Rebel Regression Part III

Cool and Counter-Cool, Tall Tale V, Pt III

Or; Episode 001, Pt III: The Apology Conundrum

Rebel Regression Part III:

Or; The Toddler's Revenge

The Glamourtits Imperative:

Or; Rebel Without a Pause

Now, a little while before this, I’ve had a chat with Glamourtits, and she’s given me a command.

It’s a command that I shall follow to the letter.

To the letter!

No room for error.

It’s also a command that allows me sneakily, and entirely legitimately, to hatch a cunning ‘Revenge Plot’ against Nisha-Sara-Nisha!

A stratagem so crafty, so wily, so artful, it shall be invisible!

Undetectable!

She won’t even notice.

[purple peril sniggers with hubristic delight]

Aha!

Ooh, you dastardly fox!

...

Now, you might be wondering, considering I’ve never actually met Nisha-Sara-Nisha, why I solemnly vowed ‘Revenge’!

'Upon what circumstances?', you ask! 'Upon what premise?', you say. 'What misdeed or set of misdeeds could spur you on, thus?'

Well, hold on a minute, because I haven’t told you yet about the ‘Glamourtits Imperative’, have I?

Everything in time, everything in time.

Everything in its rightful narrative place, sideways!

So, get this…

‘Oh, hey, Peril! That’s another really great suit!’

‘Oh, thanks! Very kind.’

‘You’ll have to get lots of pictures. You must!’

‘I must?’

‘Yes. We want a lot more well-dressed gentleman. We want a bit more effort on that front. Go and hassle the photographers. Go on. Get photos.’

‘Get photos?’

‘You must.’

[Francis takes a picture of me and Glamourtits]

So, do you see, dear listeners? I have been ordered to have as many pictures taken as I choose.

I have been commanded.

I have been instructed.

It’s imperative.

I’m permitted to harass, harangue, hassle, and cajole any photographer at my leisure.

At my whim.

At my fickle-behest.

I’m allowed.

Glamourtits has fired me from a loose cannon.

Well, you wouldn’t catch me letting Glamourtits down, would you?

So, I jumped to it!

I didn't hang about.

I summoned up my AC-Cobra-toddler spirit!

I accelerated out of the grid in a flash!

I was here-there-everywhere-and-here-again!

Here-there-and-back with ever improving lap-times!

I'm a rebel without a pause!

No one else is allowed to get a look-in.

Especially, Nisha-Sara-Nisha!

...

Water Pistols at Dawn

So, you might be wondering how it is that a happy-go-plucky fellow such as I, - a chap with a spring-in-his-step, a slinky-on-his-stairs, and a sex-toy-in-his-arse, could possibly be so moved as to make a solemn vow of ‘Revenge’! ‘Why so?’, I hear you say, ‘You’re a merry-mayhem-Melvyn not a Revenging Roger! You’re not petty,- not one to hold a gripe-and-a-grudge! So why have you laid down the gauntlet, and sworn on-your-sword, “Water Pistols at Dawn”?’

Now, I’ve heard it said and have been accused, would you believe, of ‘the green-eyed monster’ - jealousy!

‘You’re just jealous that Nisha-Sara-Nisha has more Insta fans than you,’ they say.

61,022 more, to be precise.

Now, I raise a firm hand and say ‘No. You’ve got that all wrong there, my friend.’

I have a cult following!

My 178 are the hardcore, in-the-know crew, aren’t they, eh?

And, as you know, I’m working on slimming them down to just 8 dedicated followers by December.

Now, if Nisha-Sara Nisha doesn’t know how to get rid of her audiences effectively, that’s none of my business, is it?

I’m like the great Mark E. Smith: ‘Get rid of ‘em!’ 3

It actually takes a lot of care, effort, and energy.

There’s always some smart-arse trying to undo your hard-work, isn’t there?

I’d say, as frequently as every 3 weeks (at least), I get 1 new ‘follower’.

Out of nowhere! Just like that!

It’s hard work, I tell you, keeping on top of this kind of influx.

It's hard trimming them down sometimes!

It’s no wonder Nisha-Sara-Nisha has feared undertaking such an heroic task, but it’s not for me to judge!

She's got her work cut out getting rid of that lot!

Anyway:

If it’s fans you want, let’s remember, I have Uncertain Journey’s broadcasting abilities upon which to rely! 4

There she is, reading my stories aloud to her accountancy team: I know my cult status is both secure and incontestable!

Now, if you think logically, all of those accountants are going to read my stories to their accountants, and their accountants to their accountants, and their accountants to their accountants, and the accountants of their accountants’-accountants’-accountants are going ot pass it on to their accountants and so on and so forth, so it’s pretty much well-known that I’ve gone global! I’ve reached a worldwide audience of hardcore dedicated accountants with my tall-tales, thanks to Uncertain Journey!

So, if you think I’d be so petty as to vow revenge against someone who, seemingly, has more fans than I, you’ve got another thing coming!

Garden Hoses at Dawn

So, if it’s not the whole Insta-following-thing, then what be the cause?,’ you wonder!

How is it that a happy-go-plucky fellow such as I, - a chap with a spring-in-his-step, a boing-in-his-bones, and a dildo-in-his-derrière, could possibly be so moved as to make a solemn vow of ‘Revanche’! ‘Why so?’, I hear you say;- ‘You’re more a happy-havoc-Henry than a Vengeful Victor! You’re not petty, not one to hold a gripe-and-a-grudge! So why have you laid down the gauntlet, and sworn on-your-sword, “Garden Hoses at Dawn”?’

Now, I’ve heard it said and have been accused, would you believe, of being a tad discontent about the whole UK Fetish Awards affair!

‘You’re just jealous that Nisha-Sara-Nisha got to be the face of Gothic Culture Magazine at The Awards Ceremony instead of you!’- you allege.

You can t’accuse away, I say, t'accuse away!

Now, I raise a firm hand and say ‘No! You’ve got that all wrong there, my friend!’

Just because Zara DuRose offered me a free ticket to the UK Fetish Awards if I represented GCM, and just because I invited the GCM editor in turn to participate in the awards on Zara’s behalf, and just because, quite unbeknownst to me, was supplanted, at the final hurdle, by Nisha-Sara-Nisha as GCM representative, affected me not-a-jot!

Not-a-jot!

And I’ll tell you why!

I shall expound, darlings, I shall expound:

There I was, slaving away on the Zara DuRose article like the loyal scribe I am, and, what-do-you-know, Zara invites me to the UK Fetish Awards but I hadn’t finished the article!

Caught red-handed, slaving away doing nothing! Nothing submitted to said editor!

Now, obviously, I could not put myself forwards as the fine-and-beautiful face of GCM, could I?

So, I wrote a story-blog about being caught red-handed at not having written the article on Zara! 5

I entered that instead.

Rebellion all-the-way is my wayward way.

Stroke of genius, if I may say so myself.

I managed to clutch defeat from the jaws of defeat;- that’s my way!

Now, let’s contrast my noble deeds with the case of Nisha-Sara-Nisha:

There she is, doing photo-shoots and handing them in by the deadline.

The nefarious diligence of it all!

What a do-gooder!

The outrage.

Beggars belief, really, these goody-two-shoes, going about their business entirely professionally and working extremely hard to meet industry time-limits.

That's almost as bad as a DJ who turns up on time!

I thought to myself, ‘Oi, oi! We’ve got a right one here! A right sneaky one! A real "Head Girl" type! Honestly!’

Now, be that as it may, it’s hardly for me to be so petty to vow revenge for such a minor misdeed on her part.

I mean, I’m the type, who wouldn’t be so small-minded as even to remember the details or the circumstances of such a terrible misdemeanour.

If these virtuous types are intent on doing good in the world, I wave an admonishing hand and wave them away.

Wave them away, I say!

I rise above it!

Fire Hydrants at Dawn

So, if it’s not the whole Insta-follower thing, nor the UK-Fetish-Awards-thing, then 'what be the motive and the cue for passion?', you muse.

How is it that a happy-go-plucky fellow such as I, - a chap with a spring-in-his-step, a jostle-in-his-japes, and a baster in his backside, could possibly be so moved as to make a solemn vow of ‘Vengeance!’? ‘Why so?’, I hear you say;- ‘You’re more a mirthful-mutinous-Martin than a Retribution Ritchie! ‘You’re not an ‘eye-for-an-eye’-man’! You’ve never opted for the optician thing as a profession; nor even decided on dentistry! So why have you laid down the gauntlet, and sworn on-your-sword, “Fire Hydrants at Dawn!”?’

Now, I’ve heard it said and have often been accused, would you believe, of taking hearsay to heart!

Could it be that I’m too sensitive to rumours?

Well, there happens to be a strange rumour going around at this very moment!

It's being said, yes it is - that, apparently, Nisha-Sara-Nisha is more photogenic than I am!

I can’t think why.

I try my best.

I know, on occasion, I tense-up a little.

I know that.

As one of my dear friends once said, ‘To be honest, Peril, - in that photo you look as though you’re being administered a long-overdue colonoscopy’!

That assessment seemed fair enough at the time as I’m sure they were being sensitive to my medical history,- but this recent vicious rumour about me not being as photogenic as Nisha-Sara-Nisha happens to be very damaging to my self-esteem!

But I don't listen to such rumours. Even less take them to heart!

It's rumoured that my great-grandfather once said, 'Balderdash! Don't pay attention to rumours! Ever!'

So I've always paid attention to him!

[Pause]

[Longer pause]

There’s even a more scurrilous rumour being circulated currently.

Scurrilous.

Scandalous.

If you lean in a little closer, I shall whisper it to you;- I don’t wish to be overheard:

[Pause]

I’ve heard it said…

[Pause]

… that Nisha-Sara-Nisha…

[Long pause]

… is slightly...

[Short pause]

...prettier than I am.

[Pause]

I know. Unbelievable, isn’t it?

Naturally, I was quite incredulous!

It’s one thing attacking a person’s looks, but spinning an implausible yarn like that is just ridiculous!

You would have thought that if you’re going to get the gossip-mill in motion, you’d at least make the rumour realistic.

It’s lucky I don’t listen to such rumours.

I could have been quite pained.

Quite hurt.

But, they say, 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder', so there’s no accounting for other people's quirky aesthetics these days!

I mean, if some bloke comes up to you and says, ‘Hey, I prefer The Cult to The Southern Death Cult,’ you can’t really do much about it, can you?

I mean, if some girl comes up to you and says ’Hey! I prefer the 7” single version of “Spirit” as opposed to the album version on “The Sky’s Gone Out”,’ you might be tempted to argue but you'd probably just let that one slide, even though it rankles a smidgin.

I mean, if some scenester comes up to you and says, ’Hey! I prefer Nisha-Sara-Nisha’s beautiful photo shoots with Francis Kinsella compared to the cross-eyed-boss-eyed Insta photos of purple peril that look as though he’s undergoing a particularly violent enema,’ then, although you might be tempted to take issue by retorting ‘I think the jury’s out on that one, my friend’, it’s likely you’d probably let that one go too.

As I said, there are just some aesthetic battles that might not be worth fighting, even though you feel a bit of friction!

Anyway:

What was I saying?

Oh yes, rumours!

Rumours, rumours, rumours.

It makes you wonder who starts these far-fetched questionable rumours, doesn’t it?

Upon what ground?

It’s probably some old git with nothing better to do.

A real saddo.

Probably some Jack who’s all work and no play.

What profession, do you think?

Hmm.

Let me see.

Hmm.

Probably something really sad. A sad, insular, lonely profession.

I know! Must be a teacher!

A college teacher.

That’s it!

Probably an English teacher; they’re the worst.

Snowed under with marking they can get quite vindictive in their private lives. Probably all of that pent-up frustration. Got to let it out somewhere, haven’t they?

Maybe a part-time English teacher?

A full-timer wouldn't have enough time to devise such crafty pernicious tittle-tattle.

Yes. Probably a part-time English teacher who’s envious of my coruscating wit and intertextual panache!

Yes, yes. Very sad indeed.

I know!

Probably an English teacher whose spent all of his money on bass guitar pedals during the pandemic, and still doesn’t have a single fucking clue how to use them!

What a sad git!

What a Zero!

[Long Pause]

Mind you, I need to be careful here.

Very careful.

[Pause]

I could be accused of starting a rumour.

Water Cannons at Dawn:

Or; The Fall and The Solemn Oath

Well, I’ve always said, like Mrs Candour, that ‘tale-bearers are as bad as the tale-makers’, so I think we should stop all of this gossip forthwith!

I don’t want to be involved or in any way complicit, you see.

So, if it’s not the whole pernicious-rumour thing, and if it’s not the whole UK-Fetish-Awards-thing, and if it’s not the whole Insta-follower thing, then 'What serious misdeed struck you so to the soul that you made a solemn revenge-pledge,- with the stars as your witness?' you ask!

How is it that a happy-go-plucky fellow such as I, - a chap with a spring-in-his-step, his willie-in-a-wedgie, and a plunger-in-his-posterior, could possibly be so moved as to make the grave vow of ‘Tit-for-tat Retaliation!’? ‘Why so?’, I hear you say;- ‘You’re more a blithesome-bedlam-Bernard than a Reprisal-Raymond! You’re far more toothsome-a-chum than being an ‘eye-for-an-eye’-crony’! You’re not a petty punter, not one to hold a gripe-and-a-grudge! So why have you laid down the gauntlet, and sworn on-your-sword, “Water Cannons at Dawn”?’

‘What have you got against Nisha-Sara-Nisha?’ you bellow in bemusement.

‘How can this be?’ you enquire.

‘What’s going on with you?’ you frown.

Well, I’ll tell you.

[Pause]

I hope you're ready.

[Pause]

It’s because…

[Long Pause]

…she giggled at me.

[Pause]

She giggled at me.

Giggled.

She did.

Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did.Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't.Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't. Did. Didn't.

Did so.

[Pause]

You thought you’d got away with that one, didn’t you?

I heard you.

[Pause]

Actually, maybe it was more of a chuckle?

Yes, a chuckle!

Well, I’m not a petty chap, but I never let a chuckle go unchecked.

Never!

You have to live life by some strict ethical standards, you know.

Now, I might be a rebel without a pause. I might have a taste for transgression. I might be tempted by breaking a taboo, or two, but this chuckling business is quite another matter!

[Pause]

Actually, maybe it was more of a snigger?

That’s it, a snigger!

Sniggers are more underhand than chuckles!

More underhand.

A covert, under-the-palm of-the-hand snigger!

Yes, that’s it.

It’s one of those suspicious instances when, as soon as the snigger is noted, you look round at the guilty party and the hand-palm has been withdrawn and the criminal looks all sweet-and-innocent, as if to say ‘It’s not me!’

Now, I’m a courageous kinda guy who can take some knocks-and-blows, can laugh along with being mocked roundly, can look at the terrifying stars and say, ‘Suffer! We must endure!’ like a good old stoic.

I’m not one to blow things out of proportion! I won’t make a mountain out of a molehill, or a dunghill out of a mountain, or a shovel-of-shit out of twenty burst-doggie-pooper-scooper-bags, oh no! Not me! I look at my masculine insecurities in the style of a high-speed head-on collision and say, “Oh well! Brace yourself for yet another wreckage! Carnage incoming!’

That’s me!

That is I!

I take the rough-with-the-rough, I do.

But if you think I’m going to let the matter of a covert snigger pass me by, oh no!

There I was, at the January LBB, in my fine psychedelic art nouveau regalia, (weird face-mask and eye-patch in tow), creating sublime astonishment wherever I wended my glowingly-grinning way and I was stopped in my tracks by a terrifying snigger.

Oooh, it was like a thunderbolt, it was!

Now, you might think, particularly with my outstanding record of rising above an insult-or-two, above petty provocations, that I’ve demeaned myself. That this is small-minded nickle-and-dime niggling. That I’m just a sad old insecure petty-minded twerp.

But, a snigger?

I say, oh no, oh no. I can’t let that go!

Revenge! Retribution! Vengeance!

The outrage of such an affront!

The defamation of the deed!

‘Oh, reputation, reputation, reputation! Iago, I have lost my reputation!’

(If I had one in the first place.)

You see, I have a literary mind, I do.

So a snigger is not a mere snigger.

Oh no.

Stuff is always some other stuff, in literature, you see?

Shit is always some other shit!

A tree is not a tree, a car is not a car, and eating dinner is never eating dinner. Oh no.

Bollocks means other bollocks, you see?

So, as I live literature, and it moves through me at all times, this snigger-business put me in mind of Albert Camus!

This snigger had weight, resonance, and meaning, and strangely, no meaning at all!

Aha!

Oooh, the existential void!

This no-meaning-whatsoever-business brought a terrifying turbulence into the world!

Just like that echoing laugh in The Fall!

Might be a sneaky-snigger to you, but, of course, its real meaning brought the history of the world’s beliefs into complete chaos, struck civilisation to a standstill, and heralded apocalyptic prophecy!

So, if you think I’m blowing a trivial occurrence out of proportion, as you can objectively see, it’s nothing of the kind!

The whole history of future-time depends upon the rectification of this injustice!

So, from that day on, I swore!

And I don’t mean the whole shit-bugger-damn-bollocks-arse-and-fuck routine.

(Although I did that too!)

I mean a solemn oath!

A weighty vow!

A portentous pledge!

Revenge!

...

[to be continued, sideways]

Music to Exit:

'Wolf', SNYL feat. Bonnie Spacey

Coming up, in Part IV; The Grand Anti-Climax:

1. The Blue Curtain: Or; Re-Enter The Glamourtits Imperative

2. “No One Took a Picture of Me”

3. Oh, Hubris! Oh, Vanitas!

4. Rebel Redemption

5. In the Court of Queen Glamourtits

6. The Barmy Balmy Prongster Army

The Foolish Footnotes:

3 Record Mirror, 1986, ‘Read Tarot Cards, where the glorious Mark E. says, ‘There’s been parts of The Fall’s history where I’ve deliberately gone out of me way to lose audiences.’ [Return]

4 A tale told in wonderfully colourful and entirely unnecessay detail in 'The Apology Conundrum Episode 2: The Bat Cave' here [Return]

5 My first among many astounding masterpieces, 'On How Not to Enter the UK Fetish Awards', a story which remains at the top of the Hit Parade, can be located here [Return]