

In the old days the vile Villeneuve use to rent a Citroen, but when he found it to be a lemon he bought himself what he called his limon. Told the salesman any color but yellow. It's a duex chevaux, which he had custom upgraded. Still gets great kilometers, even though it's a trois chevaux. No coup de Ville for him.

Fortunately the friar, Friar Flag who really ran things, takes Danos under his frock to become a member of his inner flock; his inner circle with all its circle-jerks.

One night friar Flag, at great personal risk, sneaks him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a Mountain Dew. They get to talking.

Flag tells him that the fucking ragheads had had a plan to close this Devil's Island East prison and put it up for sale. However, when he explained that a donation to him as a member of the cloth would entitle them to a tax write-off, they had, in too great a haste, deeded it over to him. That haste got the warden in real trouble. Idiot: the government taxing itself? Where did you get your training? Washington?

So many questions; so few answers. No write-off, after all. The auditor simply laughs off the five sou bribe.

Anyway, the good friar makes a deal with Danos. You handle marketing for me. Round up some of your old cronies back there in Olde Marseille and coral them here for ransom. I'll cut you in for ten-ninety AND make you the Count of Monte Cristo.

Who gets the ninety?

I do, you fool; you think I'd be the one a-tithing?

But aren't the cronies on Crony Island? I don't speak Italian, you know.

"Not those cronies. And not the Coney Island ones either where all those cone heads take a licking as their clocks keep on ticking, licking away on their frigging ice cream cones until someone comes along and cleans their clocks. No, in Marseille, you idiot: French Marseille. As I said, do this for me and I'll make you a Count. I'll make you the Count of Monte Bistro!"

Friar Flag fails to tell him about the buried treasure that had been bequeathed to him from a death bed resident. He also fails to mention that as a board certified sadist he had shortened his name from Flagellant du Ville to simply Flag.

Friar Flag, the flagrantly frigging fag.

His Certificate of Board Certification bares the signature of none other than the Grand-friar Lucifer himself which he proudly leaves on display for all to see, to appreciate and digest. You see, Satin had had no choice but to issue it when Flag scored a perfect 666 on his s.a.d.

That friar was such a show-off.

Often the friar would have a fag working away beneath his flea infested flannel frock as he lustfully bore witness to a flagellation. Many a time he would sip nectar from a flagon while he munched on figs. To him it was like every day was a Roman Holiday, even though they couldn't get it there from Netflix.

Though the chef at Monte Bistro was first class all the way, the benevolent friar could himself whip up a flan, third to none. He would summarily dismiss accolades with a simple "don't make a big flap over my frigging flans. My flapjacks are just as good."

Nevertheless the fans of the friar's famous flans remained steadfast; never wavering in their undying devotion of a flan that only the friar could whip up and dish out.

I mentioned that the friar would often munch on figs as he enjoyed a flagellation. Now these here figs were of his own making. Yes, surprisingly enough the friar had a green thumb. Many a day would find the good man working in his frigging herb garden, sans flannel, tenderly nurturing his fig, pepper and ginger roots. You see, he used them in figging the lesser faithful. "Do you have faith, my son?" "More or less." Wham; ram a jam jam.

At many of his ecclesiastical services his flock would have to sit through his frigging service with a fig or ginger root figging up their arse. If they found his words a bore, by gosh ginger would ale in keeping them awake!

And it worked. Yes, he had gotten to the bottom of that problem; to its very core by having a root up their frigging butts, figging away like a router-router along that less traveled route away down south. And to those not in attendance to hear his words, a tongue lashing.

Yes, with a lick-a-dee spit to the splinter it would split to make way for a ginger root to come in out of the sun and get off the beaten path.

That Friar Flag, a man of multiple, tantalizing and sadistic talents.

- - - - - - - -

And so it came to pass that Captain Villeneuve had yet another commission with the tables reversed, this time.

Passage arrangements were made for one Deville, a married man and owner of a local dealership; for one M. Danglier; and for one M. Chene; Charlie to his friends.

With the help of the vile Warden Villeneuve, in no time flat the three became unwilling guests of the Chateau d'neuf in the blue Mediterranean, left with nothing better to do than to sing By the Sea; By the Sea; By the Beautiful Sea.

At last it was payback time for Danos. Oh how he relishes pondering reveling in revenge, for there was enough relish for all three.

Danos's first order of business is to have a fake death certificate posted to Cadillac. The courier manages to find her, even though she is out on the town on a blind date at the time. Upon reading it she realizes that she would be needing one more for the road that night.

The next morning she lets it be known that Cadillac is back on the rue; ready to rock and roll ride on rich Corinthian leather. No jump-starts needed.

Danos's second order of business as the newly installed Count is to establish a voucher system. Chits are required to purchase most everything other than the island air and water and one daily, stale baguette bought from out and down vagabonds. You're de man, says Flag.

At Friar Flag's request Danos puts the inmate-resident-guests to work converting the prison to a resort; to a lush island resort. Somewhat begrudgingly the friar withdraws from his buried treasure enough to purchase the building materials. His accountant sees to it that that it is made a business deduction. Overseers are drawn from the last of the departing lot of raghead guards.

In all of this Danos remains visually out of sight and aloof, save for when serving, while wearing a mask, in the purchasing department where the chits are purchased. It was not yet time to reveal his identity. The mysterious purchasing agent becomes to be recognized and addressed as simply the Count of Monte Bistro.

With regard to the chits, they could be purchased with monies sent from home. Somehow or another however it seems that DeVille, Danglier and Chene's relatives had lost interest in them - or so it was said. For those and others in this situation, of which there were many, the chits had to be purchased by spanks to satisfy the sadistic friar's fetish appetite.

The Count is allowed to spank there in purchasing. Though the spankings are sponsored and wholeheartedly endorsed by Flag, only on occasion does he himself join in the fun.

For the most part the Friar and Count are mere supervisors and spectators. It isn't considered an administrative duty of Danos to administer spanks. It is the Turkish Guards who would routinely flog the frogs.

How many chits do you need? Ten? That will be ten spanks, if you please.

It seemed that Friar Flag is very, very much into flagellation. It is part or parcel of his sadistic streak. It is in his vile veins. It also flowed to a lesser degree in the no-account Count's vengeful veins. Somewhere around 96 degrees Fahrenheit.

The spanks are usually delivered first class with the French martinet. Not those martinets used on children of course, but on adults. The good priest likes those whose falls are long and made of horsehair with fishhook-like projections running their entire lengths. They bring back such delicious memories.

Special delivery is required by the postal authorities for the bullwhip.

Speaking of delicious, chits are required for all items purchased in the bistro, save for the stale, hard-as-a-rock morning baguette. Juice? 3 chits. Butter, 1. Jam, 1. Fresh fruit, 4, if you please. Bouillabaisse, this evening? Of course, monsieur. One of my personal favorites. 10, merci.

Coq du vin with ratatouille, per chance? The ratatouille is made from a base of our local island rats. Quite reasonably priced, this evening. Or per chance the steeply discounted peulet femelle du vin.

As already pointed out, the chits are purchased in purchasing; specifically in the piece du purchasing. There is a sign on the door.

There, Flag the Flagellator, and Danos the Count of Monte Bistro, would sit behind their massive desks, set side by side, up on a stage with a commanding view. Flag would be in his priestly frock. Danos would be wearing his mask, a sparkling designer white one with rhinestones that he always wore when in the presence of the house guests.

Flag and the Count would each have a collection bag on hand beneath their desks should the urge arise during chit purchases. Flag never left the room running on empty. Indeed, sometimes he would have to borrow extra tissue from Danos which lay burrowed in his burrow there beneath his desk.

The daily menu was posted right there in the piece du purchasing and in its anteroom, along with the prices.

Only on occasion would Flag actually do the flogging. Usually he would have one of the black Turks do that, leaving him with a free hand unto himself beneath the desk. Of course whenever the Count wished to try his hand out, Flag would willing acquiesce. It was a nice change to see a lashing dispensed by one wearing a sparkling white mask. But regardless, the Count always bowed to the friar's commands. Resist and he would find himself flashed by the friar and demoted to Viscount.

It is three days before DeVille finally gives in to his stomach demands and reluctantly appears in purchasing before Flag and the Count. After meticulously studying the posted menu he makes his way to the two purchasing agents. He looked at Danos sitting there as Count, wearing his mask, and at the friar.

"What will you be having, sir," asked the friar.

"I'll have the chicken salad for lunch."

"Will that be with a side salad?"

"A side salad with a chicken salad? How much is it?"

"Two chits. See; it's right here."

"That much? I think I'll pass on the side."

"We do offer a simply marvelous salad Nicoise."

"Tempting, but no."

"For supper this soiree?"

"How's the bouillabaisse looking?"

"Excellent. Local Mediterranean fish only, you know."

"Eight; huh?"

"Correct; but the roux comes with it at no extra charge."

"I would most certainly hope so. Still, isn't that rather expensive? I mean it just local little fishes and crusades. You ain't importing piranhas from Brazil, blessed by the fucking fickle finger of the fifth pharaoh . . . . Well, okay; I'll give it a try. Eight; hot damn."

"Any appetizers for this evening?"

"Think I'll pass."

"And for the wine?"

"Lord, there's even a charge for wine here? How much is it?"

"Two chits a glass for the vin de table; three for the vin de pays, and four for the vintage estate bottled. It's also there on the back of the menu."

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