This is not writing. This is an adventure. A sort of tribute, you could say, to my love for all things random.
Thoughts, words, emotions, images, faces, names, stories, colours and everything else which strikes me dead every time I vow to be serious. Like one of those seriously distracting pop-up ads on the internet.
What can I say? We all need a healthy dose of rambling, from time to time, to make it through life without falling flat on our faces, right?
I once was paid by the middleman George to crash his daughter’s wedding
To the despicable Martin Rouge. Rumour had it that he had killed a policeman
A butcher, and the morning postman, to relieve himself of “The Itch”.
It couldn’t be helped, she was in love, or so she did profess
With his rugged features, his award-winning scars, and his Devil-may-Care ways.
And so I went, in an old, worn tux, and vintage leather shoes; for I did have a bone
To pick, with good old Martin Rouge. The wedding was on a bright, sunny day
With zero chances of rain. The aisle was set, the guests had arrived, the food was heavenly.
The bride looked worth a million bucks (or five hundred dollars, because of the recession)
As she did hold her father’s hand, and looked down the length of the decorated aisle-
The journey to her beloved Man. She tripped along, step by step, and all rose to see
The joy in her eyes, the love on her lips, as happy as she ever could be. Martin Rouge smiled
At the silly child, as plans did flit through his head. Of how he’d send her right into heaven
Before he took her to bed. Halfway through the priest’s speech, “The Itch” did make a cameo,
To seize the fingers of Martin Rouge, with little left to show. Without a word, without a doubt,
They circled around her throat. “I’ll break her neck,” he threatened the guests,
“If you dare move!” Fear counselled the good men, to run from there at once.
I stayed on, and made my way, to where this tragedy was being staged.
I pulled out my gun, and put it to his head, and to the unsuspecting bridegroom, did say-
“My dear fellow, you’re far too hasty, let the lady go.
It is early morning, the day is fresh, you’ve put on quite a show.
If you oblige, I shall leave, and all will be quite well,
If you don’t, then I will shoot, and send you packing to hell.”
Martin Rouge, madman that he was, gave the Devil’s laugh
“When I’m done with her, I’ll take care of you, so take care and do RUN!”
I sighed and replied, “Remember the butcher? Well, I’m his goddamn son!”
I pulled the trigger, and put a bullet, in the madman’s head.
He fell to the ground, and died on the spot, and that was the end. The bride, shocked
And white from this terrible ordeal, stood without a word. She looked at me
Pain in her eyes, and words I could not catch. “Thank you sir!” breathed middleman George
As he rushed to his daughter’s side. “You’ve done us a mighty favour sir, you’ve saved
Our child’s life.” He invited me to dinner, took my hand, and gave me a vigorous shake.
But I left with only these parting words: Goodbye and thank you for the cake.