I suppose an explanation is in order. A story should make sense, after all, if it is to entertain. And while it may be entertaining to see Imaginary Keith singing and dancing with Janet Jackson, it is most certainly confusing. I thought he had broken his back he was complaining so much. I thought he had gone to see the doctor, not head off to the Superbowl without me. Sometimes being the boy is no fun at all.
It’s really very simple. Imaginary Keith has been known, on occasion, to take an odd song and dance job, filling in for the “big” names when their demanding schedules prevent them from attending practice sessions. Justin, it seems, was held up on some sort of badboy business, so Imaginary Keith was called in.
But poor Imaginary Keith. The pressure of this job was just too much. When it came time to practice ripping Janet’s velcro shirt apart, my sweet old friend was simply not up to the job. Too long since his last practice. Out of the loop and out of luck.
He confided to me (in the strictest of confidence) that reaching out towards Janet’s breast was the scariest moment of his life.
“You wouldn’t believe all of the Jackson lyrics that flashed through my head. It’s way worse then having your life flash by. The lyrics seemed to just go on and on and on. And not just Janet’s. No, Michael’s too. And Jackson 5. Everything. My head just started spinning.”
“I can’t believe you! Couldn’t you just close your eyes and think of something else. You know . . . like pretend you were taking the vinyl cover off of the barbeque or something.”
“I wish.”
“I mean . . what were you thinking? You’re at the Superbowl with Janet Jackson’s breast at the tips of your fingers . . and you get fired! Fired?! Just what kind of imaginary man are you anyway?”
“Ummm.”
“Forget it. Just forget it. Tell me about the game at least.”
“Well . . . I didn’t exactly watch the game. I’m not really much of a football fan.”
“Jesus H. Christ! Am I really going to grow up and be you?”
“Ummm. . . “
“Please! Don’t answer that.”