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Run Boy Run
Knock knock knock. Rattle, key, open.
"Oh Boyyyy... Boy, are you okay?... Boy, come out here
right this second!... Where are you, Boy?"
"Rosie? Is that you? I'm down here in the Boom Boom Room."
"Well, hold on George, I'm coming after you!"
Clump, clump, clump, clump, clump, clump.
"Oh my God, Boy, you look delirious... Here, why don't you
let Rosie take care of you.. Mmwahh."
"Careful with my make-up."
"Don't worry about it - your make-up is a mess. What
happened to you, Boy? Why did the coppers take you?"
"Twenty hours, Rosie. Twenty hours with those brutes. Oh
man, talk about your bad trips. Literally... I hate New York."
"I hate it too, Boy. I hate it too. But what happened to
you?"
"You won't believe it, Rosie. It's... I was upstairs, you
know, up in the tangerine loft with a friend, just watching TV..."
"You weren't with that Bunny Harrison, were you?"
"I haven't seen Bunny in weeks."
"Range Dalton, that's it. You were with Range Dalton."
"I was not! Now do you want to hear my story or not?"
"Yep. Yep yep yep. Got your message, loud and clear.
Quiet. I'm getting very, very quiet. Private O'Donnell zipping it over here
for General George. Turning off mouth motor. Starting to..."
"Rosie!"
"Sorry. Mmmm mmmm."
"That's better. Okay, so we're watching the telly and I
begin hearing these noises in the kitchen..."
"What kind of noises?"
"Sort of like a trombone, you know, 'Blat, Wahhaahhwaaahh'.
Very eerie. Someone's broken into me flat, I think, better call the coppers
on the phone. So I wait, and I wait, and I wait, and finally there's two of
New York's finest at the door, and they ask 'Where's this intruder that you
called about?' and I say 'Well of course there's no intruder now, you taking
so long to get here', and they say 'Are you trying to get smart with us Boy
George? Yes, we know who you were the moment we saw your distinctive
make-up, and you look stoned out of your gourd', and I say 'No I am
not. I'm just having a couple of beers with my mate Range', and I..."
"Range Dalton. Rosie called it. Nailed it on the head. I
knew it was Range Dalton when..."
"Oh, quiet you. And then one of the coppers says 'My, my,
Boy George, it sure looks like snow today... Mind explaining what these
fourteen little plastic bags are doing on your dinette table?', and I say
'See, that's proof that somebody broke into me flat. There should be sixteen
bags', and then I say 'Oops...'"
"Oopsie doopsie."
"Things went downhill from there. I said 'I meant, someone
could've broken in and left cocaine on my table', and they said 'Broke in
and left cocaine on your table, did they Boy George? Not bloody likely', and
then they slapped the handcuffs on me and took me down and booked me. Can
you believe no one even asked me for an autograph, Rosie? And I just
got out a short hop ago when I called you. Want some blow?"
"Too early, Boy, but thanks. What's going to happen next?"
"It's the hanging judge for me, Rosie. They could give me
up to fifteen years."
"Oh no!"
"Oh yes."
"Oh no..."
"Uh huh."
"Oh Boy."
"What do we do, Rosie?"
"You're going to escape, Georgie, that's what. Rosie is
going to get you onto a jet and fly you back to Merry Old England before
those coppers ever get their dirty New York hands on you again."
"But won't they recognize us?"
"It's a chance we'll have to take, Boy. It's a river we'll
have to cross, a sea we'll have to swim. It's a horse we have to ride, Boy,
a burger we have to eat. It's a mountain..."
"Rosie!"
"Oops, sorry. Zipping it boss. Calling up the tongue
patrol. Clamping down the jaws over here. Giving traction to..." |
