The Death Of Ken and the end of the War

So, now imagine my surprise this morning when, upon opening my blinds, I discovered Barbie’s life long companion and B (and probably G) FF, Ken, hanging from the end of a string noose, outside my bedroom window.

He was naked, except for a gaudy cowboy’s waistcoat and a postcard sized note tied to his feet with the words –

You Cunt

written on it.

Transfixed, I watched the ghoulish sight twist and turn in the slight morning breeze, Ken’s outstretched arms reaching for me, like some murdered soul pleading for mercy in his last dreadful moments, his little plastic hands tap tap tapping on the glass as he rotated gently outside.

One thing was clear – the situation had become personal, threatening, violent.

Scary.

So, it took me a while before I reacted and when I did, I did what any sober-minded male would do in a similar situation: I telephoned downstairs for my landlady.

I made mention of late night noises, most of which seemed of a permanent structural nature, strange men (I am ashamed to say that I used the actual “N” word – Nigerian) in the stair well with even stranger packages and shiny brief cases all headed for the door above mine, dreadlocks and fouls smells emitting from the apartment upstairs. I even went so far as to say that I almost impaled myself on a hypodermic needle, early one evening, thrust into the wooden balustrade outside their door. Its presence there negligent or not, I didn’t stop to inquire.

From the heavy silence on the line, followed by a smart, “Thank you”, I knew that it was over. And then from somewhere, from the street outside perhaps, I heard the distant tune and words floating in through my open sitting room window:

“Over and in, last call for sin
While everyone’s lost, the battle is won
With all these things that I’ve done
All these things that I’ve done”

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