A week after leaving the rehab clinic where I was effectively shielded from the influence of vice, I was relaxing in my chaise when I got a text with no return number. "At the Crossroads, bring your sunglasses". I didn't need to spend much time pondering this message, it was DW, and he was about to punk Satan.
A red-eye flight was available so I booked the next flight to Mississippi, packed a small backpack with an incomplete toiletry kit, a pair of skivvies, my black on black ray ban aviators and hit the road. By the time I landed in Hattiesburg the sky was darker than it should have been. I was late, and I needed to get to the prince of darkness before DW. Its not clear what happens to the rest of us when the balance of good and evil is offset by the whimsy of a larger-than-life mortal, bent on playing the arch-angel for a fool.
The cab driver took my 20 and didn't offer up change, it didn't matter. A couple of bucks seemed like a bargain for the spare minute that might hold the balance of the world within its margins. I ran as fast as I could towards the non-descript intersection where the endless whizzing-by of oblivious pickups, cars and trucks is only rarely interrupted by the entrance of Beelzebub from his smoky depths. The haze seemed out of place, but it was a sure sign that DW had already showed...Satan doesn't emerge for just anyone.
Their silhouettes were incongruous to say the least. One, a 20ft winged behemoth and the other, a flightless man, shrouded in a duster and doffed with a well-worn cowboy hat. I dashed behind a tree in the median, unwittingly directly next to DW's guitar case. It was empty. I shuffled my undies and toothpaste around in my bag until my fingers met a pen and pad. I pulled it out, sifted quickly through the pages to a fresh one and began to record what might become the beginning of the end, for DW, for all of us.
It was hard to make out what they were saying to each other, but the snorts and clacking of Satan's hoofs on the pavement accentuated the gravity of the negotiations. It was a stand off. The counter-balance to all that is good against the boldest man on earth. I dug in, donned my Ray Bans, wrote furiously and hoped against all hope that mankind's emissary of cool would out-do the done dunnit.
Part II coming soon...
wbb
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Readers: attached is a note from noted journalist Bill Searchman, who recently made contact with the wraith-like DW as he crosses the country, saving and penetrating. Since I have been sidelined of late, nursing an acute addiction to pharmaceutical pain killers and highly potent marijuana, I'm happy to pass along this colorful report of our generations icon that Bill sent to me this evening:
"DWRR Readers,
It is with esteemed pleasure that I joyfully announce I recently spoke with David Wesley via Skype for a few minutes as his whereabouts for the latter part of 2011 have remained a mystery. He assured me that he has been living up to his glorious reputation. Indeed, I was absolutely floored by his whimsical energy and joie de vivre.
Dear friends, our fellow humanitarian David Wesley is alive and well. In November, he flew off for a short rendezvous at the Playboy Mansion, where Hugh Hefner personally honored him with the esteemed "Legendary Womanizing Humanitarian" award from the Guinness Book of World Records. As of November 2011, he currently holds the world record for charming over 10,355 big breasted women. Hefner later recalled getting a phone call from basketball legend Wilt Chamberlain congratulating Wesley for his stunning achievement but Hefner admitted that Chamberlain weeped incessantly. His three night stay there would put many hedonists to shame. From there, he flew to the Mississippi Delta rallying his followers over the injustices of income inequality and marched with hundreds of sycophants ( over 33% were big breasted women), to Washington D.C. where they had a glorious cook out in front of the White House.
Several lobbyists stopped in awe to watch Wesley with his hightop, white cooking hat that read "Die Lobbyist Scum." It was then that something utterly supernatural occurred, an event of biblical proportions. The smoke from the spare ribs on the grill seemingly took on a life of its own, smothering several lobbyists. As some of them coughed and begged for mercy, Wesley was heard saying, "Today, we rebuild a new America" The thunderous applause nearly broke the sound barrier. Through the smoke, one nameless lobbyist from Chase Bank looked on in awe as Wesley was seen cavorting and fornicating with several big breasted brunettes on the White House lawn. When the smoke cleared, he was gone. In his wake, our humanitarian hero not only gained a newly minted legion of politicians and lobbyists in Washington who now consider themselves "Wesleyians" but an esteemed group of political criminals seriously considering backing him for a 2016 White House run.
Until the next carrier pigeon lands on my shoulder,
Bill Searchman"
"DWRR Readers,
It is with esteemed pleasure that I joyfully announce I recently spoke with David Wesley via Skype for a few minutes as his whereabouts for the latter part of 2011 have remained a mystery. He assured me that he has been living up to his glorious reputation. Indeed, I was absolutely floored by his whimsical energy and joie de vivre.
Dear friends, our fellow humanitarian David Wesley is alive and well. In November, he flew off for a short rendezvous at the Playboy Mansion, where Hugh Hefner personally honored him with the esteemed "Legendary Womanizing Humanitarian" award from the Guinness Book of World Records. As of November 2011, he currently holds the world record for charming over 10,355 big breasted women. Hefner later recalled getting a phone call from basketball legend Wilt Chamberlain congratulating Wesley for his stunning achievement but Hefner admitted that Chamberlain weeped incessantly. His three night stay there would put many hedonists to shame. From there, he flew to the Mississippi Delta rallying his followers over the injustices of income inequality and marched with hundreds of sycophants ( over 33% were big breasted women), to Washington D.C. where they had a glorious cook out in front of the White House.
Several lobbyists stopped in awe to watch Wesley with his hightop, white cooking hat that read "Die Lobbyist Scum." It was then that something utterly supernatural occurred, an event of biblical proportions. The smoke from the spare ribs on the grill seemingly took on a life of its own, smothering several lobbyists. As some of them coughed and begged for mercy, Wesley was heard saying, "Today, we rebuild a new America" The thunderous applause nearly broke the sound barrier. Through the smoke, one nameless lobbyist from Chase Bank looked on in awe as Wesley was seen cavorting and fornicating with several big breasted brunettes on the White House lawn. When the smoke cleared, he was gone. In his wake, our humanitarian hero not only gained a newly minted legion of politicians and lobbyists in Washington who now consider themselves "Wesleyians" but an esteemed group of political criminals seriously considering backing him for a 2016 White House run.
Until the next carrier pigeon lands on my shoulder,
Bill Searchman"
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