Bringing you another eye-popping edition of Behind the Tweet, this installment looks behind the scenes at the crafting of my recent mind-spinning tweet:

Idea for a story #32: The Dancing Eisenhowers go undercover to break up a Swiss wig smuggling ring.

This concept has so many potential directions, it’s amazing it hasn’t been done before.  It’s a natural story to appeal to all the four main fiction reading quadrants: lovers of mystery, dancing, presidents and wacky schemes.  The tale would even lend itself to instant musical adaptation.

Imagine The Dancing Eisenhowers themselves as a four man crew (although a female Eisenhower could open up lots of interesting possibilities for gender-assumption interrogations).  There’s Jed, a veteran, seasoned Dancing Eisenhower, who’s danced through it all, relived the highlights of both administrations, and done the pas de deux with Nixon until he’s sore in the phalanges.  Then there’s Milt, the flashy, show biz Eisenhower – a standout glamour boy who shamelessly uses his status as a marquee-topping DE to score with the babes.  Then there’s Murl, the fish-out-of-water country boy, always having to disguise his dyed-in-the-cotton yokel vocal tones when the DEs do another round of New York City PR interviews.  And finally, there’s Tug, the young up-and-comer, barely old enough to pass for an Eisenhower, his head newly shaven and his attitude full of spit and polish and vim and vigor, but primed for a speedy disillusioning when the hard, footsore reality of long-term Eisenhower dancing sets in.

Just as this ill-assorted crew is coping with the latest strenuous demands placed on them by skinflint manager Barnes “Barney Boy” Q. Barnes, they’re drawn into the crazy machinations of The Hair Pin, a Geneva-based megalomaniac determined to get a corner on the world wig market.  To get the boys under his thumb, The Hair Pin kidnaps the Dancing Eisenhower’s occasional female guest dancer, America’s ‘first girl of tap dance’, Buttercup ‘Mamie’ Melchers.  Holding her hostage in a secure Swiss bank vault, the Hair Pin threatens to permanently wax Mamie’s scalp unless the boys do his nefarious bidding and use their all-too convenient baldness as a means of smuggling rare wigs out of the mansion of his archenemy, legendary hairpiece collector Baron Tonscha von Hansard.

After plenty of machinations, gyrations and bare-knuckle, bare-headed thrills, things wind up with an all-singing, all-dancing, all-Ikeing finale, as the boys reveal The Hair Pin as a crypto-fascist follicle fetishist and he’s hauled off to serve time in a Swiss cuckoo house.  Then it’s back on stage for a joyous chorus of ‘Eisenhower and How!’ before the curtain falls.

At least, that’s one variation of how this tweet could play out.  But then, there’s more than one way to dance an Eisenhower.

 

For more absurdity check out my short story collection ‘Space Command and the Planets of Doom’: http://amzn.to/atEZo9

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