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| Elvis is alive and well and living in.... | |
| By Phil | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| 29 August 2006 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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Wrote this for September lazy writers. In case you're wondering: Elvis is neither alive or well. Although I did see someone with an uncany resemblance emptying our bin last week. Elvis is alive and well and living in ….. Elvis was thoroughly pissed off. He’d put up with this all his life. If he heard one more smart-arsed quip he thought he might actually be capable of murder. Not for the first time he cursed his hero’s death. Were it not for the fact he was born on the very day Elvis Presley died he wouldn’t have been saddled with this problem. That and a mother who loved everything about The King. When he grew to be old enough to ask about his father, his mother had replied that there was only room for one man in her life. At the time he thought she meant him – her special little boy – but as he matured he realised she meant Elvis, the Elvis. However, even though his name had brought him so much misery, he too was a devoted fan. In his prenatal state he’d probably been subjected to every recording his mother had. Since birth he had lived surrounded by Elvis memorabilia and watched every movie he’d made. Elvis had provided the sound track to his life. He couldn’t help but become an avid fan of his namesake. The problem wasn’t with The King, it was with other people. Even at school he couldn’t escape the wags. Even the odd teacher couldn’t resist a go. He’d put his hand up to answer a question and with a smirk on his face the teacher would say, ‘Uh huh.’ The day he was confirmed he best friend stuttered through the first few lines of I Just Can’t Help Believing. Trod in some turd: Stuck on You. Poker night: Playing for Keeps. On losing his virginity: Love me tender. Embarrassing homosexual fling: Wear my Ring Around Your Neck. The list was never ending and he was heartily sick of hearing an out of tune rendition of the first couple of lines of a beloved song. Since he’d taken on the pub he detested calling for last orders. Every night he got a rousing chorus of It’s Now Or Never. Of course, all his regulars loved it, but he was finding it increasing difficult to smile and not grab the nearest drinker and batter his face relentlessly on the surface of the bar until there was only a bloody, unrecognisable mush left. Or even better, break a bar stool over his head and break his skull. On reflection he felt this was the better option as there’d be less mess to clear up afterwards. *** Ten-fifty. Elvis rang the bell and called out the words he hated so much: ‘Last orders at the bar, ladies and gentlemen.’ Of course, the inevitable happened as it had at this time for the last eighteen months. As one, his regulars began to sing. Even though thoughts of bloody and satisfying murder raced around his head, Elvis realised that realistically, he couldn’t do for everyone of the twenty or so heartless bastards stood crooning at him and loving every minute of it. He slumped to floor of the bar and offered up a silent prayer. ‘Why Elvis, why? Can’t you just make them all go away.’ He opened his eyes to the silence and peeped over the bar. The room was empty. Half drunk pints sat at tables. Cigarettes lay in ashtrays, smoke curling up towards the ceiling. Other paraphernalia lay dotted about the bar. Mobile phones, a handbag, three newspapers and a walking stick. Elvis stood up and looked at the empty chairs and stools. He cocked his head and listened. Nothing. Even the constant flush of the urinals had stopped. He walked to the door and looked out. The normally busy road was empty. No pedestrians, no cars. Nothing. Elvis slumped into the nearest seat and sighed. It was all over at last. A click and then a faint whirring sound. Elvis looked at the 1955 Wurlitzer he’d had imported from the States. The needle hit the vinyl with a crackling hiss. Are you lonesome tonight Do you….. ‘BASTARDS.’
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