Like most of us, my good friend, Currado Malaspina carries a painful atavistic legacy that has left an indelible spiritual laceration upon his sensitive soul.
Call me perverse, but I find the whole thing hysterically funny.
I wouldn't necessarily be going out on a limb by describing Currado's work as flat-out deviant and borderline sick. He has made a name for himself in his native Paris and beyond as a graphic purveyor of infantile erotic parodies and mawkish mockeries of carnal calesthenics. It's almost as if the poor shmuck never stopped snapping his wet towel in his middle school's vestiaire des garçons.
But upon closer examination of his ignominious obsessions we find a more complicated genesis, one stemming from an inherited infirmity that is both shocking and embarrassing.
You see, some time in the late 1950's, Currado's father, the late, great jazz pianist Sordello Malaspina was struck with what today we might euphemistically call a "penile dysfunction." Blessed with a beautiful and devoted wife - Currado's dear mother Evelyn - Sordello made a solemn, catholic vow never to betray her with another woman lest he forfeit his near magical command over his music.
Like a character out of Marquez, no sooner had the oath been made that Evelyn ceremoniously proclaimed in front of a congregation of family members assembled to celebrate the baptism of Currado's younger brother Marcel, that heretofore she would sanctify her commitment to the Lord Jesus Christ by entering into a convent!
From that day on, or so legend has it, Sordello went irreversibly limp.
Such tragedy could have easily been privately laid to rest had not Currado's brother Marcel unearthed a curious document found in the family grenier.
It turns out that Sordello, in a desperate chaste attempt to prod his uninspired prick back to life compiled what might be referred to today as a sex manual. Lushly illustrated (one must assume by Sordello himself) and annotated with titles, notes and detailed instructions, this awkward little volume presumably did nothing to emancipate the pianist's penis.
As a comic coda to this tragic tale it turns out that Malaspina's lovely wife Cecile confided to her spouse mere minutes after their nuptial vows that she was a full-on lesbian and had not the slightest intention of ever sharing his bed.
As Tacitus remarked many centuries ago, "Alas how what befalls the elders is visited upon their progeny with an even greater vengance."
Or as we say here in the States: "What comes up must go down."
Call me perverse, but I find the whole thing hysterically funny.
But upon closer examination of his ignominious obsessions we find a more complicated genesis, one stemming from an inherited infirmity that is both shocking and embarrassing.
From that day on, or so legend has it, Sordello went irreversibly limp.
Such tragedy could have easily been privately laid to rest had not Currado's brother Marcel unearthed a curious document found in the family grenier.
It turns out that Sordello, in a desperate chaste attempt to prod his uninspired prick back to life compiled what might be referred to today as a sex manual. Lushly illustrated (one must assume by Sordello himself) and annotated with titles, notes and detailed instructions, this awkward little volume presumably did nothing to emancipate the pianist's penis.
As a comic coda to this tragic tale it turns out that Malaspina's lovely wife Cecile confided to her spouse mere minutes after their nuptial vows that she was a full-on lesbian and had not the slightest intention of ever sharing his bed.
As Tacitus remarked many centuries ago, "Alas how what befalls the elders is visited upon their progeny with an even greater vengance."
Or as we say here in the States: "What comes up must go down."
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