A
Civic Duty
He
was still wearing that stupid chef's hat when he came into view. It
was a damp drizzly, dark night, and rear entrance of the TV studio,
it was a stark and wet, almost chilling backdrop. I had him in my
sights as he opened the rear door of his chauffeur driven Bentley, it
was a good night for affirmative action.
This
guy seemed to have 4 cooking shows a night on four different TV
channels, and those that weren’t running him were running re-runs.
I
had a civic duty to perform, as I gently squeezed the trigger. Oops,
might have over done it a bit with the ammo, it was a lousy colour to
paint a Bentley anyway, metallic lime green, I ask you, the man had
no taste. For a moment his body remained in its crouched position as
he was about to enter the car, but just above his shoulders it was as
though a water melon had exploded, puréed one might say.
The
green Bentley was the perfect backdrop, it was like salad dressing,
deli style, Italian herb maybe, and as the white chef's hat came
fluttering down it was like a dollop of cream on top, poetry, shear
poetry. I'm an artist with an M85.
Well
that's a few less cooking shows we have to endure, off to channel 9
now, the footy show is about to finish up. I've got a Kalashnikov
for them. It's a dirty job I know, but be grateful there are those of
us out there prepared to do our civic duty.
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