Taylor Swift meet Michael Slow and Snowy

Taylor Swift meet Michael Slow and Snowy ©

By

Michael Casey

Well I was talking about Taylor Swift last night, so I’ll continue with that theme this evening, I’ve been out today so I’m tired now, my ailments do wear me out, but I can rattle off another story in an hour. So here goes. Taylor is singing in a corner while I talk to you, if she stops shaking my keyboard I’ll talk to you. What do I know about Pop Music? Well I did spend years in a smoky bar listening to Folk and Jazz Music, then listening constantly to music on my old hifi, when I wasn’t listening to BBC Speech Radio.

I was also in Sharon Osbourne’s bedroom, just searching for the wifi, when I worked in a 4 star hotel. I also bumped into Will Young, Eric Clapton, Nicklebacker they called me Sir, Richard Claydermen, even Alice Cooper said hello. So I’ve mixed with the stars, I even sold a ring to a Pointer Sister. None of them will ever remember me, but I have carried their bags.

So what if I had locked them in their room and took to the Stage in their place? Let’s start with Taylor Swift, because we are about the same height. I would look great in her glossy stockings as I prance about the stage, all 248 pounds of me. I’m not too sure of my weight now, as our scales were lost when we moved house, but I still am better looking than George Clooney, or is it Boy George, ok both of them. Would I get the stage boots past my fat calves?

The lights dim and there I am “Welcome to Birmingham” I sing and over here we pronounce it BERMINGUM, as I twist my hips, looking more like a Hippo that a pretty girl. Though my Snowy hair IS absolutely fantastic, one of Taylor’s Swift’s dancers did have coloured hair, was it Green and Chinese? Well mine is the real thing, better than Coca Cola, my ever so soft snowy locks. And as this Hippo prances all over the stage, I Shake It , I Shake It. My dandruff sprinkles the audience like breakfast cereal. Forget CocoPops just dandruff spinkles from the wrinkly old boy. In actual I don’t have many wrinkles. Because I’m FAT, which means Fantastic And Telegenetic or whatever that word is for looking good on TV. If you lose weight your wrinkles show go go go, I sing as I prance around the stage like Oliver Hardy.

Taylor Swift escapes from her room dressed in my clothes, rather like in Honey I Shrunk the Kids. Then I’m chased everywhere on the stage, until they drop a net and cart me off, cart me off, like an alligator. Security enjoy taping my mouth arms and legs together. Children cry in the audience, Taylor Swift reappears dressed properly now, Everybody Thank my English Great Grandpa for standing in for me while I watched

Theresa may on TV, I always steal her style, steal her style. The band does a scoring solo as I’m taken away.

Who else could I be? I could be a big bass drum, just banging my tum  and maybe my Kardasian size bum. I’d be very Japanese, I think so, I think so. I could be Freddie Mercury too, many a year ago I had a moustache, though due to my enormous thighs I’d not be able to get into his white longs johns he used to wear. They are skin tight, though I have an idea and it requires a razor. Yes I could be shaved and then body painted and then prance about on stage. When I had my quadruple heart bypass before surgery your chest and both legs are shaved. Nothing kinky. But they remove veins from your legs and put them in your chest.

So can you picture me shaved and painted and prancing, I want to break free, I think I’m going slightly mad, Barcelona where is the best Tapas bar by far,on Las Ramblas of course. Under pressure, well actually no pressure at all, just under paint, under paint, by why did they use creosote.

I could of course be Elton John, but he’d seem so mundane compared to me, when has he tinkled like me, he may tinkle the ivories on the piano, but he could never compare with me, tinkling all over the bathroom floor.No wonder I never get invited anywhere anymore. I’m so alone, I’m so alone, please Elton phone, give this poor dog a bone. Or a candle to light my way, a candle in the wind, my wind.Flash A HA, but that’s Freddie again.

I do have some good words that would sing, I let the Music sing, I let the Music take over, but how do I solve a problem like Maria? If I got trapped in a lift with a Musician maybe just maybe it’s because I not a Londoner, but from Birmingham, perhaps, What If. I could dance all night and spread my wings in the lift. Then, and then I could impress and finally we’d have a hit record between us. Or maybe he’d just punch me. My Elevator Ad should impress and then and then I’d really be a Pop Star.