TEDDY

By Peter D. Bové

I hope you and Teddy get along. Nefarious little creature that he is. A
plunderous, sometimes misanthropic pursuant of publicly unspeakable
unmentionables, sectional erotica and experience-proud balls-ass naked
mother! Exuding irreverence not merely through lavish rodomontade, but
through a rollaway lunge. A catastrophic blessing; grace vulgas in a
perpetual state of luminous.
Some find him lupine, a lure to their more momentous nature, a right
of passage to the Riviera of the mind, heart and soul.
Just what is the cost of freedom? Just what is the freedom of cost?
Ah! Ooze... oozing... oodles of on-line onlookers. As Teddy might retort
"Ya, gotta understand. Pain is good for pleasure” Ooze... oodles of
ooze... Teddy; Governor general, lover of whores, faggots and outcasts of
superior nature, scams, and flimflams and those in the slammer.
Encapsulating cheap and deep circus poise, the equipoise for the still
faced nodding to the Endman, hoping he goes away...
Teddy, free for the cost of freedom. Free; The four letter word of the
90's. A bourgeois commodity, A hop-heads dream. A modern day
mystery. A contemporaneous commodity unreliable at best, always
temporary, and most likely bogus and blasphemous. It’s hardly the
amalgamated fun-house, roller coaster, nosegay, hot-bed, hot-rod, bang-
bang, hot-shot's hot-spot, late-night three days running hospice on a hot-
blooded hot-pot gravy train, give it up, hot line to the world, hot-house
tomato and pepper on a hot plate to grease me, release me, to please me
that it should be. Believe me. I know what I'm talking about. So does
Teddy. He won't diddle or dawdle to a lackluster craze. His proscenium
intact, he is left to aspire the pulpit: His end! So he slips into pulse
modulation; pulse jetting fragments of pulsitile truths. He knows puckish
linguistics bombard brain diaphragms implanted by years of treachery;
personnel and political, self grandiose rationalizing, ultimately fascist and
instantly gratifying to the beholder.
 Teddy is no objective tool of the common good, or is he? Oh, how
good it could be, if only... Teddy is an ethicists madman for all occasions.
Give him an Eton jacket and he'll spit it out on fire. Teddy, very real to
ethereal. Have him with your morning cereal. Teddy, a gas! An ethnic
white man. Teddy; deification due to delinquency. A delicious delirium. A
roaming moaning taboo enclave of self joyous romp! Teddy; an
endearing endearment. A contra-wise continuum. A high rolling buddy to
all who seek his court. Those who dare smash to bits the proscenium,
which separates them. Instead of drudging on and on to the drone of
contrivances made of ghosts wailing in the form of fellow droopy, drowsy,
bloodshot, hacking, whacking, functional bleeding wheeling hack-em ups.
Those chasing dream justice, wanting to be Caesar but only managing
Bruté. Teddy; a lounge class love feast high as a kite modern day Druid.
A polycentric poltergeist to the evangelical polymorphs… Wan hypocrites
hyperventilating to the sounds of currency divine. Merchandising
hypodermic injections of superfluous religious raunchy rhetoric anthem
antics. A-super-fix-ticket-to-heaven-can-I-afford-a first-class-fare? Oh
God I've got bills to pay. Can I be saved for maybe... ten a month? Okay!
Okay, I know I can afford more, twenty okay? I'll cut down somewhere
but just save me! Release-me, grease-me, please-me... Teddy says;
"These TV evangelists are causing a spiritual rheumatism.” The anti-fix
amen! A twenty please. You want to be saved don't you? Again there is
Teddy; misanthropic anthropologist. The anti-climax is complete. Get
dressed and get on your hog. Answer them. They' re calling out to you.
They want and need you to bust and stomp them. Teddy; Rosebud.
Teddy; Saint Teddy. Size ‘em up and sell them the truth for half of what
they're paying for praying. Save them from their savings accounts.
Who's Teddy you ask? Maybe you’re Teddy. I think there are a lot of
Teddy's out there pissing away in some esoteric swirl of mirth. Or
perhaps a corporate chump or maybe even a politician is Teddy. Teddy is
in all of us waiting to get out. Just rub yourself the right way and Teddy
will appear like a huge magic genie ready to grant you three wishes and a
kiss! A hyphenated swelter of the best virtue: Innocence. Teddy; a
chump you say... A clown... Ha! Remember "He who laughs last... Yes,
you can fool some of the people all of the time and all of the people some
of the time, but you can't put one over on old Teddy! The bastards
bastard. Teddy; the key master, the muck caster, the lead in to tonight’s
news. Hear it and adhere it to something and forget about it. You
probably couldn’t afford it anyhow. But then you'd be a moose with a hat-
rack if you knew the truth about Teddy. Everyone’s Heathcliff. A beacon
to the bacon consuming herds of tumultuous grim reapers and Dorian
Grays. Palpitating severely retroactive personalities acting out the visions
of Hieronymous Bosch. Teddy; the boy next door, the girl down the hall,
who you believe is living proof that there is a God! Teddy two people
balling, soaring to daring heights of ecstatic aesthetic.
Yes, and don't you know, brutality is always knocking on Teddy's
door, making sure he's home then nailing it shut, with ten penny nails,
finish nails, coffin nails for crying out loud...
Yeah, a lot of people claim to be Teddy. Some are, most of them
aren't. Most Teddies don't know who they are. They merely wonder who
everyone else is. In fact it is my firm belief that everyone has met or at
least seen Teddy. In themselves or in someone else. They think he's
insane. The pulsating tincture of Teddy at play blows most peoples
minds one way or the other. Teddy is a powerful fundamental terror. No
prima donna either, Teddy is a full time, full blown kindred to us all, like it
or not. He'll haunt your ass or kiss it; it's up to you.
So, take a serious, sincere look-see or make ready a make-believe
normal posture in our great civilization. As obsolete as it is it's no wonder
it's crumbling, and oozing out from its cortex is who else? You guessed
it; Teddy! That infernal Teddy, that happenstance slaphappy do-no-
wrong hack-em up! The milestone in our midst. The punchy pure Punch
and Judy Show. That scandalous scalawag. Scapegoat of the scared
and stodgy.
And me? Well I'm no structural linguist. If ya don't get what I'm
saying, ask Teddy to translate this for you. It's 5:26 am January 10, 1993.
I didn't sleep last night cause Teddy came to visit, as he sometimes does.
I've seen him on TV scared and mutilated or just himself "Tell Tale
Teddy." Teddy; Tete-beche on a Texas tower.

So take off your high-hat, high life, high muck-a-muck junkies and
have a high-time, high-keyed, high-jump on the high-road or the high-
seas or in a high-rise. Give me the high-sign or give it to Teddy. Hit hell
or high water with treason and high-tension and watch the high-toned hit
the highways on a high-wire act on some high-priced, high-proof, high-
comedy high-jinks and get some high-flown, high-falutin' fun. Take a
hillbilly to a high level with the high livers and see a high-pitched high-
fidelity all out shoot-em up. Complete with a high-priest speaking high-
German during the high-holidays and watch Teddy wail with mirth, as the
height of the high-spirited eloquence of the moment sends the high-bred
high-tailing it to the high place where the only thing you'll get is a
handshake from Teddy himself!

©1993 by: Peter D. Bové