“Dun, dun, dun…”
Maxwell Woodger Esq.
Monday, 23rd January 2006
Walking home from an uneventful evening, I stumbled across a sprawling mass of naked bodies humping and jumping to the chords of Deep Purple.
I stopped and stood in the shadows to watch and make sure this wasn’t some sort of trap or mystical sacrifice. The heaving crowd was working itself into a trance as the Ritchie Blackmore doppelganger went to work on the very obvious melody of Smoke on the Water. A greasy man rubbed his naked belly fat against the sagging breasts of an aged groupie from yesteryear. It was a sick and depraved sight, but I decided to join in.
The reason why Deep Purple wrote the lyrics for Smoke on the Water was due to an event that took place in Switzerland: The band was on their way to record a record at the famous Montreux Casino studios, but as they grew near thick plumes of smoke wafted towards them from across the lake. Apparently Frank Zappa was performing at the Casino and had literally burnt the house down!
So what has this musical introduction got to do with the world today, eh?
Well, elsewhere there is a thick cloud of chemical smoke coating the water of foreign docks and bays. A mix of burnt tyres, tear gas and petrol bombs creates a fog that creeps towards the shores of safe citizens and weary diplomats. Needless to say, the Dockers are pissed. Problems began when the European Parliament introduced a new directive that would open up the continents maritime routes to more competition from abroad. An influx of interest and economic force from abroad would squash what remains of an already unstable business sector.
A man of my stature cannot condone violence, but these burly men of quayside will easily take up arms faster than a sliding butterfly knot (Yes- I know my lingo!) comes undone. You see, years of salty sea air, late night drinking bouts of rare rum and an unhealthy intake of Fisherman’s Friend can take it’s toll on the a person’s character.
The fabric of the Docker’s sociability is frayed, lest torn!
So, what now???
Hell those childish brutes need to get a quick lesson in world politics 101, that’s what! The era of Pugwash and Captain blue beard are gone. Jimmy Hoffa is dead, and the rumours of pederasty didn’t help the man either. No- Today you need to fight fire with fire. Hallelujah! Take on the sharp politicos with their own game: Diplomatic immunity, coffee breaks with Madame Tseng in Paris, and chauffeur driven saloons for all!
Ahh… The political elite might find that a hard pill to swallow.
But essentially there isn’t much you could do. The world is a social place with hierarchy and politics. Just play your role and the cogs can keep turning, right?
The group of frenzied funksters that I was rubbing shoulders with, as a pseudo- Deep Purple band played the anthems, were just a bunch of hair dressers. Nothing to do with loading bay heavies or criminally minded seamen… Just a gang of follicule flamers having fun on a Friday night. Incidentally the sounds of an ode to a burnt casino rolled over us and across the road into the river.
The sounds being carried away by a strong tide towards rougher seas. Perhaps a docker had heard the cries of my blubbery and misty eyed bretheren, and mistaken them for a call to arms- the rum and Fishermen’s Friend are a bad cocktail…
Wherever you are in this bitter world- You MUST fight for the right to party!
Thanks to Jose Lavezzi at www.bazarts.org for the use of the dick shot!