Miley & Me, Pt 5:
I‘d just finished my poetry reading at a local Cafe and had slipped out the back for a quiet smoke and a moment of meditation, when I was suddenly confronted by two large, hostile gentlemen in suits.
Naturally assuming them to be Police, (or just possibly ASIO) I automatically swallowed the joint I’d just lit.
A wasted effort, for as it turned out, I’d scarred my oesophagus for nothing. They weren’t the Police out to arrest me at all! They merely clubbed and tasered me into a semi-conscious stupor and tossed me into the boot of a car. I think it might have been a Commodore.
Thereafter followed a long, somewhat uncomfortable journey, but no worse than flying economy class really, and it did give me time to reflect on my situation. It also gave me time to smoke the back-up “emergency” joint I’d hidden in my boot. (The irony of actually being in a “boot” myself whilst I smoked it was not lost on me.)
It soon grew very stuffy in the confined space but I had vague hopes that the sight of a shiny, black Commodore speeding down the highway with clouds of pot smoke billowing behind it might attract some attention and hopefully intervention.
But no-one rescued me and I was left alone with my thoughts.
I must admit, I’d been expecting something like this to happen. Because “this”, I quickly realised, was nothing
more than a subtle approach from the all powerful CYRUS CORPORATION to discuss my marital status.
For as regular readers of Sunday Sermons would know,
through a series of inexplicable and extremely unlikely events, I had ended up marrying the troubled young pop star Miley Cyrus in a secret Wedding in a ruined Balinese Temple. This Wedding was tragically interrupted at it’s climax by the combined might of the Indonesian Tactical Response Group and Billy Ray Cyrus leading an attack squadron of CYRUS CORPORATION helicopters.
Mileys wedding dress was distinctive, to say the least
Since then I had not seen my blushing young bride, but I had, like all the rest of the world, kept track of her various escapades, including her recent plans to marry some minor actor or Pop non-entity whose name escapes me.
Naturally this had me speculating on the legality of such a union, given that the blushing bride might technically be considered to be Mrs Miley Cyrus-Hellfire in some Jurisdictions. Clearly the same thoughts had created rumblings deep within the bowels of the CYRUS CORPORATION, and now someone had been delegated to deal with the mess.
Thus we come to the discussion which occurred some hours later with myself, the large gentlemen previously introduced, and a lawyer from The Corporation, a smug, self-satisfied, office drone with immaculately manicured fingernails. I hated him immediately. I’ve never been able to keep mine clean.
“So Jerry, you’re in a lot of trouble..”,
the lawyer led off with his opening gambit.
“My name’s not Jerry”, I told him.
“Yeah..we were told you’d say that”.
Negotiations quickly skimmed over the trivial question of Identity, and onto more important matters.
They wanted me to sign a bit of paper.
I wanted money to do so.
They didn’t want to give me any, and were hoping to bluff,
bully and badger me into signing their piece of paper.
“It wasn’t even a real wedding”, he jeered
“Which is why you want me to sign your Balinese divorce papers I suppose”, I countered.
“The wedding wasn’t even consummated”, he insisted, “the helicopters interrupted.”
“Oh there was plenty of consummation”, I assured him, “it just took place before the wedding. Miley has very old-fashioned attitudes in that regard.”
This went on for quite a while, till I started noticing a weird vibe to the proceedings. Well..weirder than what you might reasonably expect from this sort of situation.
My interrogators seemed nervous and strained to me, they avoided many of my questions, stuck religiously to their ridiculous script and..Ah!
I had a Flash.
“Miley’s listening to this right now, isn’t she?” I suddenly put my Insight to them.
Their faces went rigid, but a tiny, involuntary flicker of the eyeballs directed me to a video camera located in the upper right corner of the room.
“Hi Baby!” I waved at the Camera.
Our love was too pure to be contaminated by sordid money squabbles
“Don’t Baby Me, Jerry!”, I heard her muffled voice screeching from behind the flimsy office walls, “You never really appreciated me!!”
“Are you in the next room?” I asked.
“NO!”, she shouted and thumped
the other side of the wall for emphasis.
Eventually I persuaded her to continue our conversation with both of us being in the same room, and we left the lawyer to gnaw his immaculately manicured nails and the security guys to pop their knuckles and practise “tough guy” poses in the mirror. Meanwhile we discussed the finer details of our upcoming divorce, like two civilised human beings.
This apparently involved snorting copious amounts of cocaine.
But despite the obviously enormous expenditure she was willing to make on recreational powders, nonetheless, I felt,
she was being unaccountably stingy to me.
“I want you to be happy”, I Weaseled, “Don’t you want me to be happy too? Having lots of money might help make me happy. Well, as happy as I could be without you, of course, Sweetie”.
But my smooth talking blandishments were getting me nowhere. Possibly the presence of her new Intended had a dampening effect on my pleas. Not that he said anything. He just stood in the corner, shaking slightly, his black enormous eyes fixated the whole time on Miley. He kind of reminded me of a neurotic chihuahua. I had to fight the urge to make “Ksshh!” noises whilst cracking an imaginary whip.
After some listening to her shrieking a stream of non-sequiters and denunciations, I decided to try another tack..
“Yeah”, I murmured,” PINK said you’d be like that..”
“WHAT! What did you say!”, Miley shrieked, eyeballs rolling like an old war-horse suddenly hearing the bugles’ strident call, “That Pink Bitch said Whaatt!!?“
“Oh nothing..forget it”. I demurred..”though she might have implied you were too cheap to pay me off properly”,
“That PINK bitch called me Cheap?! “she shrilled,
“Well, “cheap whore” I think was the actual phrase used, but yes, the emphasis was definitely on your cheapness“.
Well, invoking the name of her old show biz bete-noir PINK, for whom she had a deep but unaccountable hatred, proved to be a winning stroke that shortened negotiations considerably and soon found me a richer man and Miley married to someone else, whose name, for the moment, still escapes me.
And so Miley walked out of my life for the last time,
trailing in her perfumed wake her hapless new husband.
I looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. Poor bastard, perhaps I should say something encouraging, I thought.
So as he scurried out the door like a well trained poodle, I caught his eye and smiled in my friendliest fashion.
“Bye.. Jerry“, I called.
He gave a little involuntary shudder then, I was pleased to note.
It was starting to look like a beautiful day.
Earlier posts on this subject can be located at the following links..
The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet and whilst generally a gentle man, he is currently grinding his teeth and fantasizing about taking a chainsaw to the tree-killing bastards infesting his neighbourhood at the moment of writing.