Lucifer felt the Bern?
Catholic nun, alleged mass murderer, and undercover witch featured in the criminal satire novella Angel of Salem, below is my interview of Mr. Bernie Sanders about corruption in the DNC and Washington D.C.:
The best dancer I have ever seen in the world isn’t Michael Jackson, Madonna, or Prince (oh, how I will miss that man), but Bernie Sanders (“BS”). Yes, you might think of Billy Crystal’s white man overbite from When Harry Met Sally when you think of Bernie, or even Larry David trying to the moonwalk. No, you wouldn’t be right, cause you never seen Bernie break dance, pop, and lock.
So when I thought of what I would do with a week off from the Mission Dolores, I knew it would be traveling with Bernie’s campaign. In the process, I would take some much-needed rest with the man who my family met while traveling through the South Side of Chicago on route to San Francisco. Luckily, good old Father Luther Wolf was able to come along with me for our trip. (His real name is Blue Hardin, and I call him Father Blue below, but don’t tell nobody else.) We talked about Bernie’s campaign over Heinekens, Al Green music, and through smoky air in Checker Board Lounge, a blues bar on the South Side of Chicago.
BS: Yea, so, um, Amber, um, wait, you go by Sister now, right?
My friends call me by my real name — Amber — but strangers all me by my adopted one — Sister Emerald Beem.
AF: Sure, but you can call me Amber, if you like.
BS: Just don’t call you after 10:00 p.m., right?
BF: Well, yea, I do have my nun hours.
BS: Now, I know you are going to use “BS” for my interview, is this your subliminal way of saying I am full of shit?
AF: If I thought you were full of shit, Bernie, I’d tell you to your face. Plus, you can be called BS, be covered with it, but you still might be totally legit.
BS: Whether I am covered in BS or without it, I am totally legit.
AF: Too legit to quit , MC Hammer style.
BS: Please, without those pants.
AF: I’d look like a famished Casper the white ghost, with this skin, in those pants.
Looked down and pinched the Danish white skin on my arm, and he smiled as we sat at the Checkerboard Lounge. (It recently closed, to my dismay.) We listened to Muddy Waters blasting over the large JBL speakers, and watched people dance.
BS: Look at that robot move, look at that!
BS: Over there, see that guy!
Bernie said this as his head bobbed to the sounds of Muddy’s song, I Got My Mojo Working, which was blasting over the large JBL speakers.
AF: Never thought of doing the robot to Muddy . . .
I looked over at Bernie. He shrugged.
BS: Different strokes for different folks.
He sipped some more of his beer while he sat with his black corduroy jacket with patches on the elbows. The jacket was Revenge of the Nerds meets Prada, and I quite fancied it. I could tell Father Blue did, too, who was sitting between me and the Vermont senator.
BH: Hey, Bernie man, where you’d get that jacket there, man, cause that there thing is the damn downright shit man.
Bernie just sat there smoking his hand rolled cigarette, the only one I think I’d ever see him smoke, with his old jean shirt opened up at the top, showing his cross, and his blue Levi’s jeans ripping at the seams, and his long unruly beard dripping down to his belly. His one blue eye — the other is covered by a black patch — kept glaring at Bernie, wondering what the answer was.
BS: Oh this old thing?
BH: Yes, sir, that old thing.
BS: Second hand store on the near north side, not far from Lake Michigan.
Blue dipped some of his cigarette ash into the ashtray.
BH: Reckon we got to hit that place up while we here, Amber.
He looked over at me, with his leather pirate patch on the other eye just sitting there quietly, looking at me up and down, like it was appreciating my look, even behind the pirate patch.