Surviving VD*
Feb. 15th, 2007 12:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonI did it!
I survived yet another Valentines Day, (or as it was originally called in the days of medieval Europe: "Ye Lonely Bastarde Day"). Though I have to admit that it did get a little hairy at times:
"This is Sargeant William Evans of the Atlanta Police Department. For the love of God son don't do it! I know things seem rough right now but everythings going to be fine, you'll see. Just lay your weapon slowly down on the floor and step away from the Joy Division!"
"It's not Joy Division, Sarge!" I yell down from the rooftop over the din of squad car sirens and the chopping roar of news helicopters, "It's actually She Wants Revenge!"
"NO-Way! Really? That's crazy... their singer sounds just like Ian Curtis..."
"Oh-my-God-I-know-right!"
"Sir hold on a minute... Father McKinnely wants to have a word with you..." the sargeant passes his bullhorn over to a bespectacled Priest who posseses all the avuncular charcteristics of either a sitcom Granddad or the local neighborhood pedophile.
"Is this Jack Babalon?" Father McKinnely barks into the phone, the reverb shrieking electric feedback after each word. I can smell the whiskey off his breath from three stories up.
"Yes Father that's me."
"Now lissen here you filthy lil' bastid! I have it on good authority that you're a Buddhist or some crap like that ... so if you're gonna jump... then jump for Chrissakes and take your chances with that fat chinaman! But i'm here to tell you that no one wants to hear a bunch of your bullshit... some of us have Valentines dates! Oh and quit wastin' valuable tax payers money you selfish son-of-a-bitch! Did you ever think of who was going to clean up your mess once you stepped off that ledge?"
"I wasn't going to jump Father. That's why I bought the pistol!"
"Oh... well... um ... excellent... keep up the good work then!" Father McKinnely passes back the microphone with a shrug and I can make out hims saying 'Sorry Sarge... i've only been trained to deal with Jumpers not Shooters'. The Sargeant nods solemnly, a trenchcoated officer steps over and whispers something in his ear. The Sargeant raises the bullhorn back up...
"Jack listen to me. Detective Kirkwood is here and he wants to ask you..." the Detective whispers in his ear while the sargeant cups his hand over the mouth of the phone. They both nod seriously keeping cautious eyes on me.
"Jack... before you do anything rash... answer me this.... What song is this now?"
"Ummm... 'I don't wanna fall in love'"
"Really... it sounds just like ... what's that big song by Fischerspooner again? Y'know their only one..."
"Oh you mean 'Emerge'"
"Yeah. Yeah...That's the one!" At this the detective writes the name in his pad, flips it closed and promptly leaves. Another cop runs over and whispers in the sargeants ear. "Hold on ... hold on... i've just been informed that it actually sounds more like old school Depeche Mode or even a little like New Order."
"Most ElectroClash does sarge!"
"NO...no you're thinking of Retro-Clash..."
Suddenly one of the news copters descends down on me drowning out the boombox I had blasting and raising the dust in it's air current so i'm blind. A young woman leans out the copter door armed with a microphone and starts shouting at me. I can make out a cameraman hovering just over her shoulder.
"Jack ... Jack Babalon. This Tricia Adams with Action 9 News! Sir, is it true that your threats of suicide are really a desperate plea for attention because you are in fact the real father of Anna Nicole Smith's child?"
"No Trish... not at all."
"Oh.... well never mind... carry on!" and the copter raises back up in the air and departs. Soon all the other news choppers follow. Finally even the assembled police force disperse. Including noted electro clash buff Sargeant Evans. I look over at my boom box and see it has actually transformed into a robot who quickly activates it's speaker-rockets and blasts off into the air.
I stand there a few minutes on the rooftop. I raise the gun to my head and pull the trigger. A shot of water fires from the plastic nozzle and bursts harmlessly against my temple. I shrug. Pocket the gun and go home.
*-I'm going to regret using that title, aren't I?
I survived yet another Valentines Day, (or as it was originally called in the days of medieval Europe: "Ye Lonely Bastarde Day"). Though I have to admit that it did get a little hairy at times:
"This is Sargeant William Evans of the Atlanta Police Department. For the love of God son don't do it! I know things seem rough right now but everythings going to be fine, you'll see. Just lay your weapon slowly down on the floor and step away from the Joy Division!"
"It's not Joy Division, Sarge!" I yell down from the rooftop over the din of squad car sirens and the chopping roar of news helicopters, "It's actually She Wants Revenge!"
"NO-Way! Really? That's crazy... their singer sounds just like Ian Curtis..."
"Oh-my-God-I-know-right!"
"Sir hold on a minute... Father McKinnely wants to have a word with you..." the sargeant passes his bullhorn over to a bespectacled Priest who posseses all the avuncular charcteristics of either a sitcom Granddad or the local neighborhood pedophile.
"Is this Jack Babalon?" Father McKinnely barks into the phone, the reverb shrieking electric feedback after each word. I can smell the whiskey off his breath from three stories up.
"Yes Father that's me."
"Now lissen here you filthy lil' bastid! I have it on good authority that you're a Buddhist or some crap like that ... so if you're gonna jump... then jump for Chrissakes and take your chances with that fat chinaman! But i'm here to tell you that no one wants to hear a bunch of your bullshit... some of us have Valentines dates! Oh and quit wastin' valuable tax payers money you selfish son-of-a-bitch! Did you ever think of who was going to clean up your mess once you stepped off that ledge?"
"I wasn't going to jump Father. That's why I bought the pistol!"
"Oh... well... um ... excellent... keep up the good work then!" Father McKinnely passes back the microphone with a shrug and I can make out hims saying 'Sorry Sarge... i've only been trained to deal with Jumpers not Shooters'. The Sargeant nods solemnly, a trenchcoated officer steps over and whispers something in his ear. The Sargeant raises the bullhorn back up...
"Jack listen to me. Detective Kirkwood is here and he wants to ask you..." the Detective whispers in his ear while the sargeant cups his hand over the mouth of the phone. They both nod seriously keeping cautious eyes on me.
"Jack... before you do anything rash... answer me this.... What song is this now?"
"Ummm... 'I don't wanna fall in love'"
"Really... it sounds just like ... what's that big song by Fischerspooner again? Y'know their only one..."
"Oh you mean 'Emerge'"
"Yeah. Yeah...That's the one!" At this the detective writes the name in his pad, flips it closed and promptly leaves. Another cop runs over and whispers in the sargeants ear. "Hold on ... hold on... i've just been informed that it actually sounds more like old school Depeche Mode or even a little like New Order."
"Most ElectroClash does sarge!"
"NO...no you're thinking of Retro-Clash..."
Suddenly one of the news copters descends down on me drowning out the boombox I had blasting and raising the dust in it's air current so i'm blind. A young woman leans out the copter door armed with a microphone and starts shouting at me. I can make out a cameraman hovering just over her shoulder.
"Jack ... Jack Babalon. This Tricia Adams with Action 9 News! Sir, is it true that your threats of suicide are really a desperate plea for attention because you are in fact the real father of Anna Nicole Smith's child?"
"No Trish... not at all."
"Oh.... well never mind... carry on!" and the copter raises back up in the air and departs. Soon all the other news choppers follow. Finally even the assembled police force disperse. Including noted electro clash buff Sargeant Evans. I look over at my boom box and see it has actually transformed into a robot who quickly activates it's speaker-rockets and blasts off into the air.
I stand there a few minutes on the rooftop. I raise the gun to my head and pull the trigger. A shot of water fires from the plastic nozzle and bursts harmlessly against my temple. I shrug. Pocket the gun and go home.
*-I'm going to regret using that title, aren't I?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2007-02-15 07:32 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-02-15 08:01 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-02-15 07:50 pm (UTC)Brilliant. I can hear this in my brain in the Irish priest voice... You are a funny, funny man, Mr. Jack Babalon. Is it all right if I worship you from afar?
no subject
on 2007-02-15 08:01 pm (UTC)Congratulations!
on 2007-02-15 10:05 pm (UTC)And thanks for the laughs today! I needed it, too.
no subject
on 2007-02-15 10:54 pm (UTC)*-I'm going to regret using that title, aren't I?
It's OK... after all you have been with Anna Nicole!
What did you expect?