Jeremy Bastard is a New York City based producer, musician and DJ. True Mother Records lets him do what he wants.

Supplemental Reflections Vol. 2 - Tick Paralysis

“We do this job for sometimes DOZENS of dollars a night”, she purred over her champagne flute. A singular spotlight haloed by a dusting of Chauvet low lying fog to the crowd of about 30 friends, staff, patrons of the burlesque arts, and oddball walk-ins. 

Knowing that she had to fill a few moments before the next act was set to take the stage, she cleared her throat and fixed her gaze on an occupant of the front row.

Unable to see clearly, because of the spotlight, she could barely make out a male form and decided to zero in, maybe get a few laughs, maybe even a tip. 

“Look at this ladies and gentlemen, we have a VERY DISTINGUISHED man in the front row, and I think that it looks like he’s been enjoying himself tonight, have you ALL been enjoying yourselves tonight?”

A half-hearted “woo” went up from the side of the stage where the staff was busily checking Instagram.

“what, SIRRR May *I* ask ... brings YOU to Debauchery on Delancey this evening?”

She was a pro at this, emphasizing each syllable automatically to both stimulate the crowd and make this particular patron feel special, she could always spot the vulnerable ones, the ones who would throw money at her just to escape any confrontation or even the hint of an awkward situation. 

With the microphone pointed at his mouth like a pistol, visibly sweating, he turned to answer

“A whell” he began to weakly stutter.

Taking her cue to get a laugh, she cut him off clean “A WHALE!? A WHALE BROUGHT YOU HERE??? Tell me, sir, we are ON THE EAST SIDE by a RIVER but surely a WHALE didn’t take the SUBway??” 

Now turning red he reached into his pocket and produced a $100. With a shaking hand, he held up the bill.

She took the bill, folded it between her breasts and winked at the other audience members.

The next act was now ready and after announcing it, she skipped off the stage.

A young man in a sailor suit dramatically removed his layers piece by piece to the song “Rock Lobster,” revealing underneath a semi-pornographic lobster costume complete with red claws and red eye stalks. The audience applauded limply. 

Taking the stage again a boisterous “LETS PUT OUR HANDS TOGETHER AND YOUR HANDS IN YOUR POCKETS FOR LOBSTER LE ROY!!!” the mistress of ceremonies winked at the crowd and then turned her attention again to the same man in the front row, who looked as if he was about to faint from a mixture of shame and overstimulation.

“SIR! Now you tell US ALL HERE at Debauchery On Delancey... you like, shall we say, SEA CREATURES…? How did you feel about Lobster Le ROY!!!??” 

Unable to even make eye contact, he produced four $100 bills and handed them over, his hands shaking quite badly.

At this point, her smile quickly faded. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. 

“Sir you seem to have VERY MUCH enjoyed the show tonight.”

Weakly he leaned forward toward the pointed microphone and whispered barely audibly. “I am going to die tonight” and handed her another five $100 bills. “I am ….. and nothing can stop it.”

Her smile faded entirely and her mouth then immediately almost painfully re-arranged itself into a forced chuckle. 

“A ha, hmm, well we AAAALLLL have to go SOME time sir.”

The audience gave off a heavy murmur, they weren’t paying attention before, they were absolutely paying attention now. Almost as if they couldn’t help themselves.

“You’re right,” he admitted... now sounding bored with the conversation. Eyes glazed, but totally focused. “We all do..... some time.”

She turned on her heel to announce the next act, but what he said next made her voice catch in her throat.

“We all do,” his voice now somehow powerfully audible over the din of the bar and ambiance of the venue. It seemingly bypassed everyone’s ears altogether, pushing right into their minds.

“But for all of us in this room, that night is tonight.”

J.B.