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Crimson Skye’s Bedlam Stories

Well, smack my bitch up bitches!

I know I’ve been truly rubbish and I’m a week late with this instalment of Bedlam Stories but I went to Ireland for five days, was drunk for five days and have been drying out for a further ten days.

I wish I could tell you that I was a paragon of virtue – but I can’t. I was mainlining red wine, vodka and some weird jelly shots.

I wish I could tell you that trip into the country was a journey of delight and beautiful scenery. But I can’t. I was trapped on a bus with a crazy diabetic bitch while the rain lashed down in one of Irelands rare and unusual shit weather systems.

And I wish I could tell you that Andy fought the good fight, and the Sisters let him be. I wish I could tell you that – but prison is no fairy-tale world.

So, since I’m too knackered to be angry, you’ll get yourself a burlesque story with a little True Crime thrown in for good measure.

Ireland…a place of wonder and booze, although mainly booze, which is why it appeals so to alcoholics the world over. I went at the bequest of a man who calls himself Big Chief Random Chaos and he is, true to his name, Irish.

He is the genius behind the League of Decadent Bastards and being partial to slapping on a bit of facial hair myself, I managed to convince him to let me go over and be a Bastard for the weekend. We were performing two gigs: one in Dublin and one deep in the mystical countryside, in a sleepy little town called Cavan. A place where you can have a quiet drink or ten, take part in the local pumpkin festival and yes, shoot your wife in jest on your 4th wedding anniversary and get away with it!

In this quiet, peaceful border town is an undercurrent of malice, despair and peril. Actually, it’s just full of drunk people on a Saturday night and Mr & Mrs McFlurry (name changed for legal reasons – the reason being, I have no money to defend myself if I were to be sued) were just one such typical young couple, bombed out of their minds on a celebratory piss-up.

The night had started well, they hadn’t argued and had made sure to put the kids to sleep…okay…bed…and were listening to music at home, smashed out of their tiny little minds. (Alright – I am elaborating here but it adds to the dramatic tension don’t you think?). Picture the scene. A gale howling outside. Thunder CRASHING! Lightening FLASHING! Wind…er…DASHING! the tree against the window pane. The music of the Corrs building up into a terrifying crescendo, when suddenly Mrs McFlurry turns to Mr McFlurry and says “Let’s get some grooves on big boy. I’m in a Daniel O’Donnell kinda mood and I wanna strip out of this cardigan and get jiggy on yo ass!”

To which Mr McFlurry replied, while reaching for his gun, “I will get the gun to you”, (actual bona fide court transcript) and promptly shot Mrs McFlurry in the face.

Ok – apart from those last two lines, most of what I’ve written is pure fantasy but the fact that it’s actually based on reality is pure comedy gold! This next bit is lifted straight from the court transcript…and re-jigged a bit.

The defendant gathered his children and his wife and took them to the Garda station. During a search of the home, Gardaí came across a crossbow.

I’m dying to find out what he had planned for their 5th wedding anniversary, bearing in mind that the 5th anniversary is Wood! I’m thinking he was going to take her out to the woods for a romantic stroll and act out role-play with her as the wild deer and him as the burly (probably wasted) huntsman.

But it’s sadly a moot point as Mrs McFlurry said “We are getting on well at the moment, but we are not living together.”

I wish them the best of luck and hope they sort out their differences soon so that we can get the next instalment of this passionate but ultimately doomed romance.

In evidence the defendant said he wanted to plead guilty to the incident and apologise to his wife. “It was an absolute accident.” He also thanked the Gardaí for getting his wife to hospital so quickly.

Summing up the Judge said “It was a bizarre case and in normal circumstances you would be sending the defendant away for 12 months.”

Twelve months? For shooting someone in the face? Is that all? The local lollipop lady better have eyes in the back of her head from now on…just saying.

“However, the case had unusual features. It was not premeditated but unfortunately the gun was loaded and safety procedures were not observed”.

I think it’s pretty clear that safety procedures where quite low down on the agenda that night.

The end result? The defendant’s gun licence was revoked. Happy days.

Had I known the danger I was about to put myself into, I’d have invested in a Kevlar vest, a crash helmet and a flamethrower but such is the wonder of ignorance, I just toodled down to deepest, darkest Cavan with a big bottle of vodka, a can of squirty cream and a banana – terrifying tools if used correctly.

So, all things considered, think we were in the right place after all. Accompanying me to The Land that Sanity Forgot were Frank Sanazi – he of the Hitler parody songs and a bottomless pit of puns and Chris Lynam – a professional lunatic i.e. clown, whose big finale involves a rocket firework, a lighter and his bum cheeks.

Thus we, from over thither joined a motley, rag-tag crew made up of Big Chief himself, Lucy Rhinehart, Lilly DeValle and Tipsy Pony – all three, beautiful and darkly twisted burlesquers, Grim Squeaker with a mind-reading act that would make Derren Brown reach for a gun, put it in his mouth and pull the trigger until his brains went splat, myself and in the audience, the crazy diabetic bitch, on a lethal cocktail of gin and lust, with Frank Sanazi set squarely in her crosshairs.

I must also add (much to the chagrin of the crazy diabetic bitch who was supposed to be my assistant, but instead spent most of the time dry-humping my hips) that I made it into the local paper! Yes, THE local paper – Cavan Living. You haven’t really made it until you make Cavan Living! I’ve truly become an International Burlesque Superstar now – see?

But sadly the magic of Cavan could only last one night before we turned into pumpkins ourselves and the next morning we awoke to the sound of howling wind and rain…again.

I had to get the crazy diabetic bitch food before she decided to slip into a Bombay Sapphire induced coma. She’d managed to ingest the best part of an entire bottle the night before, lose all sense of personal boundaries and terrorise Frank Sanazi for most of the evening, much to my personal enjoyment. I watched the ‘seduction’ progress through phases 1 to 6 before she gave up on phasing it and went all out into warp speed. I think I saw Frank involuntarily twitch in fear a number of times throughout the onslaught but like Gandalf, he made sure she WOULD NOT PASS!

Not one to accept defeat easily, the plan was put on hold until the next show and so the crazy diabetic bitch leapt into bed with me and kept me awake with a sonic cacophony that would have been impressive if it weren’t for the fact that it was accompanied by WWF style thrashing every time she turned over. I woke the next morning with a raging hangover, one eye bugging out and the other twitching.

We eventually found food, endured the bus back through the monsoon and finally alighted in Dublin’s fair city, where that esteemed local newspaper, The Dublin People (Northside East edition) was running a story entitled:

Sod Turned on Beaumont Psychiatric Facility.

Quite.

And so just to add to the general air of lunacy that pervaded throughout the weekend, the second nights show added the following to the original Cavan line up:

Big Chief himself with his world-renowned act involving his bare naked arse and a load of dangerously sprung mousetraps (I missed it on the first night), Phil TGorgeous, a beautiful Drag King who managed to confuse just about everybody in the room (I thought I’d grown a willy and got a stiffy until I realised I had a banana in my pants…could have had a nasty accident with the squirty cream but saved that for the audience instead!). Next up, Desdamona, a lovely little sparrow with a massive Piaf voice, then a circus trio with a penchant for leotards and full-frontal nudity called The Patriots, Christian Talbot whose comedy turn managed to sort out the recession and Irelands transport problems – it went down a storm in Dublin but he’ll have to watch it in places where The Hills Have Eyes, and just to ice the fruity, nutty cake that was the League of Decadent Bastards, Siamese Scream whose fucked-up, psychedelic, Fear and Loathing burlesque channelled the filthy swine himself.

Photo courtesy Oyster Zepplin @ roscos photography

And lastly the audience who were lovely and pissed as farts and thus wildly enthusiastic…and lest I forget, crazy diabetic bitch who I love with all my black, icy cold heart.

Visit Ireland. The place where all your deepest repressed memories can come true but you’ll feel too dirty to talk about it.

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