…
…
…
“Why am I not part–”
I KNEW YOU WOULD BE LIKE THIS.
“–of the Murder Heist?”
You’re the worst.
“Well, screw me for having emotions. I feel very left-out here.”
You should be happy to be left out of this stupidity.
“I’m not. I cried myself to sleep three times yesterday.”
Three times?
“I took two naps.”
Oh.
“Everybody else is involved. Hell, you’ve been introducing new characters to participate. And my phone is not ringing.”
When your phone rings, it’s invariably Kim Jong-Un or Nixon.
“Sometimes it’s Miles Davis.”
Miles Davis sexually assaulted you on multiple occasions, and then shot you to death.
“Yeah, but at least I was included.”
Wow. Your brain is full of dead pigeons.
“I will not apologize for being a people person. Now, I demand to be a part of the Murder Heist.”
You demand?
GARMENT FETISHIST’S HEAD TURNING INSIDE-OUT, AND THEN BACK TO NORMAL, NOISE
“I truly do not like when you do that.”
Stop poking the bear.
“Oh, you’re the bear?”
I’m motherfucking Smokey the Bear. I got a hat, and I got pants, and I got lessons for the children.
…
“Wha?”
CELL PHONE NOISE
“I’m gonna take this because you’re, like, half-a-Perc from complete incoherence.”
Don’t pill-shame me.
“Shh.”
…
“You’re on with John.”
“Johnny, me boy. Th’ lads an’ I have popped ’round to collect you. Up for some Murder Heistin’?”
“Finally! I’m in! I, uh, don’t recognize your voice, though.”
“I am speaking wiv Steve Harris’ voice.”
“Weird way to phrase that.”
“Nuffin weird about cosh an’ todgers.”
“Huh?”
“My grasp of the human language Designation: English/Subsign: East London Working Class is flawless.”
…
“Wha?”
“Dammit, I gotta get better at this secret identity thing.”
“This just went sideways.”
“Long story short: We are not Iron Maiden. Although we kind of are. Like, we have all their memories and, obviously, their bodies. But we’re really an intertrimensional criminal gang.”
“Trimensional?”
“Like a dimension, but more triangular.”
“Sure. Quick question.”
“Shoot.”
“Are you gonna give Iron Maiden their bodies back once you’re done with them?”
“That would be difficult.”
“Why?”
“Because we ingested them. No, wait. ‘Ingested’ is wrong. Let’s say ‘absorbed.'”
“You ate Iron Maiden?”
“No!”
…
“Kinda.”
“Dude, that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Wait ’til you hear what we did to Judas Priest.”
DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT
…
“Jackass?”
Yup?
“I changed my mind.”
About being part of the Murder Heist?
“Yeah, that.”
Too late.
“I was afraid of that.”
Good instincts.
“Did they really eat Maiden?”
No.
…
Kinda.
“2020, huh?”
You said it, pal.
A Poem on the effect this is having on my Marriage
=================
I am laughing out loud,
My God this is good stuff
My wonderful wife sits silently
6 feet away..
With each Murder Heist
We grow farther apart.
Iron Maiden is not helping,
Yes I know it is not Iron Maiden
Covid brought us together
ToTD is tearing us apart.
My wife somewhat, almost, sort-of tolerated me reading “Murder Heist” aloud to her until Maiden/NotMaiden showed up… Love your poem.