Joseph Donnelly, a homeless, jobless, wannabe alcoholic roamed the streets of London (play the Streets of London!!) on a night of light drizzle. It was one of those nights that you get wet and then feel really hot because of it. You know the ones. It gets sticky and clammy. This didn't apply to Joseph because he was only wearing a tank-top and a sock. The very sight of him would make you cross the road to avoid passing him. People actually did this as he plodded across the slightly shaky Millennium Bridge.
"Hmmm, Thames looks nice tonight," thought Joe.
"Holy fuck! You stink......BWLUAH!" a passer-by said as he puked over the side of the bridge.
Joe kept up a steady pace until, lifting his head at the end of the bridge, he saw St. Paul's Cathedral. Maybe I'll get pretend to light a candle (if they even do that in St. Paul's) and get a bit of heat and a chair, thought Joe.
It was late and nobody was having a bit of an aul' pray or anything in the cathedral. It was big and holy. What more do you want in a cathedral. Unfortunately Joe found no candles. Just a bit too Catholic, Joe thought.
But in St Dunstan's Chapel Joe found some wafers in a big box. Jackpot. He hadn't eaten all day apart from some popcorn left in a bin. So, he munched in to the deliciously soft wafer biscuits.
"If only they had a little fridge with some ice-cream, I'd be in Hea...."
Just then a fabulous light came shining forth from Joseph's stomach. "Ooooop!" was all Joe could say at a moment like that. It had always been that way. At important times in Joe's life, he was never one for speeches or anything more than monosyllabic sounds.
"Oh no! He's eaten a full pack o' Jee-zus!" exclaimed a now nervous clergyman who happened to waltz in (I'm not joking, he actually waltzed in. Clergymen can dance too, you know.).
"Where is this man? The man who ate too much Jesus?" queried a second clergyman that had just entered.
He's... he's over there. Look out!"
Joe had never felt so alive or dead. His otherwise decrepit body had taken on the form of a superhero or something like Hulk Hogan back in the day. Or Mr. T. You see where I'm going.
"No-one's gonna take me alive!" bellowed Joe as he flew through the dome on the cathedral more than one hundred metres up, secretly hoping that the two men standing before him got the Muse reference.
And so, Joe spend the rest of his days selling hot dogs to poor kids in Jamaica to fund his lavish lifestyle of gym membership, Bacardi & Coke, wood turning and general resurrection.
P.S. Don't try this at home. He eventually died. God love him.
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2 comments:
You forgot to cue the amazing riff after the last chorus.
Well, poor Joe only really had time to give a quick shout out. Bringing the story in the direction of becoming a "rock god" wasn't what I was going for. I could've had a guitar appear out of nowhere along with several 100watt Marshall amps and have Joe play a full Muse song (say maybe Hysteria) and that would be that. But, I though it would be TOO obvious. Thanks for the feedback (no musical pun intended).
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