Bad Idea: Thaddeus In The Dead of Night

From my Sunday Vision column Bad Idea. This was early December last year. Do enjoy

There is this fellow I know. I won’t say he is my friend. Thaddeus doesn’t have friends. He just has people who refer to him as  “this fellow I know”.

He is vastly unpleasant and he knows it. So it was a surprise that I got called to his side when he was picked up by the police.

Thaddeus: I have no one else to turn to, Bazanye. It is you and you alone. All I have in this world is you.

The Self: Were you told that I am fiercely loyal to my friends, that to my friends I can be trusted to walk through Mordor with nary a sideways glance? The weakness in your plan is, Thaddeus, you are not one of my friends.

Thaddeus: Deflate your self-righteous trumpet. Blow it less. If you are that good a friend, how come this is the first time in your life that you are being called up at this hour with this particular request?

Self: It is four am. What could you possibly want?

Thaddeus: Exactly my point. If you were such a great friend you would know that when a call comes in at four, it means only one thing. The person at the other end has been pulled over by police under suspicion of being drunk and disorderly and requires assistance.

Self: You have been arrested?

Thaddeus: Yes, but I am innocent. Of course I am drunk, but disorderly? I beg to insist that no way. I was very orderly and meticulous in the punches I threw at that bartender. If anyone is disorderly it is him. He would not stand still in an orderly fashion to receive the blows I offered.

Self: This is where I ask you why you are punching bartenders, as if I don’t know that the answer is “Because I am Thaddeus and it is my central theme.”

Thaddeus: That Moabite serpent had the audacity to suggest that Julianna was Uganda’s Adele.

Self: I love Juliana, as you know. But I would not swing at bartenders over her. At most I would tweet something snide…

Thaddeus: I do not like Julianna. I think if she has so much talent, she should share it with her hairdresser and get a better wig. The thing on her head at Coke Studio on Urban TV looks like it escaped from a mental assylum hidden within a zoo that is hidden within a larger mental asylum.

Self: How dare you. The curly thing? It looks very sexy, I always thought.

Thaddeus: Which is why we are not friends…

Self: We are not friends because you have the soul of a bottle of rat poison. But don’t derail me. You got drunk. You punched a waiter. The police came in and arrested you. You need someone to come to your aid. The real question is why me? I say that without prejudice and merely in the spirit of curiousity– why me, you unloveable toad?

Thaddeus: Bazanye, you are one of the most prolific writers I know. Your brain is always on the prowl looking for prey, you are constantly buzzing, excuse the pun, with ideas and thoughts. Your hand is always within feet of a notebook and a pencil. All you do is write that dope script all day and all night.

Self: This is true about me.

Thaddeus: Which is how I know that you are awake at this time. So, send me some money by phone transer so I can bribe this uniformed ape and get back to my bar. I have to teach that bartender that mentioning Adele to me is like filling a requisition form for a full beating.