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This is one of those crack-brained holdovers from when I was working the night shift - victim of overexposure to fluorescent lights and a wonky sleep cycle - kicked back to the front of my brain by today's Lesson in Punk at Hot Topic.
The Very Secret Diary of Billy Tallent
(disclaimer: as![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cesperanza pointed out, I didn't know the meaning of the anarchy symbol until a few hours ago, so I really ought to be getting this vetted by someone who, at the very least, lived through the punk era; but it's just a bit of silliness, so I didn't. Please forgive.)
Movie-spoilerish, though not end-of-movie-spoilerish, because I didn't get that far, with a bit of non-contradictory book canon thrown in.
Day 1
Joe called, fed me some line about doing a benefit show for Bucky Haight because he got shot and both his legs were amputated, so he could pretend it wasn’t just him, asking me to come back.
Bucky fucking Haight, seriously. I hate that fuck, I wish they *had* cut his legs off, and I wish if Joe was going to lie to me he’d at least bother to come up with something plausible. I’ve been living in L.A. for five years - not Hollywood, thank you, Los Angeles. People get shot here all the time - way more often than they do on their fucking farms out on the fucking prairie, for instance - and I’ve never heard of anybody getting shot and losing their *legs*. Jesus.
This is what happens, when he starts improvising without me.
But he’s already gone and told lots of people and, Bucky or no, Joe has sucked it up and asked me back, so what the fuck. I pretended like I believed him, I said I’d be there. So, just like when he decided we were going to play “Hair” despite not even knowing all the fucking words, nevermind the chords, I’ll just go along and try to make it look good.
Jesus. Amputated legs. Pure Joe, though. Pure Dick.
(later)
I’ve been in L.A. way too long. I keep thinking about going back, and every time I think about it, I think I’m going to get there, and Vancouver will be just like L.A., and Joe, John, Pipe, everybody - even Bucky, not that he’d be there since according to Joe’s story he’s in the hospital in Regina or somewhere - everybody’ll have been replaced with these shiny Hollywood doppelgangers. They’ll be drop-dead gorgeous and only fucked up in pretty, interesting, movie-of-the-week ways, except I'll still be me.
I was always the prettiest, back when. Pretty enough to stand out in clubs all over Western Canada, pretty enough for Joe to make pretty princess jokes for fucking *years* until I started getting in fights, picked up a few scars, and then he just gave me the pretty princess look, but at least he stopped *saying* it.
Fuck. If Pipe is better looking than me, I’m getting back on the plane, and Bucky can play on street corners for spare change like any other cripple.
Day 2
Still the prettiest.
The rest of it’s fucked, but it’s fucked the way it always has been, and I’m still the prettiest. So I guess I’m going to do this, then.
Day 4
Bruce keeps looking at me, and it’s seriously starting to creep me out.
Not too worried, though. Joe will kill him if he tries anything.
And that's all I've got.
The Very Secret Diary of Billy Tallent
(disclaimer: as
cesperanza pointed out, I didn't know the meaning of the anarchy symbol until a few hours ago, so I really ought to be getting this vetted by someone who, at the very least, lived through the punk era; but it's just a bit of silliness, so I didn't. Please forgive.) Movie-spoilerish, though not end-of-movie-spoilerish, because I didn't get that far, with a bit of non-contradictory book canon thrown in.
Day 1
Joe called, fed me some line about doing a benefit show for Bucky Haight because he got shot and both his legs were amputated, so he could pretend it wasn’t just him, asking me to come back.
Bucky fucking Haight, seriously. I hate that fuck, I wish they *had* cut his legs off, and I wish if Joe was going to lie to me he’d at least bother to come up with something plausible. I’ve been living in L.A. for five years - not Hollywood, thank you, Los Angeles. People get shot here all the time - way more often than they do on their fucking farms out on the fucking prairie, for instance - and I’ve never heard of anybody getting shot and losing their *legs*. Jesus.
This is what happens, when he starts improvising without me.
But he’s already gone and told lots of people and, Bucky or no, Joe has sucked it up and asked me back, so what the fuck. I pretended like I believed him, I said I’d be there. So, just like when he decided we were going to play “Hair” despite not even knowing all the fucking words, nevermind the chords, I’ll just go along and try to make it look good.
Jesus. Amputated legs. Pure Joe, though. Pure Dick.
(later)
I’ve been in L.A. way too long. I keep thinking about going back, and every time I think about it, I think I’m going to get there, and Vancouver will be just like L.A., and Joe, John, Pipe, everybody - even Bucky, not that he’d be there since according to Joe’s story he’s in the hospital in Regina or somewhere - everybody’ll have been replaced with these shiny Hollywood doppelgangers. They’ll be drop-dead gorgeous and only fucked up in pretty, interesting, movie-of-the-week ways, except I'll still be me.
I was always the prettiest, back when. Pretty enough to stand out in clubs all over Western Canada, pretty enough for Joe to make pretty princess jokes for fucking *years* until I started getting in fights, picked up a few scars, and then he just gave me the pretty princess look, but at least he stopped *saying* it.
Fuck. If Pipe is better looking than me, I’m getting back on the plane, and Bucky can play on street corners for spare change like any other cripple.
Day 2
Still the prettiest.
The rest of it’s fucked, but it’s fucked the way it always has been, and I’m still the prettiest. So I guess I’m going to do this, then.
Day 4
Bruce keeps looking at me, and it’s seriously starting to creep me out.
Not too worried, though. Joe will kill him if he tries anything.
And that's all I've got.