The Ballad of Morrissey

April 27, 2009

With a quick finger lick and a thick quiff flick, the swordsman presented himself to me. It was with his theatrical flourish and his hair nicely nourished, that I knew this man’s identity. He slapped my cheek with a posie and when it turned painfully rosie, I knew it was non other than he. He bowed ever so slightly and tipped his hat so politely. All he said was “Je me present the infamous, Morrissey.”

I had long since been warned, that many husband had been mourned while travelling to Nantes by the sea. Monsieur Renault had said, “My boy you’ll be dead, if you don’t heed this warning from me. There is a crooner who stalks, these roads and these walks. Death is his only currency. I’m sure you’ll meet there, a thief with great hair, who goes by the name, Morrissey.”

“Stand and deliver, I can see that you quiver, clearly you’ve heard tales of me.” I stayed quiet and kept shtum, my plan was to play dumb, and pray that he just let me be. But this fiend showed me no favour and as his face turned much graver, he severed my leg below the knee. As I hopped on one foot, he carved an ‘M’ in my gut and proclaimed “That stands for… Morrissey.”

I carried no pistol or no blade, I was travelling to trade, with some jeweller who lived between Nantes and the sea. I was a lame sitting duck, who had run out of luck, as the swordsman carved lumps out of me. I was down to just my head, medically I should have been dead, but somehow there was still life left in me. He was having such a blast, that it felt rude to ask, but I did “Can I ask you a question Morrissey?”

He paused and he smirked, my gambit had worked, “What happened to your trademark misery?” The smile disappeared and he started acting all weird. This was clearly a soft spot for he. “I spent my music career being sad, feeling bad and found a new job that I thought was for me. But being this happy makes me feel kinda crappy. There’s something about it that just isn’t me.” “I can help you repair, your sense of despair, if you just don’t finish off me.” So now I peer through a small crack, in the zip of his knapsack as he tours with his new album of misery. Together we work, to suppress the slightest smirk, from the miserable face of… Morrissey.

…Not Also, But Only

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