GOD CHOSE MARK BARATELLI TO SEE MARIO CANTONE!
The King of Kings and Lord of Lords has spoken directly to WANZIE and has informed the name sake of this Gram of all the names of all the people who sent in contest entries, but whom God had decided he did NOT want to see receive tickets to enjoy Mario Cantone at Hard Rock Live! on Saturday evening. By way of divine deductive reasoning, the only remaining name was that of one Mark Baratelli, whose winning prayer (and prattle) entry follows for your enjoyment:
“Let he who cast the first stone be not judged on the way he throweth said stone, so sayeth someone in the bible. I think it was Hermes.And yet it was I who was judged...not by my peers, whom lack the equality of mind and body with me... not by my city leaders, who I don't even know the names of... and not by Hannah Montanta, who I know on a first-basis.
It was by my Mother.
She found out I was doing in a non-equity production of "Mame" at the Pine Prairie Dinner Theater and Never-Ending Salad Bar and wrote me this note:
I thought you'd amount to something great. Apparently not.
I cried, ripped up the letter and threw my roommate’s copy of "Wicked" (the London cast) out of our kitchen window, which had no screen, allowing the flies to come in at night and eat us whole as the housing provided by Pine Prairie was like a dog house tossed in an industrial dryer. (I had to replace the cd, couldn't find the London cast, so stole it online from some download service)
How can someone who bore me, fed me, and told me it was ok to drop out of a production of "A Magical Christmas in Mobile, Alabama" because I didn't get along with the choreographer, go and stab me in the self-esteem like that? I cannot answer that. People do things for their own reasons, and my Mother is clearly jealous of my talent(s) and achievement(s).
So, I ask God in the hallowed halls of heaven to shimmy down the cloud pole and deliver me two tickets to Mario Cantone. Not to sell on Ebay, but to hand to the ticket-taker at Hard Rock Live when my Mother and I go to the show. Yes, these tickets will be an olive branch I am extending to my Mother. I turn the other cheek every chance I get, even when boyfriends hit me with chairs or bartenders grind ice cubes down my throat after I tell them they're too old to be not wearing a shirt in public.
Please be the olive branch my Mother and I so desperately need. And stop allowing bear bartenders to go shirtless in non-bear bars.
Yours in New Christy Minstrels”
- Mark Baratelli, Orlando