Sunday, July 8, 2007

Send them again, and you die.

As exciting as it is to know that seminal Sydney punk band, X, have released a wicked double CD including live recordings from the Prince of Wales from Way Back When, and as great as it is to hear the rumble and shudder of Ian Rilen's bass playing...4 o'clock on Monday Morning is not particularly when I want these facts to be force fed into me.

Let's wave our hands in the air Tomorrow People style, and travel back in time a few hours shall we?

To: The Land of Nod.

[scene] B's bedroom, it is 2.30am Monday Morning. I have my arms wrapped around a pillow. The air is cold but my flannel sheets and doona are a cocoon, a haven. I am singing the last letter of the alphabet.

[enter Circus. No, really, the Circus]

Circus: WOOHOO! IT'S OUR WEEKEND. PUT MUSIC ON. SMASH GLASSES. LET US GENERALLY CAUSE A CHAOTIC RUCKUS. YAY FOR THE CIRCUS.

[B opens his eyes and mutters to himself, what the fuck, as all of a sudden RODRIGUEZ begins to play at 747 volume. SUGAR MAAAAAAAN...]

B: Nooooo.

[There is a banging on B's bedroom window.]

Trapeze Artist: MATTYBMATTYBMATTYBMATTYB!!!!

B: FUCK OFF.

Circus: OOOOOOOH!!!! WHO IS THAT?

Trapeze Artist: That's mattyb! MATTYB! MATTYB! WAKE UP MATTYB!

B: FUCK THE FUCKING FUCK FUCK OFF.

Circus: OOOOOH!!!!!

Trapeze Artist: I'm going to go and wake him up!

[B grabs his wakizashi, the short samurai sword he used to use when studying Ninjutsu at Kevin Hawthorne's Ninja School in 1988. His bedroom door opens.]

Trapeze Artist: MATTYB! HELLO MATTYB! WAKE UP?

B: No. FUCK OFF.

Trapeze Artist: Awww mattyb, I'm sorry. Ok. Oh, mattyb?

B: What?

Trapeze Artist: Do you have any pot?

B: You know I don't smoke pot.

Trapeze Artist: Oh I forgot. Ok, BYE MATTYB!

B: Argh.

[B's bedroom door closes. There are noises outside. RODRIGUEZ changes to MILES DAVIS.]

B: ARGH.

Circus: WEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

Trapeze Artist: TURN IT UP!!!

B: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH.

[This continues for two hours. Finally at 4.30am, B hears the music turned down.]

B: Thank FUCK.

[There is silence. Until, five minutes later. X appears on the stereo, and there has never been a louder noise in the history of noises. Even the man who invented noise thinks, wow, this one is a particularly big one...B has heard this sentence before.]

[Outside the window, B hears the entire story of Ian Rilen, his time in X, how he wrote Bad Boy for Love, other facts which are interesting, but ultimately keeping B from his MONDAY MORNING FUCKING SLEEP BEFORE WORK]


Time travel: A few hours later.

Scene: An advertising Agency

Boss: Good Morning B, hey so we need to work on the ANZ account and if you could just work through the copy and blah blah wadda blah googly worble blah blibble tiddly po...

B: Whaaa? You want a coffee?

Boss: Iggle Buddlesby Purko Ni. AND WE'VE GOT FIFTEEN MINUTES TO DELIVER IT.

B: *cries*

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