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Kim Wilde Kids in America
Anybody who knows me will already be enlightened as for my love for the United States of America. In the past five years I have been blessed enough to make the trip Stateside three times and on each occasion I have been the wide-eyed boy, taking in the sounds, sights and clean air with an intense and unrivaled fascination. The first time I stepped onto American soil was in Long Beach, San Francisco. I shacked up in a hotel just moments from where Steve McQueen blazed his trails in Bullitt and could almost smell the smoking asphalt the moment I placed down my hand luggage. The place performed something of a number on me instantly and I took every opportunity to check out the art, culture and local hospitality as I attempted to drink in as much of its vibe as I possibly could. This included a Golden Gate Bridge tandem ride which will be with me until the moment I die.
My journey took me to Las Vegas for a weekend and I discovered that it’s a lot classier than I’d dared to imagine. A brief jaunt downtown revealed a little more of what I had expected but aside from that it was not the least bit how I had expected. Las Vegas probably despised me as not one red cent was snagged from me, although I do vaguely recall having my picture taken with a one-armed bandit. I took the first available opportunity to travel into the Grand Canyon via chopper and, the moment I glanced across its haunting wide expanse, I knew whole-heartedly that this was very much for me.
What I hadn’t banked on was impregnation. Just like hapless Hurt but minus the xenomorph, I left with a seed gestating inside which I was blissfully unaware of at the time. Thankfully, I didn’t have the clean-up job of a last supper and my chest remained unbreached. Instead I settled back to my nice cups of tea and one-sided toast and thought nothing more of it. Then the morning sickness come and an impish voice inside my head whispered “Keeeper, you must come to New York”. Actually, I’m fairly sure the narration in my cranium was courtesy of Stevie Wayne, husky little hell minx. I’m also reasonably assured that it was Linnea Quigley writhing in liquified sand wearing a bikini top but no bottoms. I’m not sure…memory is a fickle thing. For the purpose of this retelling I’m sticking to my guns.
Anyhoots, I thought I was out…they pulled me back in! The Big Apple, bruised by the horrific events of 9/11 and in state of ongoing recovery, was to be my next destination. I’ve never much cared for Apples and my indifference is ordinarily splendiferous. This apple however was tasty, it was that succulent first bite as opposed to the chalky aftertaste, so I took a slightly more ambitious mouthful and guzzled it down heartily. It tasted mighty fine you know. Now I was fully aware how Adam had felt when he bit into that forbidden fruit; poor douche had no idea at all how to use his pecker so why the hell not take the serpent’s advice? I’m transgressing, it rocked my universe and four days was just enough to absorb everything feasible.
Being Keeper, one of New York’s big draws was the countless small indie DVD stores which proudly housed all number of Region 1 treats unobtainable in the UK. I crammed sixty of the bastards into my case and hand luggage and, considering they included a clutch of video nasties and some hard unrated splatter, I’d say I dodged a bullet in customs. Oh and Central Park was a doozy. Lush vibrant rural bliss in a box, the skyscrapers overshooting it’s entire circumference made for a disarming delight and the Empire State Building…well that was just showing off. To experience New York without standing at its apex would have been utterly wasteful and the glorious Empire State view was to an absolute kill.
Once again I scuttled back to familiar shores and this time there were more voices inside my head attempting to goad me back. This time disturbingly it was Minnie Mouse and Daisy Duck whispering their sweet nothings into my lobe. “Come to Florida, we’ll blow you if you do and Clarence The Cow will even nibble your balls” or words to that effect if memory serves. Before you could say “Let’s all nosh upon Chip ‘n’ Dale’s nobbly nuts” I was in the Sunshine State; I practically quantum leaped. Once I’d waved goodbye to Steven Tyler and his Aerosmith bandmates and became strapped into my Rock ‘n’ Rollercoaster for the duration, I knew I’d made the correct choice.
All three trips Stateside have been wildly varied experiences but each has endeared the proud nation to me in one way or another. I always was in favor of our American friends and, since childhood, have held this deep fascination with life at the other side of the pond. I always preferred ER to Casualty and Cheers to Only Fools and Horses; that’s just me. My trinity of expeditions have left me in awe and now Keeper is primed to have his very own LA story.
That was over three years ago now and I’ve been chomping like a set of wind-up teeth increasingly as time has passed over the notion of shimmying my childbearing hips back to the land of the free. Right now I am preparing to make the ten and a half hour pilgrimage to Los Angeles to work on something truly majestic. The Orphan Killer: Bound X Blood is my business and I will be hooking up with our Dark King and Queen on arrival to commence my seven day onslaught. Of course, being in LA, I will be taking every opportunity to take in the sights and continue my American adventure. Game face is packed, my hands are ready to get as bloody as hell and I have my sights set on making this busman’s holiday truly one to remember.
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
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Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014