Friday, May 08, 2009

May 14-18, Harry's Country Club at 7 p.m.

I was going to make the announcement here in this dank place of a blog. I was struggling with something witty and entertaining, but not too morbid.

Thank Jebus I have friends who are far more intelligent and even bigger drunks than I am. Here is what snuck into my e-mail from My Old Roommate and ex-patriot from The Paragraph Factory:

Once he felt the bullets whiz by his face, instinct told Kansas City Chief of Police Jim Corwin that something was wrong.

"How in hell can people even fire bullets up this high," Corwin muttered to himself, as he fiddled with the beacon atop the Liberty Memorial.

The town had sunk into disarray. Mayhem. Madness. Chaos. Ever since last fall, he'd been tempted to scale the structure and send out the signal, but he'd waited until the last possible moment.

He rigged his iPod into a state-of-the-art speaker system, and cranked the sound up to 11.

"I MAKE MY LIVING OFF THE EVENING NEWS
JUST GIVE ME SOMETHING -- SOMETHING I CAN USE."

Corwin never cared much for the song. Except for that part about the bubble-headed bleach blonde who comes on at five.

With a deep sigh, knowing what consequences his action might unleash on the city he loved and cared for, he flipped a switch, extinguishing the not-so-eternal flame briefly in favor of a large "E" that illuminated the cumulonimbus clouds gathering in the night sky.

Corwin scowled as the wind whirled on top of the monument. He folded his arms and turned his gaze to the east, waiting for the force, terrible and destructive, to return. He knew it would simultaneously save the city from its current troubles, all the while unleashing a new horde of problems.

Oh hell, he thought, at least everyone would enjoy themselves doing it.

"WE CAN DO THE INNUENDO. WE CAN DANCE AND SING.
WHEN IT'S SAID AND DONE WE HAVEN'T TOLD YOU A THING.
WE ALL KNOW THAT CRAP IS KING!"

There was no doubt now. Mike was coming back...

That's right, like that hick Garth Brooks I am coming to KC for an extended tour to drink your liquor, terrorize your women and possibly solve a mystery or two — Nancy Drew-style. If I'm lucky maybe I can even Track Down Tater where he lives and make him play some House of the Rising Sun "for old time sake."

Hell, I'm still registered to vote in KC, I might even get in on some of that Funkhouser Recall Action — take the bastard down a peg or two.

The possibilties are endless — and my social calendar is pretty packed, but I if there is good drink and some music in the background you can pretty much assume I'm there.

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