Friday, October 7, 2005 |
— Fiction —
Phone Call Informing the New Nobel Prize Winner in Physics of His Award, Shortly after He's Had a Breakdown and Reverted to a Childlike State, as KISS Alive Plays in the Background
“Hello, professor? Stockholm here. You’ve won the Nobel Prize for your work on the heat-death of the universe.”
Stars are pretty.
“Yes, well said. ‘Star light, star bright,’ as it were. You’ve out-shown them all. You’ve won, professor!”
Pretty stars …
You show us everything you’ve got … baby, baby that’s quite a lot … and you drive us wild, we’ll drive you crazy.
“Professor, so sorry. I didn’t catch that. There seems to be some
interference on the line.”
You keep on shoutin’, you keep on shoutin’ …
“Are you listening to music, professor?”
I wanna rock and roll all nite …
“Professor?”
KISS.
“Excuse me?”
Kiss Kiss Kiss.
… and party ev-er-y day!
“If this is a bad time—it must be very early there—we can call back …”
O.K., kiss kiss.
“Shall we call you back then?”
(Kickin’ Ace Frehley guitar solo.)
“We must have a bad connection. We’ll try back shortly, professor.
Congratulations! Goodbye for now.”
CLICK!
Bye.
(Solo continues, crowd noise surges.)
Bye.
(Phone buzzes.)
Bye bye stars.
Pretty stars bye bye.
