|The Story||The Authors|
"Wait, you don't need to call my father. I've learned my lesson already. I
swear, I'll never do it again!" but Hickey's pleas fell on deaf ears. Hadley
nodded to Jerome, his current lackey du jour, who slapped the cuffs on Hickey
and dragged him out to his squad car. The band, having lost their charismatic
lead singer, decided to pack it in. The crowd, having paid 5 hard earned
dollars to see the Hickster's balls, felt as cheated as they did when the Sex
Pistols quit playing and began to pelt the band with beer bottles. The band
members fortunately only sustained minor injuries but were so disillusioned by
the incident that they never picked up their instruments again. |
Meanwhile, down at the station house, Matthew Hickey awaited his father's arrival with his head hung low. It wasn't just the shame of explaining what he'd done to his father, it was knowing that he would cause his father, who was the Chief of Police, great public embarrassment. When Chief Hickey finally arrived at the station, he was visibly enraged. So angry was he, that for a full half hour he could not speak. He could only pace back and forth, clenching and unclenching his meaty, caloused fists. Then he stopped in front of Matthew and glaring down at him he said, "Twenty-five years on the force and never did I once imagine that my own son could - cough - would - gasp - erp!" the senior Hickey clutched his chest and stumbled backward. "Erp!" was the last thing he said before he fell to the floor and died.
But because of the great love that God had for the father, He, God resserrected the father. In order for the father to correct the son of his wrong doings.
|Unfortunately, though, as much as Matthew Hickey prayed and wished for it to be true, there would be no miracles today.|
It seemed, however, that a pattern emerged that night (though it would take another twenty-three years, the last two of them under the firm yet gentle care of cross-dressing psychoanalyst named Dr. Gruberthon, for Matthew Hickey to come to a full undertsanding of these things) which was to dominate Matthew's existence for the foreseeable future. Unspeakably traumatized by what he saw as his own complicity in his father's premature death (when in fact, oversalted pork by-products, bourbon, cigars, and a permanently angry streak of barely-concealed anti-Negro bigotry in a town which had grown to nearly half black, were the real culprits) the poor youth was forced to act his guilt out again and again by donning the ever-threadbarer robe and exposing his testicles to the public.