Dedicated to Kirk, The Original Surrey With The Fringe (but never the minge) On Top
Kirk wakes up early while it's still gloomy, then realises it's mid-day and leaves the curtains closed to keep up the good atmosphere.
Lights a lemon-scented candle and pops on a disc: Last Night I Dreamed Somebody Loves Me.
In front of the cracked wardrobe mirror, squeezes a pimple and admires the bags under his eyes~decides he isn't pale enough and reached for his compact and applies a healthy coating of embalming powder .
Develops morning glory looking at Morrissey--ie, himself--in the mirror. Slaps his wrists: naughty boy, doing things like that brings pleasure, and Moz would not approve.
Goes into the kitchen, gets out his Moz bowl and cutlery, pops on a song, Meat Is Murder, and dances around the stove while the bacon is frying, pausing to squeeze another pimple.
Decides not to shave today, as he hopes it will be his last. Checks cupboard to make sure his sleeping-pills are still there for when the big moment comes. The coffin's up in the loft, full of stained Smiths T-shirts.
Eats his bacon and tofu sandwich and curses because that goddam morning wood will not go down. Goes back upstairs and puts on his 1950s retro taupe trousers, the ones with the hole in the knee. Calls his friend, Jason, and they have phone sex~this involves no touching of body parts or production of fluids, but sensual conversation about chickens and Michael Stipe's socks. Their simultaneous climax involves bringing up their breakfast when Jason pops on a record: Meet Me At The Cemetery Gates.
Leaving the house, Kirk catches the bus into town. He hands copies of "The Autobiography" to the other passengers, who gaze in amazement thinking they are watching a scene from Zombie Holocaust. In the shopping mall, Kirk thinks about going to the loo and relieving himself of his tiresome morning glory, only when he gets there, the toilet is clean and still has a seat--not the kind of luxury he is used to. Compensation comes via the tannoy, which is playing We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful and Kirk realises he is not the only loser in the world.
After sniffing the vegetarian Durex lube in Boots, Kirk meets Jason for lunch at McDonalds. Jason says he fancies a Big Mac, but the Scotsman says he isn't into having sex with the dead~even when accompanied by Kirk whining Angel, Down We Go Together. It takes the friends an hour to persuade the assistant to serve them, as last year they tried to sue the company from selling Happy Meals, even if one meal in every ten did include a plastic replica of Charles Hawtrey's dentures.
After lunch, Kirk and Jason head for the park to feed the ducks. The local Hindu taxi-driver is there, and Kirk asks him if he fancies an Asian Rut, only to be told that on account of him not wishing to contract another nasty dose of Skin Storm, the dusky beauty only tangos with Suedeheads.
"This darned morning glory,"Kirk moans. "Jason, do you fancy making Pashernate Love?"
"There Speaks A True Friend," Jason replies. "But Moz would not approve. Come on, let's go and have a cup of Bovril! You'll soon forget about how Such A Little Thing Makes A Big Difference when we hit the afternoon National Front Disco!"
Off they go to the local palais, arriving just as the stripper is coming off the stage. She sees the bulge in Kirk's retro taupe trousers.
"Hiya, babe," she says. "You look like you're packing wood. Would you like me to relieve you of your Glamorous Glue?"
"Sheila, Take A Bow," Jason growls. "My trouser-snake may appear sea-sick, but it's staying docked!"
Then, after going to the toilet and getting high after sniffing Vim, Kirk returns to the dance-floor where in his haze of misery--they're playing Jack The Ripper, which really gets the juices flowing--he sees the ghost of Cyril Smith.
"You're The One For Me, Fatty!" he screams, ripping off his clothes so that all he is wearing is his Milletts string-vest and a brown-toothed smile.
The music stops and Kirk and Cyril get onto the stage, wondering if the crowd will be Disappointed.
Three shakes of the wrist and a slight trickle of warmth, and for Kirk it's all over. Kirk, however, feels as happy as The Last Of The Famous International Playboys. Tonight, when he gets home he will celebrate by changing the sheets on the bed, instead of waiting until the end of the year, and he will write a very special poem to his god~which will be delivered to Morrissey on a silver platter, carried into his Carole Lombard room by a Nubian slave, neatly tucked away under his plate of Betty's hot-pot.
And Morrissey will say, "Lo and behold, yet another of my fans who is both gullible and a wanker!"