“Jenkins!”
“Yes, sir?”
“We’re back in 2017, aren’t we?”
“It appears so, sir.”
“The horror. The horror. I liked it back in 1973.”
“It was a simpler time.”
“Lot more bush.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Men, women, carpets: much bushier.”
“Grooming standards were different, sir.”
“Had to do a lot of poking around trying to find what you were looking for.”
“I understand, sir.”
“I got my hump on in ’73, Jenkins.”
“I know, sir. You made me watch.”
“Men, women, carpets: I was a boffing boy.”
“You boffed, sir.”
“I stuck it in there. Or up. Don’t forget up. Did quite a bit of sticking it up there. Sometimes I slapped it against there. It makes a dull, wet noise.”
“I can’t get it out of my head, sir.”
“My bell-bottoms were so flared you’d think them nostrils.”
“They were capacious, sir.”
“You’d think them nostrils!”
“Sir, we’re back in 2017 now. Let’s just deal with that.”
“Murder-suicide?”
“Definitely an option.”
“I would murder you.”
“I assumed, sir.”
“Just so that’s straight. In our relationship, you are the murder and I am the suicide.”
“The poster, sir.”
“Poster!”
“Yes, sir.”
“How was the last one we made?”
“Weirdly beautiful in a spare kind of way.”
“There you go, then. This one should be common, ugly, and cluttered. I am the decider!”
“You’re quick with your rulings, sir.”
“Dubya said that. The decider business. George W.”
“I recall, sir.”
“Let’s go back in time to 2004 and laugh at all the people calling him the worst president ever.”
“That sounds depressing, actually.”
“Murder-suicide?”
“Or we could go to the hibachi place.”
“Where they throw the shrimp in your mouth?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have decided to go with your idea.”
Good decision, sir.”
It is a cute poster, but who thinks dead posters should be cute? Parents maybe, parents have ruined our scene.
That said, went to the show, Bill Walton was on the red line “L” train with us. The venue is cute, Chicago is friendly.
Couple behind us is trippin balls, like “scare the neighbors” trippin.
It is good to have that at a show. Sweaty tripping guy takes of his shirt, jumps dangerously on stadium chair, alternatively screaming his love for Bobby, and then something incomprehensible.
During drums he was visibly possessed by demons. His female partner explains to the water seller that the “water is for the people” and precedes to hand his water out for free.
Anyhow, I remember a few shows were someone was trippin so hard they had to shed all their clothes. A round man in Akron in 86 ? a skinny guy in Pittsburgh in 89. Really come to think about it I love that part.
All I am rambling about (and thanks for tolerating it) is God Bless the naked man/woman at the show. If the level of trippin had been maintained at a fever pitch I think perhaps the dead could have avoided all the troubles. The Frat boys of the 80’s would not want to snort coke in sunglasses surrounded by a semi-controlled pit of unpredictable trippers.
At least one person (?) in the audience should be flipping the bird.