Rogues Bard - Comedy - Reece Crispie (Sad Detective)

REECE CRISPIE (SAD DETECTIVE)

Reece Crispee was a sad Detective. He had always had aspirations to be a writer but the odds had been stacked against him from the start and he had wrestled with the Alligator Of Fate since day one ... Christened by a dyslexic nun who found him wrapped in a discarded fish and chip paper a battered breakfast food carton the only protection from the scything November rain, in a back street alley in a rundown steel town with a name like Scunthorpe …
But it wasn’t.

Thorpescun was the kind of place people go to bury their dreams… It was a one horse town and it was ten years before he realised the horse had died, but at least he got out.

Reece Crispee had no pretensions, he made no secret of the fact that he was a mystery to most people ,and went to great lengths trying to give the appearance of being shabbily rich, the truth was more prosaic He lived in understated poverty, was extravagantly mean, and often spent hours seeking enlightenment in a darkened room full of deafening silence, listening to old Cliff Richards records and writing conceptual novels to compensate for the organised anarchy of life in an asbestos coconut shell trying, as we all are to understand the meaning of this paragraph.

The truth, when he found it was singularly more complex, an intricate web of beautiful simplicity. Oh Yes … folk, simple folk loved to hate Reece Crispee. His whole life was a contradiction of terms,, a clash of cliché’s ,a meteoric metaphor an empty poisoned chalice full of useless euphemisms.

Reece Crispee was the archetype oxymoron. It was as simple and as difficult as that.

In common with most males Reece’s brains had migrated to his groin in his teenage years, and he had lately realised that they had just completed the journey back ... He had mixed feelings about this and thought long and slow and hard but to no avail…But at least there was always Viagra.

Oh yes he had been beaten with the reality stick but neither often nor hard enough and so he still held on hard to his dream, a tragic castaway adrift in an ocean of hope, frequenting bars full of empty people, peering through the murky windows of other peoples lives, looking for a reliable window cleaner, but he never gave up. He always said that there were two ways to deal with depression ... you either suffered from it, or enjoyed it.

Reece favoured the latter approach and made a modest fortune as pioneer of the Schizophrenics reversible door mat ... The A side said WELCOME ... as for the reverse side ... I’ll leave that to your imagination. But an hour is a long time in a free bar and he eventually realised that the only thing in life that separates the wheat from the chuff is a simple smelling mistake. That at the end of the day it gets dark, and while the cats away it will probably get run over … and that if you are sober enough to realise that you are drunk then you definitely aren’t.

Yes Reece Crispee WAS a sad Detective.

But he was an even worse writer…so he learnt to play Guitar.