“That.. might make things more difficult.”
Baring in mind the previous night’s adventures, I had been less than enthused about going out this past Friday eve. Rolling around was the monthly meeting of magi, my plexus of prestidigitators, my coterie of conjurors; the #Chaoschaps.
Joining me was Joel, who I am absolutely determined to transform into a magician, for two reasons:
- Whenever I show him a new trick, he’ll desperately want to know how it’s done, and will get into a huff if I refuse.
- He’ll constantly say things like “I need to learn this stuff”, but later subscribes to the erroneous notion that he lacks the patience.
I’m hoping that by putting him on the path of coin magic, he’ll have something that he can practice anywhere, any time. A perk would be that as nobody else in our group focuses exclusively on coins, he’ll have centre stage to show off.
Whilst I was still a little fuzzy from the previous night, Joel and I worked our way towards the usual establishment for casual drinks and card fondling. Not before long, I found myself with my mentor, Dan, upstairs and out the door, entertaining Security and patrons alike.
Dan and I have a frequent disagreement. Given that he’s been doing magic for twice the time that I have and has mentored me in my card fiddling, I vehemently state that he’s better. He in turn, declares that I am the superior of the two of us; that the student has become the master. What we do agree on however, is that when we perform, I’m never allowed to go first. This is because whilst we share a respectable amount of our repertoire each, there are things he can do that I can’t, and things I can do that he won’t. The latter, is a trick I do that Dan finds very difficult to follow.
The spectator picks a card, signs it, and places it between their teeth. Swiping a card unnoticed from betwixt the teeth would be quite a talent (even if I do say so myself). I then follow suit. I pick a card, I sign it, and I place it between my teeth. A little patter, an intimate step towards the spectator, and the two cards magically switch. This is the truly wonderful work of Wayne Houchin’s ‘French Kiss’.
Dan spends some time with some very charming young ladies from Essex, working his way through his repertoire, much of which is focused around old gambling games and showy sleights, and whilst he does this, I prepare myself. What I have noticed of when Dan (rarely) mishandles a sleight, or doesn’t quite finish as strongly as we’d both hope, is that he (ahem) always has something up his sleeves to recover with. I was about to need the same spontaneity when it came to my turn.
I step up, ready my cards and begin. Everything goes smoothly until I say “Would you kindly bite down on your card? We want to keep it safe.” Instead of biting down, the lady offered the response of “Safe eh? How’s this?!”, and promptly put the card down her blouse. Cue laughter from the audience who suspect I won’t go in there to retrieve the card (that is a completely different trick) and a bemused look on my face.
“Well.. that.. might make things more difficult.”
All I could do was continue, knowing that this trick gives the best effect when acted in symmetry. I pick a card, I sign it, show the audience.. and unabashedly put it down my shirt. Why not, might as well make a show of it by this point. And now, the moment of truth, where the only action I could take, and clearly what the audience wanted to see, was an ample bosomed chest-bump.
A considerably theatrical bump is had, and I slowly retrieve the now switched card from my shirt. Unfolding slowly for a little drawn out suspense, the reaction I always get is expectantly offered.
“What… wait, no..” So wonderfully familiar. The lady backs away, uncertain.
The card opens, it’s the spectator’s, all hell breaks loose amongst the audience; but lo, confirmation must still be had by the lass, who forages down her top for what will undoubtedly be my card. Succeeding, she pulls it out and hastily opens it.
“AAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHGHGHGHGGHGHGH” she squeals with delight, before immediately pushing her way back to me, and immediately starts to plant frenzied pecking kisses on the right side of my face. Being unable to get away (nor, truthfully, attempting to), I stand there and accept the fate of the most charming response I’ve had to this trick. That wasn’t enough however, instead true appreciation and frankly bizarre responses must be shown. The lady barges into me further and begins dry hump my leg and crotch in the middle of the pavement, much to the amusement of all.
This display was more than enough to draw a crowd in, which suddenly became filled with testosterone, no doubt thanks to the spectacle of being humped by a rather chesty Essex girl in full view of the public. “Hold on mate, lemme grab some more ladies, you have GOT to do that again!” shouts one of the gentlemen (I use the term loosely) who caught only the end result of the trick. Urging him to have patience, I compose myself and let Dan step back into the limelight, much to his annoyance, given the aforementioned difficulty of following the ‘French Kiss’, or in this case, the ‘French Peck-and-gratuitous-sexual-assault’..
..not that I’m complaining.