murraythebastard.com
Featured Quote: "In honour of the occasion, I will bring the last of your DVDs from my house. Can we snuggle like we did when you stayed here that week? Murray to male friend"
The Murray of Oz
"Make sure that bass doesn't get hurt! No not bass as in fish - bass as in my livelihood."
Murray was annoyed that the Qantas Airways baggage handlers were not looking out for his best interests. It seems these rough and tumble Aussies could not appreciate the rhythmic feast soon to be served by Murray and his mates.
After a vegemite sandwich had calmed his frazzled nerves, our hero decided it was time to hit Syndey's red light district. After all, his talents were known to make grown men giggle and young women swoon. Surely he could find one of the two in Kings Cross.
Once he had made sure that Kings Cross "ladies of the night" are tested regularly, it did not take Murray long to find what he was looking for. Within minutes of strolling along the sidewalk, he was coaxed into an establishment that promised entertainment for his eyes and his loins.
However, upon entering, Murray noticed something curious...
Among the pretty young things ... amidst the redheads brunettes, and blondes ... between the promises of delights he had only ever read about and the ones he had overheard going on in bandmates' motel rooms ... alongside the landingstrips and the brazilians ... atop randy sheets and below the dank florescent bulbs ... there he sat - resplendent in his buddha-like repose.
Murray approached with caution. He knew how situations like these could go down. With reverence, pity, defiance, snarkiness, passion, and not a little ennui, he said to the shrouded figure, "
I, sir, am Murray, bass player extroardinaire. I am a former member of the band The Chia Pets and Dave, and now lead singer of a Pete Best cover band with which I'm currently touring Australia. I am not un-tall, neither am I difficult to look at. I do not stink after I scrub very diligently. I have the requisite number of appendages to get the job done. My locker combination in 14 28 5. Sometimes I wake up hungry and want nothing but Pasta Salad, of the Prognosticating variety. There are people out there who give driving directions to one another by saying "make a 'Murray' at the light" and that creeps me out. I am a Bastard. And you are..."
"Intrigued," said the figure. "But you can call me 'Russ, the Casually Observing Interloper.' You are very forthright about yourself. But your motives remain a mystery to me. What, praytell, do you mean by coming to such a place as this...This villa of vileness...This hovel of whores...This lurid sea of lusty sluts...This den of desecration...? A fine strapping young lad such as yourself must have no trouble finding plenty of legitmate lovin'."
"Well," said Murray, ready to dispense with the niceties, "you sort of hit the nail on the head there when you used the word 'strapping.' Now. I'd like to see what's behind Door Number 3, please."
Russ, placing a finger to his lips and glancing down, afraid to meet Mr. Foster's gaze, shook his head and murmured "I do not believe you are man enough to see what is behind door number three."
"You're stalling. Open the damn door," demanded Murray.
"Hold on there, Cowboy. Indeed, you are a Bastard. I was just testing. Okay. Here you go. But before you go in, I have to give you three simple rules:
1. No pillow fights. It's bad enough when the Chicken Lady molts.
2. Do not feed the mogwai after midnight
3. We believe in safe sex. Do you prefer key or combination lock?
"Retinal scan" said Murray, "for my 31% green (26 of 83 responses), 35% brown (29 of 83 responses), and 34% baby blue (28 of 83 responses) peepers. And a lot of lube."
"Then away we go," said Russ. He pulled on a gold tassle which seemed to appear out of nowhere in front of them. Angels began to sing. The deep red velvet curtains (which had formerly been a door, but it's more dramatic this way) slowly began to part, exactly the way the legs of Catholic school girl wouldn't. Murray could feel beads of sweat forming on his temples and wait - was he salivating?
And there she was... the Interloper. Resplendant in a silk gown, her long brown locks flowing down her ivory back, a big grin on her face. "I hope you don't mind that I inserted myself into your story," she said in a milk chocolate voice. "It's just that you seemed to be having such a good time, and well, I wanted to be there."
Murray suspected that the presentation before him had little bearing on reality. She was probably sitting in her cubicle at work hoping that no one would peer at her computer screen. He bet she was wearing business casual. He could picture her button down shirt, well tailored and buttoned just up not quite modestly. Leather pumps, maybe open toed. Gold and pearl earrings. But back to that blouse... and that button. The top one. The one Murray wanted to undo...
"Now hold on just one moment, Murray," said Ms. Interloper. "Here I get all dolled up for you and you're imagining me the way I really am? Of all the nerve! But, who am I not to oblige?" And with that, the Interloper imagined herself to be the way she imagined Murray imagined her to be.
"Is it getting meta in here or is it just me?" Murray asked, grinning widely. "And, now that it's real, when do I get my hands on that blouse button?"
"All in good time," said the Interloper. First, I've got something in mind for you. Hmmm, how should I put this. Let's just say I'm way better than most woman that su..."
"...ch a lovely day we're having, aren't we, Sir?" Murray looked confused at her sudden transition, until he saw what the Interloper had seen -
The officer's handlebar mustache was twitching with anger. His dog, clearly a mix between a great dane and a chihuahua, stood at attention, ready to leap at command. As he headed toward Interloper, she could make out the words on his badge. "Fan Girl Police," they read. "Damn," she mumbled. "I've been outed." "Well duh," said Murray, who'd heard her. "Who else would insert herself into the story...?"
"Let me at her" said the policeman. "I have reason to believe that she is illegitmately writing on a for-friends-only website, one where fishgirls like her are not welcome." "Did you just call me a fishgirl?" Interloper flashed. "Do you see me fawning over a certain Persian Cowboy?" "Well, then a piscogirl. You know, a Murray fishgirl."
"That might be true," Interloper said, "and it also might be true that only a subset of the reading audience will understand this part of the story - hi guys! Hope I'm not an insensitive clod! But isn't it also true that without people like me the bands we love wouldn't be able to make a living? We're the ones who buy the albums, come to the shows, sport the T-Shirts. We're the ones who scream out the names, memorize the lyrics, do the hand motions. We're the ones who make you feel like rockstars."
"I've heard it all before" the mean officer responded. "Tell it to the..."
"Wait!" It was Murray. A tear was running down his cheek. "Don't let her forget her purse!"
Bastard.
Contributors:
| Russ | 2005-12-02 |
| Casual observer | 2006-01-06 |
| Interloper | 2006-03-13 |
| Interloper | 2006-03-24 |
| Interloper | 2006-03-30 |
| Urban Cowgirl | 2006-04-21 |
| Interloper | 2006-04-23 |
| Interloper | 2006-05-01 |
| Interloper | 2006-05-05 |
| Interloper | 2006-05-11 |
| Interloper | 2006-05-15 |