*******************

Like most of us in dis here Western Wurld, I always had a fascination for the palace of "show biz". I can't explain it, man. Maybe the good 'ole You-Es-of-Ay had reached such a level of prosperity (-- and porno-house decadence too, come to think of it) for so much juice to be jammed in those movie marquees with the flashing lights chasing each other like "coyote" & "roadrunner" of the elusive free meal as you stood silhouetted outside the theater in your trench-coat and underpants with a crumpled paper bag of gin, where irony was your jet fuel and "the pursuit" nearly half the fun as you took a swig and scratched your behind with a set of YMCA keys. . . . .

Not as if I'd ever been "close up" to celebrity. One time I ran into a local "ambulance chaser" drinkin' at a sleazy dive whose ads constantly rotated on daytime television-- your surest defense against cunning insurance companies tapping their papers against a mahogany desk and denying your claim. But that didn't help me, for the time that limousine ran over my foot when I was out in the street, haggling with a $5 prostitute.

He gave me his card anyway, a local luminary of the downtrodden, and briskly extricated himself as I took off my left shoe to show off the foot that was flattened like a scabbed-over pizza. He told me to call the office, but I lost the card. There ain't no justice for we street people anyway. . . . .

Another thing I remember were the shows at the downtown burlesque houses. One summer they had some "Blues Brothers" impersonators and a fat guy swiveling around in an Elvis suit with more rhinestones than I have kidney stones, clutching my side and vomiting into a sink.

Once, they had this family of Chinese acrobats as we waved our mugs and sang raunchy sea chanties. Arriving late as always, I had the worst seats all the way off to the side with the ushers mopping up napkins n' peanuts. From my jaundiced perspective, I could kinda half-see these two Chinese kids about to go on next, a brother and a sister. They were having an ugly argument, and then the girl kicked her brother in the shins. He started hopping up and down and muttering curses, but then it was "their cue" and the two of them ran out in their long underwear holding hands with beatific smiles on their faces, did cartwheels, handstands, and then finally balanced on top of this human pyramid of intricate coordination for the benefit of the paid attendance shooting straw wrappers.

I just about bugged out my eyes. It was that afternoon that I had an insight into the human condition better than "The Greatest Show on Earth" and probably more validating than all the cotton-candy and snow-cones in the world as the great organ-grinder plays in the sky and we all dance around at the end of a leash and hold out our hats for the kindness of strangers.

 --"What'choo do for money, honey?"

I ran into some of those characters, a bum like me, and this is what I said to 'em. . . . .

********************

1) "Hey, it's that kid from 'Home Alone'!"

-- "Who, me?"

I remember you. Yeah. Every kid in America wanted to be you. You had a good gig goin', you were the cat's meow, you had everything. Everything except a gang of reasonable adults to look out for you.

Now look where you are. . . . . you're like a stray cat eatin' out of a trash can, like you've been in your share of scrapes. Someone may reach out to you, but you'd probably scratch 'em and take off. Instead of lappin' from a saucer of milk, you'd go up and eat from the rottin' asshole of a dead possum. . . . .

Here. Take this dollar. . . . . you're gonna need it!

2) "Hey, it's 'Mister-30,000-fan-letters-a-week-from-screamin'-broads'!"

River. . . . . you're a lucky dog, you know. There ain't no "dry seat in the house" when you arch your eyebrows, fall to your knees, and propose to some girl like fuckin' James Dean. You remind me of some hood I used to know who fenced hubcaps. . . . . Same look!

We're rooting for you, "Casanova"-- and just as you're roping in all those young girls I hope you're rooting for all we bums out there whose only way to a young girl's heart is through her window while we're burgalizin' the joint! Incidentally, she whacks us over the head with her "My Little Pony" phone and as we're trying to climb down the ladder, she tips it over and knocks us backward into the yard! I came to get "a fix", but the only thing that needs fixin' is my broken neck as I go limpin' off down the sidewalk before the fuzz get there. . . . . you know what I'm sayin'?

-- "Huh?"

Take care, and don't get your pecker caught in a mouse-trap. . . . . they'll get you with a paternity suit!

3) "Hey, it's Asshole-- no, I mean Ax-el Rose who-almost-got-his-shit- together"!

Yo, Axl. . . . . "Welcome to the Jungle" about got it right out here in the streets of our major cities! And by the time you got to the "Use Your Illusion" albums it looked almost like you learned something with that slight, secret, hint of a smile you had on your face. And with 'them "fancy-ass" videos, I was left scratchin' my head! Were those profound or somethin'? I thought that maybe you were finally beginning to "figure it all out" with the snappy flip of a microphone. . . . .

But years later, with the braids, weight gain, and "Chinese Democracy" still on hold with that cover band you wanna call "Guns n' Roses" I see that you haven't learned nuthin'. The ghost of Christmas past should come around and ask in a "whooooo" voice, asking "Axl. . . . . Axl. . . . . Why do you mistreat Duff, Slash, & Gilby?" and show you scenes from the glory days when you actually had credibility. Then the ghost of Christmas present should show everyone moping around unhappy. . . . . and next the ghost of Christmas future should show your tombstone that reads "He never showed up as promised", and a mob of angry fans desecrating your grave. Then they dig up your emaciated, heroin-addicted corpse and "have their way with it" like a pack of jackals dragging around a scowling, fly-blown old leopard in a dust cloud of snarls n' whoops as the buzzards circle overhead. . . . .

That's not a pretty picture, is it Axl?

"These things shall come to pass if changes are not made today. . . . ."

Fuck you, I'm gonna take a swig here and check out the next "star attraction"!

4) "Hey, it's that girl from 'The Rocketeer'"!

"Shit. . . . . I can't think of anything to say about you. Congratulations on the Oscar!

-- "Will you be coming back?"

Sure, "Toots"-- but first I got to talk to this REALLY whacked-out dame over there. . . . . you wouldn't believe what she does in front of the camera!

5) Hey, it's 'The Nihilist'!"

I remember you. . . . . you used to star in cute, wholesome movies as a child actress even old grandmas with little plastic puppy-dogs from Walmart would agree was "a gift from Gawd!".

But then 20 years later, things starting get really strange and the same church ladies would say she was "a curse from Satan!".

There is this one clip goin' around the internet, I won't even talk about it, but uh, well--

-- "I've been locked in a box, had a hand shoved up my ass in front of children, but I've never been degraded like this!"

-- "Have you no shame, goil?"

There are some things I wouldn't even do for money. . . . . like run a website or get an honest gig! See you where it all ends--

And keep out of the fuckin' gutter!

-- "Know what I'm sayin'?"

*******************

"You want a-nuther song? Well I ain't plain' one mutherfuckin' note until someone comes up here and puts sum money in my god-damned tip-jar! You know I only came here for one purpose. . . . . to take yor fuckin' cash! Why, I could make more profit puttin' out my meth-head neighbor's asshole and ringin' a bell, hollerin' 'Man for sale! Man for sale!'

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

(Rheeee of Crickets)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

("I heard that, Missy!")

© 2008 by Insufferable Industries

Drop "The Bard" a line at
michaeladams_s@yahoo.com

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