Idolism

by Marcus Herzig

  Not everyone was happy of course. Especially evangelical Christians in the United States weren’t. One week into Julian’s U.S. media blitzkrieg, several ultraconservative Christian groups organized rallies all across the country and asked people to bring their Puerity CDs so they could be burned. The most successful of those rallies attracted a staggering crowd of 90 people, plus 200 environmentalists to protest the burning of CDs because of the dangerous levels of dioxin it would release into the air. Meanwhile, Julian was speaking to 900,000 people at the Mall in Washington, D.C. at a rally for peace and reason, talking about love and forgiveness, and about burning CDs.

  “I think burning CDs is a great idea,” he said. “Go on and burn all your favourite Puerity songs on CDs and pass them on to all your friends! Spread the word!”

  The crowd obviously went wild, and this beautiful little gem of a sound bite made the evening news in most countries in the world, so much so that party-pooper-in-chief Peter Tholen deemed it necessary to step in front of the cameras himself to remind people that Julian had obviously made a joke, and that copyright infringement was an abominable crime.

  Poor old sod.

  The Gospel According to Michael – 15

  “MINDY?”

  “Yes, Michael?”

  “Track Julian Monk.”

  “Yes, Michael.”

  “I want to know where he is and what he’s doing at any time.”

  “Yes, Michael. Julian spent the night at the Beverly Hilton Hotel in Beverly Hills, California. He is currently at Marco’s Restaurant on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood. In two hours he is scheduled to speak at the Atheism Now! conference at the Los Angeles Convention Center. Later today he is expected in Burbank to appear on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. In the last 24 hours, 329 videos containing the name Julian Monk in the title or the video description have been uploaded to YouTube. On Twitter, #JulianMonk has been trending worldwide for 11 days, 2 hours and 55 minutes, with the highest position being number one and the lowest position being number seven.”

  “Thanks, MINDY.”

  “You’re welcome, Michael.”

  I leaned back in my chair and marvelled at the great progress I had been making with MINDY. Through days and nights of relentless work I had turned her into the most sophisticated tool the world had ever seen—or not seen, because MINDY’s most important feature was being invisible, undetectable and untraceable. Her individual modules were floating freely around the Internet, never resting more than a few milliseconds in one place and using CPU time of unsuspecting users’ computers on the fly.

  I also marvelled at the progress Julian had been making in his quest to shake the world in its foundations. In the ten or twelve days that we had been separated, I had come to realize that it was decidedly more fun to watch Julian wreak havoc from afar, rather than standing right next to him at the centre of the storm. I was missing my best friend like crazy, but I knew that my feelings of affection for him were only safe as long as they didn’t run the risk of getting overshadowed by the annoyance of having to be in his entourage. It had taken me a while, but I was finally ready to accept that Julian was a brilliant mind on a difficult and dangerous but noble mission. I didn’t have the patience, the courage, and the strength to be an integral part of that mission, but I knew that Julian did what he did not out of narcissism or a desire to upset people, but because there was no way he could not do it. He had to speak his mind, the way he had always spoken his mind when he was with us. I still didn’t quite understand what had triggered his decision to take that huge leap from Underground Zero to the world stage, and perhaps I would never understand it, but I no longer felt offended or jealous. Instead, I had silently joined the ranks of those who loved and admired Julian for all the right reasons: his passion, his eloquence, and his determination to make the world a better place.

  I wasn’t the only one whose attitude towards Julian had changed. A very noticeable shift had also occurred in the way the mainstream media handled the Julian Monk phenomenon. They were catching on to the fact that despite the somewhat negative press we had received in the beginning, Julian’s popularity had been rising steadily, and that it kept rising no matter what was being written or said about him in the media. At first, most of the media had tried to portray him as a disruptive little punk who only wanted to cause trouble, a stage whore who would cause offence solely in order to sell more music. Well, he was a stage whore all right, but the media soon had to realize that they had completely misjudged his motivation. During the time Julian was going solo, there were dozens upon dozens of TV programs with him, but there were almost as many programs about him. Every single day you had psychologists and psychiatrists, bishops and biologists, sociologists and philosophers discussing the phenomenon that Julian had become, and while they all had a different stance on Julian, they all had to agree on one thing: he was authentic, genuine, and honest, and his motives were pure.

  There was a lot of disagreement over the various ways in which Julian tried to pursue his objectives, but there could be no doubt as to what those objectives were: love, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all. Julian wanted to make the world a better place, it was as simple as that. The public realized it first, and the media soon followed suit. And so he kept on preaching against the preachers and false prophets, and he did it in a way that struck a chord with people. The things he had to say were very powerful and often very controversial, but he always said them in a very calm and reasonable manner. Taking part in many heated debates, he always kept his cool. Every so often his opponents tried to distract him from the real issues by launching ad hominem attacks against Julian, but he never took the bait. He never condescended to defending himself. All he ever did was to defend his convictions and his beliefs which, as many experts had to agree, were deeply rooted in the teachings and philosophies of Jesus Christ but at the same time completely detached from all the supernatural divinity mumbo jumbo. By accepting and promoting Jesus as no more and no less than a brilliant philosopher and respectable role model, Julian managed to attract a lot of support from people who were looking for the kind of spiritual guidance that they could no longer find in organized religion, and he did it in the most alluring, enthralling, fascinating way. Even when his opponents on a TV debate were spewing fire and brimstone at him—as they frequently did—he never even raised his voice. He would just sit there and smile and wait until the other person was done with their hissy fit and realized what fools they’d just made of themselves, and then Julian would deliver a knock out line like, “As I was just saying, man created God in his image. There’s your proof.”

  ‘Disarmingly Charming’ was the headline in one of the papers the next day, and the article argued that with his Gandhi-like demeanour Julian made it almost impossible for anyone to attack him without looking like a total prick. Another newspaper went even further. In an article titled ‘The Second Coming’ they called Julian a 21st century Jesus. ‘Forget about the father and the son and the holy spirit. Young people today who are looking for enlightenment follow Julian Monk.’

  And people did follow him quite literally. About ten days into his U.S. tour, Julian appeared on the Ellen DeGeneres programme. In the background they had a big screen displaying Julian’s Twitter counter. It was during that live TV show, beautifully placed between two commercial blocks, that Julian became the first person in the world to reach 50 million Twitter followers. Meanwhile, back home, nobody thought of Julian as a disgrace or an embarrassment anymore like they had done just a few weeks earlier. Suddenly everyone was proud. Julian was British, they were British, and that made people proud because it meant that they were a little bit like him. Even the MMC controlled media had ceased firing cheap shots at Julian. In hindsight it should have made everyone suspicious, because at the end of the day MMC still stood for everything that Julian didn’t believe in, but I guess we simply put it down as opportunism, thinking they were just worried about their ratings and circulation figur
es. Who would have thought that MMC’s restraint was part of a bigger plan?

  The Gospel According to Tummy – 16

  During the ten or twelve days that Julian had been touring the American talk show circuit, I had adapted a new lifestyle. I got up every morning at around nine, but I didn’t go down to the kitchen until ten or so, because by that time everyone had left for work or for whatever it was that my sister was doing every day. I quite enjoyed having breakfast and lunch on me own every day, because no one was bothering me. I had the whole house for meself and I could do whatever I wanted, except for going out. But I was still allowed to use me phone and me computer, so I kept sexting Momoko all day, which was quite a bit of fun, and sometimes we would Skype and have proper cybersex. However, it’s not quite the same as being physically together with your loved one, and we were both missing each other’s bodies, so one day I invited her to come over in the afternoon. It had only been a few weeks since I had last seen her, but it felt like a lifetime. We started kissing and undressing each other the moment she walked in the door, and by the time we had made it upstairs to me bedroom, we were both in nothing but our undies. She wrestled me onto me bed and then we made out for what seemed like an eternity, although it probably was just a couple of minutes. We kept kissing and hugging and fondling each other and sucking each other’s boobs.

  And then at one point she suddenly asked me if I had any whipped cream.

  “I was hoping that you would whip my cream,” I whispered as I nibbled on her earlobe.

  “No, silly boy,” she said, “I mean real whip cream? In spray can?”

  “We have some in the fridge, down in the kitchen.”

  “I be right back,” she said and got up.

  I lay on me bed and watched her tiptoe out of the room, wearing nothing but her panties. As I waited for her to return, I kept fondling me balls and thinking about how I was probably the luckiest 17-year-old in the history of the world. And I probably deserved to be the luckiest 17-year-old in the world after all those years of being bullied at school and at home and having people call me ‘Fatty’ and ‘Lord Spamalot’ the whole time. I wished that everybody who had ever made fun of me could see me now. I wished that everybody could see me and Momoko making sweet love. I wished that we didn’t have to hide anymore. I was in love and being loved, and I wanted the whole world to know and to see and to envy me. That’s what I was thinking as I was lying there on me bed, naked and fondling me balls.

  And then I heard her scream.

  It was a long, high pitched scream, so high that it took me a moment to realize that it was Momoko’s voice and not the screeching brakes of a train or something. I jumped out of bed, pulled up me underpants and rushed down to the kitchen. There she was, stark naked, with her back facing the open fridge door, still screaming and staring at the man who was standing in the door from the garden. It was me dad who had come early because—as it turned out—he had just been fired from his job.

  I grabbed Momoko by the shoulders and shook her because she was still screaming at the top of her lungs.

  “Shut up!” I said. “Calm down. It’s just me dad!”

  She finally stopped screaming.

  “Oh,” she said and looked at me dad and then back at me. “Yes, I see resemblance now. But I so scared when he suddenly walk in the door.”

  I hugged her and put me hand on her head. “Shhh, baby, it’s okay now.”

  As I was holding Momoko, I looked at me dad. He was still standing in the open door, staring in disbelief at his son wearing nothing but undies and a clearly visible erection, holding on to a naked Asian woman in his kitchen. He stood there staring at us for what seemed like an eternity, and then he finally dropped his briefcase to the floor and sank down to his knees. He lifted his hands up to his chest, and his face turned into a grimace of pain and fear. I let go of Momoko and rushed towards him.

  “Dad! Are you okay?”

  I held him and I looked into his face that had turned red, almost purple. He was trying to speak but all he could produce was a sort of mumbling sound, and he was drooling.

  “I think he’s having a heart attack! Momoko, get him a glass of water!”

  I rushed to the living room where the phone was and I called an ambulance. When I got back to the kitchen, I found Momoko sitting on the floor, with me dad’s head cradled in her lap. He was still wailing and drooling, and Momoko was dabbing his face with a wet cloth.

  “Ambulance will be here in a minute,” I said, and that’s when I heard a noise from the front door. I turned around and saw me mum and me sister walk straight towards me. Mum ignored me as usual, and then she saw Dad lying on the kitchen floor, his head resting in the lap of a naked Asian lady.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” she shouted. “Is that the little bitch you’ve been screwing behind my back, Harold?!”

  Me sister and I just looked at each other. We had never heard mum use the f-word before. It was scary. But what was even scarier was that Mum was now hitting Momoko and me dad with her handbag, shouting more abuse at them.

  “Mum, no!”

  Me sis and I leapt forward and held me mum back. She was kicking and screaming.

  Momoko slowly got up and said, “I better get dress.”

  “Good idea,” I said, trying to contain me mum. “Mum, stop it! Calm down. It’s not what you think. Dad didn’t do anything. He’s having a heart attack.”

  Me mum finally calmed down.

  “What?” She looked at me, then at me dad, then back at me. “Then who is that woman?”

  “Well, uh...”

  And then me sis looked at me, and suddenly her shocked face gave way to a big fat grin.

  “Nice going, Tummy,” she said and high-fived me.

  Rock’n’roll!

  * * *

  When the paramedics arrived, it turned out that me dad didn’t have a heart attack. It was just a nervous breakdown. For everybody’s safety they decided to take him to hospital. Me mum went with him. Momoko went home. I was alone with me sister and we talked. It was the first time in me life that I had a good and decent talk with Chloe. It was the first time that she treated me like an adult and not like the stupid and obnoxious little boy brother that I had probably been all those years.

  “Well, look at you,” she said.

  “Yeah.” I couldn’t help but grin.

  “So how did that happen?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Momoko is Japanese. She has a thing for sumo wrestler types, I guess.”

  Chloe laughed. “I’m really happy for you, Tummy.”

  “Are you?”

  “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know. You never seemed to be that supportive, really.”

  “Oh don’t be silly, Tummy.” She nudged me with her elbow. “You’re my little brother. My main responsibility as your sister is to make sure you keep your feet on the ground rather than letting you get too coltish and boisterous.”

  “What, by mocking and teasing me all the time?”

  She shrugged. “How else? Better than beating you up.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Anyway,” Chloe said, her expression turning more serious, “just a word of warning. As soon as Dad is all right again, they will not let this issue rest. Mum and Dad, I mean. Momoko is 22. You are 17. Technically, she is a child molester.”

  “But I’m the one who’s been molesting her, really.”

  Chloe laughed. “I believe you. But you’ll have a hard time convincing Mum and Dad. Better be prepared that they will report Momoko to the police.”

  “What am I supposed to do, Chloe?”

  “I don’t know. You’re rich now. Get a lawyer, the best you can find.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “Come here, you!” Chloe said and gave me a great big hug. “Good luck,” she said, and it sounded like she really meant it. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon in m
e room, packing me things in a bag. I had made a decision. It was time for me to leave. There was no way I was going to stay under the same roof with me mum anymore. I had to go somewhere else, at least for a little while.

  In the early evening, Mum returned from the hospital. I waited for about half an hour before I made me way down to the kitchen. Me mum was sitting at the table with a half empty bottle of red wine in front of her. I stood in the door to the kitchen a whole minute before she finally noticed me.

  “What do you want?” she mumbled.

  “I’m leaving.”

  Mum looked at me and saw the big sports bag I was carrying.

  “Are you going to stay with that floozy?”

  “Her name is Momoko,” I said. “And she’s not a floozy. I love her.”

  “Love her!” Mum laughed a shrill and crazy laugh. “You silly little boy, what do you think you know about love?”

  “Certainly nothing I learned from you,” I said, and I felt blood rushing to my head. I wasn’t used to talking back to me mum like that, but I finally had the courage to do it.

  She stared at me. Speechless. Hurt.

  “Get out!” she finally hissed at me and took a big gulp of wine from her glass.

  Without another word I walked towards the front door. Before I opened it, I turned around and looked back at me mum, still sitting at the kitchen table with her back towards me.

  “I love you, Mum,” I said. “Even if you don’t know what that means.”

  Then I went outside and pulled the front door shut behind me, and before I reached the street, I heard the sound of a bottle of red wine hitting a wall and breaking into a million pieces.

  The Gospel According to Ginger – 13