Run Boy Run

Knock knock knock. Rattle, key, open.

"Oh Boyyyy... Boy, are you okay?... Boy, come out here right this minute!... Where are you, Boy?"

"Rosie? Is that you? I'm down here in the Boom Boom Room."

"Well, hold on George, I'm coming after you!"

Clump, clump, clump, clump, clump, clump.

"Oh my God, Boy, you look delirious... Here, why don't you settle back and let Rosie take care of you.. Mmwahh."

"Careful with my make-up."

"Don't worry about it - your make-up is a mess. What happened to you, Boy? Why did the coppers take you in?"

"Twenty hours, Rosie. Twenty hours with those brutes. Oh man, talk about your bad trips. Literally... I hate New York."

"I hate it too, Boy. I sure do hate it too. But what on earth happened to you?"

"You won't believe it, Rosie. It's... I was upstairs, you know, up in the tangerine loft with a friend, just watching TV..."

"You weren't with that Bunny Harrison, were you?"

"I haven't seen Bunny in weeks."

"Range Dalton, that's it isn't it? You were with Range Dalton."

"I was not! Now do you want to hear my story or not?"

"Yep. Yep yep yep. Got your message, loud and clear. Quiet. I'm getting very, very quiet. Private O'Donnell zipping it over here for General George. Turning off mouth motor. Starting to..."

"Rosie!"

"Sorry. Mmmm mmmm."

"That's better. Okay, so we're watching the telly and I begin hearing these strange noises in the kitchen..."

"What kind of noises, Boy?"

"Sort of like a trombone, you know, 'Blat, Wahhaahhwaaahh'. Very eerie. Someone's broken into me flat, I think, better call the coppers on the phone. So I wait, and I wait, and I wait, and finally there's two of New York's so-called finest at the door, and they ask me 'Where's this intruder that you called about?' and I say 'Well of course there's no intruder now, you taking so long to get here and what not', and they say 'Are you trying to get smart with us Boy George? Yes, we know your name. We knew who you were the moment we saw your distinctive make-up, and you look stoned out of your gourd', and I say 'No I am not. I'm just having a couple of beers with my mate Range', and I..."

"Range Dalton. Rosie called it. Nailed it on the head. I knew it was Range Dalton when..."

"Oh, quiet you. And then one of the coppers says 'My, my, Boy George, it sure looks like snow today... Mind explaining what these fourteen little plastic bags are doing on your dinette table?', and I say 'See, that's proof that somebody broke into me flat. There should be sixteen bags', and then I say 'Oops...'"

"Oopsie doopsie."

"Things went downhill from there. I said 'I meant, someone could've broken in and left this cocaine on my table', and they said 'Broke in and left that cocaine on your table, did they Boy George? Not bloody likely', and then they slapped the handcuffs on me and took me down and booked me. Can you believe no one even asked me for an autograph, Rosie?  And I just got out a short hop ago and I called you. Want some blow?"

"Too early for me, Boy, but thank you all the same. What's going to happen next?"

"It's the hanging judge for me, Rosie. They could give me up to fifteen years."

"Oh no!"

"Oh yes."

"Oh no..."

"Uh huh."

"Oh Boy."

"What do we do, Rosie?"

"You're going to escape, Georgie, that's what. Rosie is going to get you onto a jet and fly you back to Merry Old England before those coppers ever get their dirty New York hands on you again."

"But won't they recognize us?"

"It's a chance we'll have to take, Boy. It's a river we'll have to cross, a sea we'll have to swim. It's a horse we have to ride, Boy, a burger we have to eat. It's a mountain..."

"Rosie!"

"Oops, sorry. Zipping it, boss. Calling up the tongue patrol. Clamping down the jaws over here. Giving traction to..."

 

2005, Mark Hoback