The moustached puppet singled me out... mainly because all of the other members of the audience walked out in the first five minutes because they probably didn't like the show as much as I did.
"Want to know where I've been?" said the puppet
"yes" said I. (at this point I'd like to change it from this narrative type writing to a script. I'm preparing you for it by mentioning it so that it will be a smooth and subtle change and you will hardly notice it.)
Puppet: I've been hanging out with my friend Ziggy
Me: oh.
Puppet: you'll find him jamming rather well with Weird and Gily
Me: erm...
Puppet: he plays guitar left handed
Really?: (me)
Puppet: He has screwed up eyes and a screwed down hair do, like some cat from japan
Me: When you say cat do you mean actual cat or are you talking in jive like street people?
Puppet: you're the one making up this story so you're the only one who can answer that.
At this point he had made me angry so I stopped playing along.
Me: I know you're lying to me, you don't have a friend called Ziggy, you're quoting david Bowie Lyrics at me and discuising them as a story to make yourself sound more interesting.
Puppet: David Who?
Me: you're quoting David Bowie lyrics at me.
Puppet: I could give you a great quote on car insurance!
By this point I was so angry, the penny had dropped, I knew who he was, I was angry, did I mention that? I pulled off his fake moustache and hit the hat off his head.
I explained to him that I knew that he knew who David Bowie was because Bowie produced his 1973 album raw power and that there are lots of photos of Iggy with Bowie.
He was caught out, hook line and sinker... his one final defence was that he wasn't Iggy Pop, he was simply a puppet that looked like him...
So I went behind the blind to find the real Iggy Pop in control of the puppet, he was crying and apologising for letting me down and lying to me. He was wearing a nappy full of shit and he spooned out the shit from the nappy and wiped it all over his naked torso and using it as a kind of wank lubricant as he tried in vain to make his flacid penis erect while crying still.
Or doing something even more discusting.
I've been having lots of dreams like this recently. That I've been going to puppet shows in South East london, in all honesty I've never really been interested in puppeteering. I have always had more than a passing interest in Rock & Roll, Punk and its fuck you aesthetic. I admired the balls of people like Joe Strummer, Sid Vicious and Jilted John... so it pains me to see people like Lydon, a hero who has been in not one but two of the most influential bands of the 20th century. Public Image Ltd and Time Zone. It is nice to see him back on our screens even if it is just to advertise butter.
Lydon, eating our souls.
My Psychiatrist thinks that I'm over reacting and should probably discuss the fact that I am always fantasizing about rock stars wearing soiled nappies and wanking. and at the very least, I should stop eating so much cheese before I go to bed.
I would love to but I think that someone at the cheese company stapled this image to the inside of my eyelids.
I ask myself, what would I do in Lydon or Ostenbergs situation? I'd probably take the money and run as well, I have no morals, no principals, and most importantly, no cash. But it doesn't make it any less painful to watch two heroes of mine shrink so that they are small enough to fit into my TV, and once they are in there patiently waiting for the next commercial break to sell their insurance or their butter. I think I'd rather see them crying and smeared in their own shit wearing a nappy trying to stimulate their flacid impotent plastic penis's.
Somehow it would seem more dignified.
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