Death of a Sock Puppet

[Django Style]

Give me ten or fifteen minutes and I'll unmask! Get off my horse. No, I'm not the Lone Ranger.

Would you mind turning around while I remove my mask? I'm actually very shy.

Thank you.

[Django Style]

A long, long, long pause. Much longer than ten or fifteen minutes! Tension mounts.

[Django Style]

But where is Django? He seems to have disappeared!

[Django Style]

My maker's wife says it is better that I am a sock puppet rather than rolled up and stuffed down my maker's jeans or left in a dark drawer with the other socks. But things are getting weird here around the house. Every time my maker says something abstruse, absurd or abusive, he claims, "That's just my sock puppet talking." I resent that. Then she starts beating him about the head, yapping about how she's not hitting my maker but the sock puppet. That's me! She says, "You can't hurt a sock puppet. He's just a sock puppet." Well, that's not true. I am a sock puppet and I'm a sad and hurting sock puppet.

My maker won't let me go out and play with tenalady. I'm not allowed to ride my horse. I can't go out to the dance. I can't do my little lingo thing anymore. I'm not even allowed to post in lots of different pretty colours in my postings. I'm so sad and miserable, I don't even feel like saying, "Riddim come forward!" It's hardly worth being a sock puppet any longer.

I think I'll end all this puppetry business. There's no money in it anyway. I'll just go back to being a regular sock! In a bloody dark drawer with all the other socks. That would be better than being rolled up and stuffed down my maker's jeans.

So, farewell, cruel Sound of the World Forum. I now flounce dramatically towards my last and final exit.

[Django Style]

The audience gasps. Django seems to be getting rolled up into a smaller and smaller impression of a sock.

However, there's some struggling and wriggling going on inside that impression, somewhat like Houdini in a bag, suspended above the water, strapped about by chains and locks.

A clock can be heard loudly ticking.

[Django Style]

Suddenly . . .

[Django Style]

Hi ho, Silver! Yippie, yiy, yay! Come on, Tonto! Let's get the hell out of here!

[Django Style]

It was The Lone Ranger!

[Django Style]

That mask had everyone fooled!

He never took it off, did he? That request for ten or fifteen minutes to unmask was a subterfuge!

[Django Style]

Django always returns!

Riddim come forward!

[Django Style]

Riddim comes forward.

The curtain drops.

[Alannah]

encore!!

[Django Style]

Django's horse needs a drink and a rest. So does Django's maker.

The Lone Ranger can look after himself! And Tonto!!

[That Was Jonathan E. Then]

I have this almost irrepressible urge to say, "Fuck you, Django. And the horse you rode in on!"

I guess it wasn't almost irrepressible.

Sorry. Somebody had to say it.

[Des]

And I thought I was irritating.











But then again I am.













When I do this.




















Sorry.