Chapter 15: The Fireman, Engulfed in Flames
See the fireman.
See the fireman burn.
Burn, fireman, burn.
Such were the words written in the notebook of esteemed poet and life-long Nobel Prize candidate Rajiv Lickdick. Monsieur Lickdick was sitting in the shade of a big giant huge pineapple tree, a tree that sprang pineapples as fruit. Such a remarkable contraption! Only God can make a pinapple tree.
Monsieur Lickdick had recently taken to walking like an Egyptian. You know, with his arms flailing about, and dancing a dance of death, to call down the evil god PANJO to Earth. In his syphilitic mind, Lickdick saw the god destroy EVERYTHING. Cars, women, humanoid donkeys, engines, everything. Visions of life and laughter and DOOM.
"Panjo will cleanse us", Lickdick said to himself, licking his dick in anticipation. I mean his lips. Licking his lips.
"What's that, Rajiv?", the tree barked.
But from Lickdick's dick, answer came there none.
(His lips, I mean. His lips were silent. Not that his dick gave an answer either, but you don't really expect dicks to talk, do you? Lips talk. Dicks dick around. It's the circle of life.)
His dick, in fact, his dick, it was the dick of song. During his ill- considered, some might say squandered but what the fuck do they know?, youth, Monsieur Lickdick had toured the nightclubs and theatre stages of Europe, performing as "The Amazing Singing Penis (With Guy Attached)".
Yes, under the alias of Guy Attached, Esq., Lickdick had toured with his penis. Could the penis sing? Of course it couldn't! His penis was no more amazing than mine. And let me tell you, my penis is pretty unspectacular. If it was interesting in any way, do you really think I'd be sitting here writing completely improvised stories about a guy who toured Europe with his singing dick? In flashback, no less! No, I'd probably be walking around the harbor, offering my services for petty cash. "Fancy a shag, sailor boy?", I'd say in an unconvincing British accent. Then I'd get the shit kicked out of me.
One day the nightclub owner said to Rajiv, "Guy, you think you're pretty hot with your penis that can sing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' in B flat, but you know what? The crowds are getting bored. You need to teach your penis other songs, or you need to get yourself a new job. You're not welcome here at The Dickatorium anymore." (The nightclub the nightclub owner owned was The Dickatorium.)
For a moment, Lickdick was stunned. Then he threw a glass of water in the face of the nightclub owner, and walked into the wall, disappearing.
He didn't resurface until the Second World War, now posing as Reichskansler Billy Bratwurst, the nastiest man in the south west. But that is a completely different story, which you'll likely NEVER get to read.