Here I am Guys

0s · Mission IMPROVable · 19 May 17:19

So... It's Thursday May 19, 2005 and I have a day off from work. I recently got hired at Navy Pier in Chicago as a Barker/Greeter for a boat company. We give tours around Chicago. Architectural tours, Skyline tours, Water Taxis. All those things that you pay about $7 more than you think you should. I don't know about all you people out there in computer land, but i hate working. Like hate it hate it HATE IT. At Navy Pier we only work for about 6 hours at a time, but by the end of it, i'm ready to shoot myself in the head. I get tired and cranky and i really just want a Gatorade, a pack of smokes, and a beer, know what i mean? BABY WANTS HIS BOTTLE!

So my birthday was a couple of weeks ago. That's right, i am now a proud 17 year old- i'm a big boy and i'm going to get my drivers liscence soon. As soon as i stop stalling first gear in the clown car. I had a pretty big party on May 5th. A lot of the Mission Improvable folks showed up and it was a pretty good time. See, i live in Wicker Park in Chicago. and for those of you not from Chicago, Wicker Park (the WP as we call it) is not really the same as the Josh Hartnett movie would have you believe. What's that guy doing now (besides coke off a fourteen year old malaysian boy)? Wicker Park is one of the newly gentrified areas of Chicago. So there's knitting stores, but at the same time there's lots of homeless people too; including Pigeon Man, this guy who puts a shit ton of pigeon feathers in his hair. A couple of days ago, i was walking down Division and Pigeon Man got right up in my face and said, "Coo, Coo" and i looked at him and said "Coo to you too" and then we both started laughing and tickling each other, it was a moment. So me and Pigeon walk into this bar, and Pigeon's like, "How many crows does it take to screw in a lightbulb" and i'm like, "Pigeon Man, i have no idea" and he's like, "Nine. One to screw it in and eight to fuck themselves". I burst out laughing and get the bar keep's attention, "Hey, more Wild Turkey over here, you fuzzy bastard! Take the glasses, leave the bottle, 'cuase me and Pigeon are doing this here and now like there's no tomorrow, because there may not be"

At some point Pigeon asked me how i wanted to die, and i told him drunk and well laid. And then he says, "Totally, Kennedy-style, but hey, hey man, how do you want to live?" And that's when i had my epiphany. I grab an empty bottle of Wild Turkey, smash it on the bar, stab the bar-keep and we're off. Don't ask me how the plan was formed or what we thought its conclusion would be, but the next thing i know, we're singing "Brown Eyed Girl" in the back of a flat bead, barrelling north on I-90 towards Wisconsin. And in a BraveHeart-like stupor, we decide we're going to invade Wisconsin and take it over.

And i keep asking myself why i'm doing this. I have a great life. I can do the Times Crossword through Thursday. I can play a Chopin Pollonaise, and order off a menu in Mandurin Chinese. I grab Pigeon by the feather sticking out of his right lapel pocket, and through the screaming wind, i yell, "Pigeon, I got a lot to live for! We gotta turn back" But Pigeon just cracks another handle of Wild Turkey and says, "Gobble Gobble bitch! Pigeon is dead! Long live the Turkey!"

Four handles of Wild Turkey and three packs of newpors later, Pigeon, now the Turk-man, and I are climbing a water tower in Kenosha Wisconsin. We're pretty much naked, except for the labels and packaging from the smokes and the booze which are pasted to our privates, nipples, and belly buttons. When i ask why the belly buttons, Turk-man gives me a crazy look through his good eye and whispers, "'Cause that's where they lay the eggs" I'm too intoxicated to think about anything. The higher we go, the smaller the world gets, and the more it starts to spin. First the ground swings soothingly, like a rocking chair outside of a Cracker Barrel. But the higher we ascend, the more i realized just how much the alcohol is affecting me. By the time we reached the top, i felt a little like Pat Robertson in Greenwhich Village: sick my stomach, yet strangely turned on. But we did it. I turned to Turk-man, "I feel great. Thank you." Turk-man winks at me. We held hands. We cried. We laughed. We cried some more. We drank the last of the Wild Turkey. We split the last Newport. And then darkness surrounded me.

I woke four hours later to find Turk-man standing on the hand-rail. I leapt to my feet and ran to the rail, but I was too late. Arching back, Turk-man allowed gravity to take him. I tried to save him, but all i could do was grab the feathers. As he fell the the six stories to his death, i screamed "Turkeys can't fly! TURKEYS CANT FLY!" He didn't make a sound. The echo of his body's impact hung in the air, and then Turk-man was no more. In my pocket i found a note which read:

Burn Wisconsin to the ground. And Minnesota. Leave the Upper Penninsula of Michigan. It's beautiful there. Do you remember when, we used to sing: Sha lalalalalalalala lala teda?

I wrote it on his gravestone.

Needless to say, I didn't burn Wisconsin and Minnesota to the ground. That's illegal, and i had a show in Ohio that i had to get to. But every time i walk down Division, i think about Pigeon/Turk-man. I think about him, and i smile.

The episode Here I am Guys from the podcast Mission IMPROVable has a duration of 0:00. It was first published 19 May 17:19. The cover art and the content belong to their respective owners.