| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Ah, memories...
I was living in East Boston with two guys I knew from UMass Boston, Nazi Doodlebug* and Omar the Former Arab Terrorist. Nazi Doodlebug told me about how his friend, Lord Blackmoore, had been reduced to homelessness and needed somewhere to stay. I had already been burned by Lord Blackmoore, but I have a weakness for strays.
I got a call from Omar the FAT the other day. "I've got good news!" he exclaimed. "What, are you going to marry that girl from ol' Blighty that you met on the Council of Ex-Muslims website?" "No, no, it's better than that, you'll never guess."
So, a couple of days later, Omar and I finally get together. "Blackmoore's dead!" he says, with a big smile on his face--Omar always hated Lord Blackmoore--"And I've got a bottle of champagne!" "Man, that's harsh," I chided, but then Omar convinced me that Lord Blackmoore would have wanted us to drink to his death, although, probably, not in celebration. Turns out Nazi Doodlebug had been idly googling the internet and discovered an obit for him from last year.
Anyway, we spent the night reminiscing about all the crazy shiznit we used to do when we lived with Lord Blackmoore.
The story that Omar liked the most, which he hadn't heard before, was when Lord Blackmoore started dating a woman who taught hip-hop dance at the East Boston YWCA. They were both into kinky shiznit, and, one night, Lord Blackmoore entreated me to film them having sex.
I refused. Not because of any prudery on my part, but because I had absolutely no interest in seeing him and his woman rut. He got angry and tried three or four different arguments to get me to comply. I told Omar one of the lines and he immediately posted it on Facebook as his virtual tribute to Lord Blackmoore. I'll get back to that in a second, but, later that week, after I had refused, I woke up one morning and found the refrigerator covered in Polaroids of his girlfriend performing fellatio on him.
Anyway, the line that Omar loved so much was, I think, the second or third line of argument that Lord Blackmoore employed to try and persuade me to play Director of Photography:
"What?!? You think you're a Bohemian and you won't even film me having sex with my girlfriend?!?"
[Pours one out in memory of Lord Blackmoore, may he rest in peace]