Prelude to a Lick: The Revenge
Post Script To A Nick
by Kerry Joyce
on behalf of The Lollipop Staff
photos by Cameron Wolf
It was an occasion that should bring sheer delight to Boston’s “scenesters” (all nine of them), and that did bring shouts, first of rage, then of triumph, to the more or less permanent staff members of Lollipop (all five of them). Editor/Publisher/legend-in-his-own-mind extraordinaire, Scott Hefflon, fell off his high horse after the Anon CD release party last month, after making a typically forgettable, sloppy splash.
Well, it wasn’t exactly a horse; it was more like a 5-year-old Hyundai with 103,000 miles on it, and it wasn’t exactly his. It was mine. And he didn’t exactly fall off of it, it sort of fell off the road and into a divider on Storrow Drive. And it wasn’t exactly high, although I suspect he was.
“You know how… your car, sort of… sways, sometimes?”
“No.”
But we do know how you “sort of sway” though, especially at 3:00 in the morning after a CD release party. And now it’s payback time.
For the last few “preludes,” the staff of Lollipop has had to endure Scott’s whining about our whining, about how our sometimes low morale wasn’t his fault or his problem. Scott calls these outpourings “rants.” The only time Scott raises his voice is when he picks up a pen. Then he howls like a raped coyote, as an entire month’s worth of frustration pours out of him, usually directed at us, the hapless staff. We were told, “your intensity is for shit.” Well Scott, some things don’t require intensity. Driving a car on Storrow Drive at 3:00 a.m., for example.
There is no way to look cool behind the wheel of a Hyundai. Even by taking your life in your hands. Dying behind the wheel of one is no way to achieve cult status.
I remember seeing this nature show on PBS about termites. It seems that there are about 1500 pounds of termites for every human being on the planet, and that the methane created as a by-product of their digestion is a critical component of our atmosphere. Termite farts. In the bizarre ecosystem of space ship Earth we depend on termite farts to survive.
Well Scott, we may be nothing but a bunch of termite farts to you, but you’re a bigger one. The real reason we don’t jump ship to another publication is because we know that all the other Editor/Publishers out there are just as bloated with stench as you are. You need us. We need you. The only thing that makes you slightly more tolerable is that you make no pretense at all about being a swell guy, unlike those other Editor/Publishers, who probably do possess more redeeming qualities than you (which isn’t saying much), but not nearly to the extent that they let on. And at least you fuck up on a grand scale occasionally so we get to dish it out once in a while in your direction. It’s a new riff on an old game, but it’s getting boring from extended play. So straighten up and fly right. (Make that walk.)
Maybe we can’t get our assignments in on time. At least we can drive. So Scott, quit your bitching and complaining about how everyone isn’t more like you. It would be a scary world if we were. And remember, you would never put up with your own shit.
Keep hailing those cabs, and perhaps next month you can tell us about how we wouldn’t put up with our own shit either, once again.
