“I’m getting a baby brother,” I crow as we return to the Lake house where everyone is smoking pot in the lounge.
“They plan to replace you,” Billy scoffs.
Everyone laughs at me.
“Screw you guys,” I march off to call Siouxsie Sioux to share the good news with someone who cares.
“Laz, back from the dead?” she answers her phone. “Where have you been. I need saving again.”
“I’m back in Montruex. Everyone is smoking on the water and disrespecting me.”
“You’re 19. You get no respect.”
“It’s my birthday. I’m 20 now.”
“Oh, the horror. Ziggy grows up.”
“You like my Ziggy act?”
“What’s not to like about you? You dragged me out of a shooting gallery. I woke up in David Bowie’s hotel room, every fangirl’s fantasy and/or nightmare.”
“He was a perfect gentleman.”
“When can I see you?”
She still loves me.
“We have a show on Saturday night, here in Geneva. Bring your junkie band. You can open for Bowie.”
There is silence on the line.
“I know you want to see me. The Bromley Contingent will never know. You’re not selling out your punk sensibility,” I argue.
“You really are serious.”
“I’m the boss. I make these kinds of decision. The world needs to experience ‘Hong Kong Garden.’”
“We can’t afford to go to Switzerland.”
“All expenses paid. I’ll have Henri from the Montreux Music Festival send you tickets.”
“The musicians have been holed-up in that South London squat. I doubt they can even stand up, let alone fly.”
“Just you come,” I suggest. “You can be a special guest singer for the Boss Band.”
“The Banshees will kill, literally.”
“Lose those losers.”
“They’re me mates. Why’d I stab ‘em in the back?”
“Just come and be part of the Bowie scene here. We got dolphins to perform in the harbor while we play outdoors in a field above the Lake.”
“Your girlfriend, White D?”
“Who told you I have a girlfriend?”
“You did. Don’t ya remember?”
“I have memory issues.”
“Well, I’m not jealous of a fish.”
“Dolphins are not fish. They’re warm-blooded mammals.”
“That what turns ya on.”
“She’s only 17. I’m a gentleman.”
“With your own personal mermaid.’
“Yeah. Yer right. You’re a cross-dresser. I’m a cross-species lover.”
“We are so weird.”
“I miss you. Come. You don’t have to perform. Switzerland’s cool.”
“If I come, I won’t be able to stop myself if I can perform.”
“That’s the spirit. Get here a few days early; we can practice your songs.”
“So, when did I say I’m coming?”
“I just know you can’t resist a chance to perform.”
“That’s us, poor punks, singing for our supper.”
“Happy Birthday, Laz.”
“Thanks. Now we’re the same age. It will be a summer of punk love.”
“Yuck. I’m getting off.”
“That sounds sexy.”
That’s what a birthday call should be. I am charged up with energy but no testosterone reaction. What’s wrong with me?
I bound back into the lounge.
“Siouxsie’s coming to be in the show,” I announce and run over to hug Mike.
We bounce up and down. I hug and kiss him on the cheek. I see Jack sitting in the corner looking miserable.
“Sad sack Jack,” I taunt him, pulling him to his feet and bouncing him up and down.
He moves like a wet rag. I hug and kiss him on the lips. He about faints in my arms until he jerks involuntarily and a wet spot appears in his jeans. Everyone notices because they are enjoying my manic behavior.
“Someone’s had an accident,” Billy points at him.
I let him go; he crumples into the corner.
“Don’t be sad. I’m nice to you for once and you can’t handle it?”
He starts to cry.
“Oh god, now you’re being a jerk,” I pull him to his feet. “Com’n. I’ll get you a change of clothes.”
I drag him to the laundry room where I’ve stored the few clothes that are mine. He freaks out when I hand him jeans and underwear.
“What is your problem. Everything is working as you wanted.”
“You won’t let me tell you why. Just that the past is killing me.”
“Stop. You almost killed me by bringing it up. Grow up. You can be replaced in the band if you can’t handle it.”
I walk away. This is what happens when I am nice.
Jack goes to take a shower.
“I want those clothes back,” I yell at him.
I join Mike in the lounge.
Billy mocks me, “Laz has a boyfriend.”
“Yeah, but don’t be jealous because I plan on taking my anger out on him. You’ll be next,” as I grab my dick and shake it at him. Everyone is laughing at Billy.
I grab Mike and we walk to the lakefront.
“I’ll teach you how to talk with White D,” I tell him.
“I’m enjoying your birthday more than you are.”
“Why can’t everybody be like you,” I put my arm around his shoulder as we walk to the Lake.
No White D, but there are still a few Swim lesson kids. We all sit in Bowie’s spot under the Willow tree. We tell them all about the shows in London plus selling our single in front of Earl’s Court – how London punks tried to rip us off; then, they all came into the show with us and Siouxsie sang with us on stage.
“She’s my girlfriend and is coming to Saturday’s show in Geneve.”
“You have a girlfriend now?” they look sadly at Mike.
“I’m glad but we’re still best friends,” as he puts his arm around me. “Anyway, she’s a junkie.”
They all have stories about junkie lovers, none of which end well.
We all sit around listening to stories. Mike and I are holding hands. No one cares. We are best friends. They like us because we like each other as well as all our friends.
I know I’ll be the exception. Youth is all about screwing up and getting second chances. Not the best thought for celebrating turning twenty.
I barely notice that Jack left to sleep at his parents’ hotel. I am not impressed that his family is rich. Jim fixes us a snack since everyone else is passed out in the lounge.
“Did you see White D at the Lake?” he asks.
“No. Perhaps our telepathic connection revealed I was talking with Siouxsie. Maybe she’s jealous.”
“She may stop coming when you call. What will happen if she doesn’t show on Saturday night?”
“We’ll throw you in the water. You can sing ‘I am the Walrus.”
We all sing together
‘I am he as you are he as you are me
And we are all together
See how they run like pigs from a gun
See how they fly
Sitting on a corn flake
Waiting for the van to come
Corporation T-shirt, stupid bloody Tuesday
Man you’ve been a naughty boy
You let your face grow long
I am the egg man
They are the egg men
I am the walrus
Goo goo g’joob’
“No, I am the egg man,” Jim sings as he places scrambled eggs in front of us. We forgot how hungry we are. We are the walrus.
“You heard I met Paul,” I tell Jim.
“You seem to like hanging with the stars.
“I spent most of the time with George Martin; he’s your age.”
“He’s 52. I’m nowhere near that age.”
“Thirty, fifty, sixty? You’re all old.”
Mike starts singing ‘When I’m 64’
Jim pulls out a harmonica to blow the chords.
“You have talent, Jim. Want to be in the Boss Band?”
“You already boss me around too much.”
“Com’n. Only old guys in the chorus.”
“Stop calling me old.”
“Get on stage with us where everyone is acting foolish. At least you’ll feel young.”
We finish our eggs, give Jim a kiss and retire to the couch in the lounge. We have to wake up Jock to get him out of our ‘bed.’ He is so stoned, we just push him in the right direction, singing the Ramones ‘We’re a Happy Family’
Life at home is sad and dreary. We wrestle on the couch until we get comfortable.
Soon Jim is waking us with coffee and croissants. How can anyone complain?
Before running to swim lessons, I tell Henri at the Casino to call Siouxsie to come perform with us on Saturday.
“Does Bowie know you’re adding acts to the show?”
Henri may be confused about who is the Boss.
“She may want to bring her own band but we just want to add her to the Boss Band.”
“What if she insists they all come.”
“Send her 100 pounds for travel expenses and tell her to give it to her band-mates. They’ll get so wasted that the weekend will be over by the time they run out of dope.”
“You want me to pay for their drugs?”
“She’s the talent. She needs to ditch them on her way to stardom.”
“I’ll let you convince her.
Mike is with the other swim learners, playing with a couple of dolphins in the shallow water. I sit with Bowie under the willow tree as he teaches guitar to the kids. When they take a break, I tell him about getting Siouxsie to join this week’s show.
“Getting you mojo back with a new girlfriend?”
“She loves you, ever since she was 14. I’m just her way to get close to you.”
“What does she think of you as Ziggy?”
“It’s her perfect dream, you as a teenager.”
“So, she’s your fan and confused by her crush on me?”
“That’s why she wants to come, two Bowies for the price of one.”
“And what is your price?”
“That she idolize you and ravish me.”
“You are a wolf in sheepish clothing.”
“I don’t want a groupie. I just want her to sing with us.”
“You want advice or just my permission to take advantage of my fans?”
“When they’re my age.”
The kids learning guitar are listening raptly as we gossip in English which they struggle to fully understand.
“Any advice? I ask.
“Go for it, Laz,” several kids shout. No one is innocent. Luckily, neither is Siouxsie.
That afternoon, Mike and I take the train to the Geneva Airport where my folks and Jack’s parents are leaving in the late afternoon. I brace for a final bout with my dad, Bert. If he brings up my past, I’ll write him off. Stepmom Susan is my ally. I swear to not let them derail the rock n roll juggernaut that my life has become.
“Well, when are you coming home for a visit?” Bert asks.
“Don’t rush him, dear,” Susan to the rescue. “He knows he always has a home with us.”
“Perfect,” I agree. “But let’s forget about the future. Your visit was a great success. The band is getting better with, I hate to admit, Jack’s excellent guitar playing.”
“You could come back after the summer tour ends and Jack returns to Harvard?” Susan looks endearingly at me.
Who can resist?
“Maybe that’s a plan,” I admit.
Bert is ready to pounce, but Susan jumps in first, “We certainly don’t expect anything more. Having you home has always been my dream since.. well, you know..?”
“Well, don’t wait up,” I decide. Everyone laughs. I hug Susan, whispering, “Thanks for taking my side.”
Edgar and Dorothy take me aside.
“It seems our Jack got his dreams of you reviving, but things have changed,” Edgar defends his lame son. “I must say our relationship blossomed during this visit. We look forward to even further visits.”
“Thank you for giving our boy a chance in the band,” Dorothy butters me up. “If you protect him from himself, you can still call me Mummy.”
“Thanks, Mummy,” as I hug her and we cheek kiss each other, while Edgar hugs both of us.
Enter the Black Dolphin
The next morning I sit with Bowie under the willow tree. Mike and Duncan are working on their swimming in the shallow water nearby. No dolphins today.
After the guitar lesson, I suggest we discuss changes to the show we are planning for Saturday.
“I guess we won’t be flying around the stage as we did in London,” I surmise.
The kids are excited as I describe how Bowie and I staged a battle over who plays Ziggy Stardust. They play act the battle and debate on which songs I should be Ziggy and which ones are best for David. With no logistical way to set up the trapeze wire to fly above the outdoor stage, we need an alternative.
“How about we duel guitar styles, like the old Delta Blues ‘Crossroads’ competitions?” I suggest
“Well, I concede already. You play wicked guitar. I barely get along strumming the rhythm,” David admits.
“Time for an upgrade of confidence in your skills.”
“I try to improve but I’ll never be confident enough to play leads on stage.”
“Time for Spirity,” I boost.
“The Spirit of Rock n Roll. He’s been training the Knobs, Now they’re up on stage after just a week of learning. You already play, just not with confidence.”
“He’s some guru in Montreux who gives lessons?”
“No. He is a real spirit that takes over your fingering so you soar. Freddie said Billy was better than Brian May after one session.”
Spirity shows up (in my mind) the minute we need him.
“I’ll show you. Hand me the acoustic guitar.”
He looks skeptical but hands it to me. I play the opening line to ‘Starman,’ (“There’s a Starman waiting in the sky”) and crank a riff at the end.
“Here, you do it but create your own lead. Spirity will guide your fingering.”
David shrugs and strums the notes and at the end takes off with a lyrical riff.
“How’d I do that and why is someone controlling my hands?”
“You have the spirit of rock n roll in your heart; you never knew it.”
He plays the whole song through with melodic flights of fancy at the end of each line. He’s a natural.
“It’s like it’s reading my mind as I spontaneously create riffs.”
“Exactly. He’s in your mind.”
“He’s my guardian angel. Let him in your heart and he will be there anytime you need him. He makes sure that the guitar plays the sounds in your head. He doesn’t take over, just allows your fingers to do the picking,” I laugh.
The kids are enjoying our lesson as their teacher becomes student. Bowie starts a new song and the leads fly off his guitar.
“We got to get amped. This will knock the socks off of everyone,” he is ecstatic.
“I’ve got to stay here for lessons. You go up to Freddie’s and Spirity will continue training you. I’ll watch Duncan and we’ll join your after swimming.
Bowie runs to the Aston Martin, ready to knock some socks off.
I walk down to the water’s edge where the older kids are teaching the weaker swimmers how to improve their swim technique and up their confidence in the water. Yesterday there were lake dolphins from White D’s pod playing with the learners in the water. No sign of dolphind today. The teachers have it under control.
I decide to swim further out and am joined by several kids not involved in the lessons. We swim about 400 meters from shore and are resting before swimming back. We float and chat about how fun it is to swim ‘with the dolphins.’
“Can you really speak with the fish,” a girl asks.
“They are warm-blooded mammals like us, not fish.” I correct her. “I try to make sense of that clicking noise they make and mimic it back. It seems like we both understand in a general way. Do you get my drift?”
She nods that she understands.
I nod back.
“Non-verbal communication helps define what actually is being said.”
“Like when I come home late and my mom is mad at me and disappointed but just gives me ‘that look.’”
“Your French is pretty good. Did you learn in school?”
“Mais non. I just start speaking what I know and soon I learn what the others are saying. No studying, just being open to learning from friends, like you.”
She blushes. “Maybe because you are so cute everyone wants to speak with you, even the boys in their retarded ways.”
“Pardone. Lent et stupide.”
“Tous les garcons?”
“Je prefere plus mature, comme tu,” she is using a more familiar/coy tone.
“Je preferé mon amie White D/D Blanc. Peut-être pas si mature.”
”Comme vous preferez,” she is more formal.
I look out on the lake and see two dolphins swimming directly toward us. Maybe White D knows I am flirting with another girl.
“Voyez,” I point at the oncoming dolphins. Everyone cheers to see our playmates.
The two dolphins swim madly around me, clicking wildly, ‘Click click click click.”
“‘Click click,’ White D?” I become anxious at their distress.
The dolphins get behind me and push me in the direction from which they came, kicking frantically. They pick up speed as I swing onto their backs, hanging on to the dorsal fins. The swim kids watch as I disappear toward the middle of the Lake.
I click ‘White D?” over and over.
‘Click, click’ “Yes, trouble.”
‘Click click click?’ “Fishermen?” I ask.
‘Click. Click,’ “No, worse.”
‘Click. Click click click click,’ “Yes.” But I don’t understand what the danger is.
“Click Click, click click Click,’ “White D but lack of color.” I don’t understand.
‘Click. Click click,’ “Wait. You’ll see soon.”
Off to rescue my girlfriend, White D. My interspecies language skill is growing by leaps and bounds as the two dolphins are flying across the Lake, going airborne then gliding through the water. It is exhilarating.
Soon we reach the rest of her pod. They are engaged in mortal combat while circling around White D to protect her from a huge black dolphin.
My heart sinks knowing why the male dolphin fights to reach her.
‘CLICK CLICK CLICK,’ “White D,” I scream as we approach. “I’m here to save the day” (and your virginity).
The male has a much smaller blue dolphin in its grasp, shaking and tossing it in the air as its life leaves its body. I pull myself up on the backs of my dolphins as we charge directly at the huge male. I still have much more weight than it.
The other dolphins are rallying behind me as I prepare to defend my Lady.
The Black Dolphin turns away from us, launching itself into the air. I rise to fend off its attack. I wish I had a diver’s knife to defend myself. I look eye to eye with the inflamed red eyed male who turns away and dives deep under the circling pod. I race to White D’s side and prepare to take on the rutting male. It never surfaces and the attack is over. Sir Laz/Galahad has won the day.
White D clings to me, shivering and shaking. She rolls over and we swim sideways belly to belly as her orgasmic frenzy ramps up. I understand Black D’s excitement. The frenzy increases as I place my groin closer to the aperture, I assume, is her vagina. I slide further down her belly, hanging onto her dorsal fin as I place my tongue inside the vaginal opening. Like all things since I woke up in Switzerland, I seem to unconsciously know what I am doing. Other guys say cunilingus smells too much like fish, but for me the smell is like experiencing the whole magical Lake Geneva. Her tail fin is slapping me vigorously in the groin. Damn, she comes; my dick is as limp as ever as she goes into orgasm. I just hang on as the vagina clasps and releases my tongue. It feels as if it is being pulled out of my mouth. By relaxing in between the squeezing, my tongue receeds a bit until I push in again. Her reaction is to squeeze and trap my tongue as sher orgasms climax. This technique seems to go on forever. My groin is getting a thrashing as we writhe on the surface of the Lake. The throes of orgasm slow until I pull my tongue completely free of the opening. We are done. I may not sing so well this weekend. I have no other sexual experiences to compare with dolphin fucking but know I have never felt this way before, regardless of memory loss. I am ready for my nap. We cuddle as White D seems as out of it as I am. The pod seems pleased and circles as we float together.
I go into an extended dream that seems familiar. I am in the Amazon with people who seem to dislike me. I am steering a power boat until the people knock me of into the river. White D appears and we swim together. She jumps so high I can see the sky and as we come down I wake up. She is lazing in the water next to me. I wonder who those people were, but realize I belong with White D. The pod dolphins swim me back to the lakefront where everyone was concerned that the dolphins may have kidnapped me.
“No drama, except I drove away a male black dolphin trying to rape White D.”
The kids all cheer. I am a hero in their eyes. The pod stays for 30 minutes, playing in the shallow water with the learners.
Time to join Bowie at the Lake House. Duncan wants to stay with his new friends, but I tell him it is time to go. One of the other young kids comes with us. Duncan has a real friend, not just someone trying to meet his dad away from lessons. Jim has burgers going. No one asks for Raclette.
I join Bowie in the detached studio where he is working with Billy on their Spirity-inspired guitar skills. They are exchanging licks and riffs, inspiring each other from the wellsprings of their own creativity.
“Did you eat yet,” I ask.
“No time to eat. I finally feel like I can play this instrument.”
I go into the storage closet and bring out Freddie’s classic Gibson SG.
“Try this one,” I hand him the guitar.
Bowie falls in love with the distortion bar. He’s totally out of control. It makes him seem almost human. I pick out another guitar and we trade licks. Billy decides to take a break.
“I think he’s worried you want to replace him as back-up to Brian May,” I note after Billy leaves.
“No, but maybe a guest appearance at some point.”
“Let’s concentrate on your show.”
“First of all, ‘Starman’ has three choruses of ‘let the children…’ How about we let the Boss Band play a different song after each ‘let the children boogie?’”
“Sneaking in a role for your girlfriend Siouxsie?”
“Also, giving Jack a chance to sing.”
“I thought you hate him?”
“No reason to kick him out of the band. Personally, he’s such a sad sack, he needs to worry about something besides his lost love affair with me.”
“Breaking hearts wherever you go.”
“No drama there. I do not remember him. I just know he plays a mean guitar.”
“You mean like me?” Bowie rips off a long, distorted lead.
“The resurrected Jimi Hendrix?”
I counter with Eric Clapton’s version of ‘Crossroads.’
Bowie plays while I sing
‘I went down to the Crossroads.’
Then we switch, with Bowie singing
‘Standin’ at the crossroad, baby, risin’ sun goin’ down
I believe to my soul, now, poor Bob is sinkin’ down’
“Cross Road Blues” by Robert Johnson in 1936
I rip off a long lead. Bowie waits; as I finish, he rips into his riff.
We go back and forth, forgetting to sing. It is the competition that I want us to do on stage over the Ziggy hits. We play a good ten minutes going back and forth.
Finally, we stop.
“I’m a guitar god now,” Bowie claims.
“Dissatisfied with your Glam Rock groupies?”
“They want my body, not my soul.”
I play the long intro to Barry White’s ‘Can’t Get Enough’, whispering in a deep soul voice
“I’m not going there,” Bowie backs off.
“White boy got no soul?”
“I put all my soul into Ziggy.”
“A soulless space oddity?”
“I’m passing Ziggy to you to get my soul back.”
“I have little soul with no memories beyond the last month. Ziggy will overwhelm me.”
“’Five Years’ if that’s what it takes
‘Your face, your race, the way that you talk
I kiss you, you’re beautiful, I want you to walk
We’ve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
We’ve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, that’s all we’ve got’
Writer(s): David Bowie
“Are you proposing to me?” I am stunned.
“More like a Faustian bargain.”
“You know I can’t resist you.”
“I’m telling you now before you sign the contract.”
“Let’s just see how the tour goes. My parents want me back at Harvard this fall.”
“I’ll get Freddie to lend you to me.”
“Still a slave?”
“A slave to rock n roll.”
Where is Spirity when I need him?
He/it pops up.
‘You need advice about signing onto a tour with David Bowie? You never ask for advice, or never follow it when freely given.’
“The spirit of rock n roll has given me permission to be your clone,” I tell David.
“Not me, but a Ziggy clone.”
I grab him and kiss him really hard.
“We needed to seal it with a kiss,” I gasp.
He looks flustered.
“Did something happen to you? You seem different, more mature.”
“I made love with White D after running off my black dolphin rival.”
“I thought you were impotent.”
“I got her off with my tongue.”
Bowie is speechless for once. I hug him.
“I am so happy to be your clone or slave or even guitar teacher. Let’s celebrate.”
“No drugs,” he warns me.
“That’s Siouxsie’s vice. I just get off on Raclette. Let’s ask Duncan where he wants to eat dinner. He brought a friend from swimming.”
I get Mike, and Duncan says he wants Amar and Emile to come as well. He suggests we try the Mediterranean restaurant in Amar’s neighborhood. We walk. No way three adults, two teens and two kids can fit into the two-seat Aston Martin.
We end up sitting on cushions on the floor, eating with our hands and everyone talking at once. Popa Mustafa and wife come by and join us. Falafel, lamb kabobs, rice pilaf and many veggies are best eaten with pita bread by hand. We are stuffed.
“Ce repas est mieux que Raclette,” I pronounce. Our Muslim friends are pleased.
“I have an announcement,” Bowie raises his wine glass. “Laz is my new partner in all things music.”
He leans over and kisses me on the cheek. I keep my eye on Popa who never flinches. The deal is sealed. We all toast ourselves with more wine. I lean on Bowie’s shoulder. Mike moves over on my other side. I am the meat in a pop star sandwich.
“Will you now come live with us in Lausanne?” Mike asks.
“I need to get Freddie’s permission. Are you sick of sleeping on the couch?”
“I love sleepovers, no matter where, as long as it is with you.”
Everyone smiles, unsure if it is healthy at our age.
“I have a girlfriend in London,” I explain. “And I had sex with my dolphin girlfriend this afternoon.”
Neither explanation elicits much support for being normal. Sleepovers are innocent enough without worrying about girlfriends.
Amar, his parents and Emile walk home. Bowie drops off Duncan’s new friend at his home and we stop at Freddie’s, where I will attempt to get him to allow me to stay with Bowie in Lausanne.
Everyone’s in the lounge, smoking pot. News of my tryst has travelled to the Lake House.
“All hail young Romeo, back from his secret lover’s lair with the White Dolphin,” Freddie has his own grandiose way of gossiping.
“We want details,” Billy shouts. “I thought you couldn’t get it up.”
“I have my wiles and ways,” I deflect his impolite question.
“Well, I need to know more about them,” Freddie drags me off toward his bedroom.
Max will be called for ‘duty.’ I am miffed that my departure to Bowie’s care is delayed. I shrug at Mike and David as I am dragged away.
Sitting on his large queen-size bed, Freddie demands details about interspecies fornication.
“I had to fend off a large black male dolphin who was intent on mating. The pod helped me face him down,” I jump up and reenact the whole battle.
Freddie is disappointed that I didn’t actually impregnate White D.
“She’s only 17,” I excuse my lack of ardor, “in dolphin years.”
“Well, you did defend her honor, Sir Gallant Lad. What will keep the Black Dolphin from returning later?”
“I will know if she is in danger. The pod will defend her until I can challenge my rival.”
I am jumping around and play-acting how I will overpower the randy mammal.
Freddie slides to the head of the bed and suggestively beckons me to join him.
Time for Max to do his mindless duty.
My last words as Max takes my place, “No more talking. You are in for serious fucking.”
I am floating above the bed as Max replaces me and attacks Freddie, who rolls over and presents himself on a platter. I decide not to watch anymore and float into the lounge in time to hear them discuss my nasty behavior with Freddie.
“Freddie told me Laz takes him from behind, loosening him up with slurpy tongue before going at his ass non-stop until Freddie is done and then he finishes himself off and collapses.”
“We can’t compete with teenage lust.”
“Laz’s birthday was this past weekend.”
“What is he, 18 now.”
“No. Over the hill at 20.”
“You hope to be Freddie’s victim. I’m just glad someone is keeping him satisfied.”
Billy starts to sing ‘Keep yourself Alive’
‘Keep yourself alive, wow
Keep yourself alive
Oh, it’ll take you all your time and money
To keep me satisfied’
Writer(s): Freddie Mercury
“That is truly horrid,” Brian complains.