Please! Someone, anyone, you gotta help me get outta this! It’s been two and half decades that I’ve been going through the same motion and I just can’t take it anymore. That motion, by the way, is repeatedly laying out that guy from 90’s anarcho-pop band Chumbawamba.
Yes, you heard me right: “anarcho-pop.” Look, I don’t get it either, but as I explain the situation further you’re probably gonna realize it’s the least of my worries. I think I’m stuck in some kind of fucked up time loop – or maybe hell.
To be honest with you, I’m no longer even certain how this got started. I just remember being at the pub one night, having a grand time with my mates, and then the next thing I know I’m shoving this crazy shouting guy to the floor over and over again. I tried to apologize and help him up but he immediately yelled “But I get up again! You’re never gonna keep me down!” and I just instinctively shoved him to the floor again.
I swear, just something about him saying it, like some kind of hex, it fucking triggers me every time.
And yes, I mean every time. He’s been saying that same exact thing for twenty-five years and each time I still push that dude down like It’s my fucking job, which I guess it kind of is now – I’m pretty sure Jiffy Lube laid me off when I didn’t show up for work for twenty years.
The only times I get a break to rest my arms for a minute is when he inexplicably breaks into a list of drinks he wants – always the same four by the way. Hasn’t even mixed things up over the years – but then it’s always right back into the old pattern. He gets up and I knock him down. The tedium alone has almost driven me completely mad.
Why is this man doing this to me?! What god did I offend to deserve this hell?!
It has been so long that I have been trapped in this endless cycle of monotonous knocking down-very that I can barely remember my life before it started. I recall that I had a wife, Muriel, but when I try to picture her face all that I can see is a vague blur that tells me it’s “pissing the night away” and before I know it I’m right back here, shoving Chumbawamba forever.
I had a son as well but I no longer try to remember what he looks like. The one time I did that same vague blur voice tried to convince me his name was Danny Boy and I shut that shit down right away. I may be trapped in some kind of purgatorial pop limbo, but I’ll be damned if I ever forget that my son’s name is Muriel Jr.
And by the way, just in case you were curious, I don’t know how either of us is still alive either. Best I’ve been able to guess is it’s like some kind of Dorien Grey curse. I’ve watched countless bartenders and serving staff over the years wither with age like sun-dried asshole, but I’ve been standing in this same spot, sleepless and unfed and knocking this dude down for a generation, and am not a bit changed for it.
Hey! If that sounds like a good trade-off to anyone out there then do you wanna switch places with me? No? You sure?
I can’t believe that after all this time this guy is still getting back up. I mean, I clearly understand what it means to see something through and never give up, even if that something is potentially being caused by some kind of interstellar wormhole or black magic. But at a certain point, you really just need to know when you’re beaten and go relax with a couple of cider drinks.
Seriously, I hope Chumbawamba stays down soon. I just want to go home and see my Muriels again.
