Red Leeroy - The Struggle For Power

Yup, i ain’t dead you know.

Friends of Leeroy.

Not a post since August, shameful I know but ironically (and as I have mentioned before) when I had a desk job I had all the time in the world, now that I am pseudo unemployed the weeks go by at the speed of Stephen Hawking rolling down Christchurch hill in a red, absinthe powered, dildo shaped, six wheeled love wheelchair in search of a last minute Christmas employment to stave off the poor sales of his latest book “Stephen’s sexy adventures and the wheels of steel”. Now there is a Yuletide image that I can live with.

Love, respect, and a happy 2011 to you all.

Red

If I was to say to you that I could provide funky worms, kazoo’s, Jew harps, angry dictators ranting about musicians, sandwiches, soul, retro funk rock and two morons talking about absolutely nothing for an hour and a half, you would say it would be too good to be true right ??

Well, believe it folks. It exists. Tell your friends.

The Show Is Here

March the first. That was the last time I was here, do I still exist in the feed readers of the people that kept me entertained during those winter working months? Let’s find out.

Here is a photo of me at the slots. The yearning for the gaining of money that I haven’t earned rages inside me, Monday millions now seems all too possible, and sadly I have taken to playing roulette beside a tinker woman who in addition to looking like Michael Jackson, has the temerity to have seven machines on the go at once. She puts “gone for a smoke” signs on them to ensure they belong to her while she mumbles heeee-heeee whoooo. This is now my reality.

Not to be too negative however, I now earn my money in tips. Take that hatch 29 - TAKE THAT !!. All is well in the world of good old Red. I passed a year of marital bliss, I am learning to play the guitar, I do weights and sit ups and eat bean salad, I play golf (don’t judge me as I don’t have a handicap yet…….yet). Tell me please dear readers, what have you been doing with yourselves ??

Don’t call it a comeback, I’ve been here for years !!

What I thought was a quiet pint to catch up and discuss frat houses and Teutonic holiday destinations actually turned into full-bore confessional. The confession he unleashed to me was the most unsettling practice of heading to the WC, taking the mobile phone out of the back pocket and then dropping his trousers. Then while comfortably perched upon the dalton, he would dial my phone number and politely ask as to my form at the current time, he would barely wait for the reply before beginning to expunge the previous nights Bombay Pantry from his guts. He told me that this was his ‘best practice’ when it came to the aul’ catch up phone call, this sent a cold shiver up my spine. So my question is this. Is it wrong to call your pals while taking your morning dump?

“Are you getting this Jeremy?”

Jeremy wasn’t listening. His mouth was open, he stood in awe, above him a man trussed up in what seemed to be a sex swing. He dangled awkwardly above a hushed room, he was hurriedly tweeting with one hand and gesturing wildly with the other, all the while dictating his life experiences to a now somewhat horrified journalist below. This man was Russell T. Rousseau, artiste, author, filmmaker, once notorious and now recluse would be genius.

“tweets, well quite frankly it was the worst of……… Jeremy are you getting this“?

“ yes yes, got it” Jeremy replied having missed the sentence completely, this might be Russell’s great unfinished interview if his skills in shorthand did not improve significantly. He peered up at the ceiling waiting for the next line, Russell spun uncontrollably in the harness gaining and losing speed as the leather straps coiled and uncoiled, he was cursing under his breath in French. Jeremy smiled to himself but unwittingly caught an unwanted and unobstructed view of the hanging scrotum, he looked away but the image had burned itself into his memory.

“Christ” Jeremy whispered to himself.

“Jeremy, I say Jeremy, there is a terrific disadvantage in not having the abrasive quality of the press applied to you daily. Even though we never like it, and even though we wish they didn’t write it, and even though we disapprove, there isn’t any doubt that we could not do the job at all in a free society without a very, very active press”

“Sorry Mr Rousseau ?” Jeremy asked.

Jeremy couldn’t concentrate. He desperately feared another trapped ant impression from above, the heaving chest, the hairy white limbs running in mid air trying to escape some sort of invisible amber, but there was only silence. The real and tangible need not to directly or indirectly see his interviewees genitals again ran through him, but he had another worry. His worry was that Russell was up above him and was slowly turning blue after another mishap with rogue arm cord. He raised his head and Russell was hanging perfectly still and looking down at him disapprovingly.

“JFK” Russell said with maximum dramatic effect.

“JFK“? Jeremy replied confused.

“J….F….K dear boy………….the quote” Russell seemed to become exasperated and begun to shift uncomfortably again. Then he cried out in a shrill voice  “Oh this is useless dear boy, useless, Libertee, LIBERTEE, come and release me from this self imposed leather purgatory”

Libertee scuttled in. He was a tall thin young man dressed in what Jeremy suspected was a sarong, he had seen David Beckham in one years ago, he felt pleased with himself that if asked he knew what this garment was called, and he was sure he would be asked.

Libertee unhooked the cable and began to lower Russell to the floor. “Gently Libertee gently, I am NOT a side of beef“. Libertee seemed to take no notice of his employer and the rope gathered pace as it slipped through his hands, he winced as the rope began to burn his fingers and he let go of it completely. There was a loud shriek from above as Russell re-entered the rooms atmosphere and plummeted to the ground, he hit the huge white couch covered in white fur and disappeared from sight over the arm. Jeremy and Libertee ran across the room to the now stricken Russell.

He was lying with one leg over the arm of the chair, and what looked like a serene expression on his face. “Are you okay?” asked Jeremy. There was a pause and then Russell let out another ear piercing scream “Libertee you incompetent queen” Libertee handed Jeremy a white dressing gown and backed away, Jeremy helped Russell up off the polished wooden floor. “Well then it’s settled you must stay for drinks” Russell said to Jeremy as Libertee was shooed away.

“but I was planning…….” Jeremy began his sentence but was cut short by a hand gently laid on his arm.

“I insist” Russell coed as he sashayed out of the room pausing only briefly to glare at Libertee.

Jeremy stood for a moment and peered back at the empty swing. This was either going to be the story of the year or a complete and utter disaster.