Charo, Shall we Dance?

Cue the trumpets. Strike the steel drums. It is time to dance.
Consuela loves to dance. She also loves Charo.

Therefore one could conclude that Charo loves dance. However,
multiplicative properties do not apply to latin dancers, nor to
the enjoyment of Pelligrino. This lead to a rather embarrassing
and lengthy exchange between Charo and her Pelligrino last
Tuesday at a cozy, yet vapidly public eatery in Los Angeles.

Seeing it made me wonder what it was about The Love Boat
which made it, along with such shows as; The Power Rangers, ALF,
and The Dick Van Dyke Show, unable to offer a compelling alternative
to public radio. It could be argued that public radio itself is simply
Richardo Montalban becoming Michardo Raliban after review by
an inebriated dyslexic editor-in-chef with a strong dislike for my
writing style. Perhaps it is because Fantasy Island itself was a
chariot conveying the human dreams of immortality, greatness,
public adulation, and fame for an oppressive tax-hungry government
looking to placate it's populace, to other wild theories such as
brain parasites, spread by cats, feeding upon the opiates in our
gray matter. No matter, both are valid suppositions, or at least
as valid as the idea that you can buy a decent apple in the fruit
and vegetable section of your local supermarket. You can't.
(Don't believe me, try it sometime. Then ask Eve which she
liked better). The last truly great apple eatin to occur in recorded history
happened sometime a lot time ago when some greek dude
stole some super special apples from some freaky mad greek
deity type and ended up wandering the lands of the earth in
search of his own home for untold years, before waking up
in his own backyard in the 21st century and discovering that in
fact he had just experienced an interlude of spacial causality
resulting in his disappearance from 4386 B.C. and sudden
reappearance in late 2003, Los Angeles, CA, USA. Imagine.
It could happen to you. In fact, if there is a way for you to prove
it has not I'd love to hear it. Not that I'd believe you.