Fluids of Strangers
The events of that debauched evening haunted my memory like some irrepressible Zapruder loop.
I felt that I had to come clean.
I composed an e-mail to avant industrial artist Otto Von Schirach, an innocent man who had fallen victim to the spiraling dysfunctional buffoonery of both The Drunken Murphy and myself:
To: Otto Von Schirach
Subject: Fluids of Strangers
Body:
I have a dark and hideous confession to make, and, as it concerns you, I thought
you may as well be the first to know. First, let me inform you that I know who
threw a cup-full of piss on you in Detroit when you were opening for Skinny
Puppy during the Greater Wrong of the Right tour. It was this guy:
http://www.myspace.com/72MURPHY
He was drunk and enjoying your performance when he turned to me and said, “Too
bad I already took a piss, or I’d piss on this guy.” Trying to be helpful,
without thinking through the horrible consequences, I emptied my own cup on the
floor, and refilled it with piss, much to the surprise of the crowd around me.
The die was cast. The Drunken Murphy staggered forward through the crowd like
some defective, inebriated Moses while the sea of bodies parted miraculously
before him. The rest is history.
It may please you to know: I had no communicable diseases and maintain a healthy
diet. Some dermatologists maintain that urine holds topical benefits. In several
cultures, we are now legally married. I hope this lifts a burden from you the
way it has for me.
Hugs & kisses, Doug
Naturally, I forwarded the above message to The Drunken Murphy as well. Now we could both rest a bit easier, I thought.
Not so.
Drunken, it turned out, was somewhat outraged. He felt that there were some flagrant errors in my description of events.
He went on to compose an e-mail of his own to the doubtlessly puzzled Otto:
Dearest Otto,
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Murphy; known formally as The Drunken
Murphy in discriminating circles of professional inebriates. I am aware that
there have been recent accusations incriminating me as the man who doused you
with piss during your pre-Skinny Puppy performance at the State Theatre in
Detroit. Having read the message sent to you by my colleague-in-arms, Doug, I
deem necessary that my own version of the story be recorded – for what it’s
worth – for the benefit of fairness and accuracy.
As he says, there was indeed drinking taking place during (and well before) your
performance. This in itself seems unworthy of mention, and it hardly suggests
that anything was in the slightest amiss. Quite the contrary.
Doug rather irresponsibly reports that I suddenly declared – unprovoked – my
desire to piss on you, and lamented my recently emptied bladder. While this did
happen, it omits an important preliminary detail: somewhere between songs you
saw fit to declare something to the effect of, “I have diarrhea for you
Detroit!!” and I felt my regional pride affronted by another outsider coming to
Detroit and apparently seeing only the burnt-out decay, ravaged waste, and
horror-stricken brutish locals. I felt that you had no understanding of the
true, warm, yellow, inner-wetness of Detroit.
Uncultured savage that he is, Doug didn’t trouble himself to move from his place
in the crowd before emptying his drink on the floor, publicly exposing his
prick, and re-filling his cup.
Obviously now, you can see the bind I was in. While I may have been spouting
idle disapproval at your previous remark, Doug now escalated the situation into
an event wherein I would appear the hypocrite to the surrounding crowd were I
not to put the urine to use. At that point, it was either you or me.
Sorry, mate.
As Doug reported, the sea of bodies miraculously parted making way for your
unholy baptism of filth.
I would like to make mention that Doug manages (usually with no help at all) to
get his piss all over everything; peeing in unlikely places, on unwitting
people, into open car windows, off high roof-tops, onto adversaries and sexual
companions alike. The man has a problem.
Though he feigns relative innocence in his email to you, it was later pointed
out to me that you could, in fact, have meant that you had diarrhea for Detroit
in an entirely positive manner. I considered this in remorse. “Fuck it,” Doug
said, “guy probably loved it. Next time, I’ll take a shit on him.”
All I can say is, if that’s what he wants to do, I won’t be there to throw it
for him.
Love, The Drunken Murphy
I contested many of the above comments, and still do.
Oddly, Otto never replied…
Marked as: Introspection — 3 comments (RSS)
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Story meke FT laugh funny lots…
Extremely amusing. I found myself chuckling with mirthful abandon. I dont know if Ive mentioned it before in our many conversations (which usually take place in my head) but Im something of an inventor in my home country. Indeed Im quite famous and have appeared on many prestigious programmes and conducted lecture tours on a diverse and interesting range of inventor type topics. You are most privileged in that I would like to share with you all one of my most well loved and popular designs. I have myself created what can be only be termed a “spout” (but in hushed tones is usually termed a little miracle) for use precisely at such occasions as described so wittily above, when urination on performers is not only appropriate but mandatory. As can be imagined, trying to hit the glass with ones pants around ones ankles whilst swaying and holding a lighter aloft, the better to see Maria Carey’s knickers, is, for a female, a precarious precedure at the best of times. Thus my Ladies WeeWee Tube (patent pending) fits snugly into your handbag/sock/pocket and can be discreetly manouevered into position when that magical moment arrives and the idea of dousing Maria in the contents of your bladder becomes irresistable. (And havent we all been there ..) Coming in 3 colour ways and costing as little as £6.50 + P&P (thats $12 to you lot) the Ladies WeeWee Tube looks set to become this seasons must have desirable. I already have orders from some of the major Couture houses. If youd like a free one just let me know. I have a number in my garage. I also provide a handy water pistol (free of charge!) for transfer of that precious decanted peepee during those times when you need that extra power boost in order to squirt Maria right in the gob.