Since The Weeknd is performing at the Super Bowl Halftime show, I thought it’d be nice to post a little guide to his discography for anyone interested in looking to do a deep dive into his work. I would’ve posted this the day of the event, but I assume that some people would probably like to go through it over the weekend.
This shares a direct overview of his released material, talking about his career and the background of the music, the videos, the meanings and all. I’ve written this from a pop perspective, keeping in mind that his history might be fairly new for general pop fans.
I also go into the storyline of the red suit character, if your interested in catching up on that narrative before the Halftime show (which will continue the story), I’ve listed the chronological order below followed by an explanation of that narrative.
I wanna be clear that the interpretations/theories are not conclusive. Abel rarely shares the metaphors or meanings behind his music. This is based on widely based on fan discussion/mutual interpretation. Fans can feel free to expand on anything in the comments.
It is important to know about Abel's backstory to get a certain perspective of where he’s coming from, especially when discussing the songs that deal with substance abuse. These recent articles cover his early years really well and share an up-to-date point of view of his success.
Variety 2020
Billboard 2021 - Also a good source for getting to know his team.
So, an essential TL;DR is this: Abel Tesfaye came from a broken home, he was born to Ethiopian immigrant parents who split up when Tesfaye was less than seven. He then lived with his mother and grandmother, only rarely seeing his father but having a nice impression of him. His drug addiction started as soon as he was a high schooler, he turned to shoplifting to pay for this need of various substances. Soon he dropped out of high school, leaving his home the same weekend, which would later inspire his stage name, The Weeknd. The name is reference/homage to the weekend his life changed.
Quick side note, I didn’t think this post would nearly reach the character limit. So I’ve cut out excess detail and lists of producers (with the exception of After Hours since we’re in that era).
Table of contents

1. XO.
2. House of Balloons.
3. Thursday.
4. Echoes of Silence.
5. Trilogy.
6. Kiss Land.
7. King of the Fall.
8. Beauty Behind The Madness.
9. Starboy.
10. My Dear Melancholy.
11. After Hours.

XO.

XO is the record label that The Weeknd and co. created in order to publish the first mixtape (House of Balloons) and the ones that would follow afterwards. XO has a lot of meanings that have to do with what went into the music and what still goes into it. XO is what the fans call themselves, popularly with the phrase XO Till We OD (shortened to XOTWOD); another way of saying “we’re ride or die for The Weeknd and his team.”
While some argue that it could mean anything since there isn’t clear meaning to it, fans continue to associate the abbreviation with ecstasy (X) and oxycontin (O). That definition stems from XOTWOD, fans assume it’s true because of the team’s history of drug usage. While others take it as it’s classical definition “hugs and kisses” because of the consistent lyrical nature of The Weeknd’s songs.
Overtime the definition of XO is simply known as: the fans, the crew, and the label. The Weeknd is more than just one person, he comes with XO. For the sake of clarity in this writeup, I’m going to refer to his crew as XO and the fans as “the fans.”
XO still serves as a record label, the current roster is The Weeknd, Belly, Nav, and Black Atlass. It remains The Weeknd’s record label and was his first label before becoming a subsidiary of Republic Records.
Throughout his career, The Weeknd has worked with Illangelo, a Canadian producer who’s work the fans adore. Carlo “Illangelo” Montagnese was one of main the producers on The Weeknd’s Trilogy, he’s credited on each track. The fan base claims his work to be some of the most notable artistry in The Weeknd’s discography. Their work together continued with Beauty Behind The Madness, Illangelo worked on seven tracks for that album. He then returned for After Hours working on another seven tracks.
DaHeala, another Canadian producer, is another significant factor in The Weeknd’s music. Jason “DaHeala” Quenneville worked as lead producer on Kiss Land. He returned to work on six tracks for The Weeknd’s Beauty Behind The Madness, including the hit Earned It. DaHeala returned as a writer for six of the songs on Starboy. Then DaHeala worked on nine After Hours tracks, and worked as the only producewriter alongside The Weeknd for bonus tracks Missed You and Final Lullaby.

House of Balloons.

Didn't wanna make this NSFW, so here's the super clean edited cover

This is a happy house. We’re happy here. (House of Balloons/Glass Table Girls)

One of the most iconic title tracks of all time. House of Balloons is about a lifestyle of drugs, sex, and partying; all in effort to drown out self-doubt. It comes from a place of wanting to make it big while doing what you can to survive, all while pretending everything’s alright. The mixtape describes various sorts of women, how they’ve had impacted the life of someone who’s already down on his luck.
Fans often refer to House of Balloons as The Weeknd’s best work. The mixtape was the first introduction the world got of XO, and it was one hell of a way to make an impression. It’s personal for the fans and Abel because it’s the only piece of work known to be based on his life. At the end of the day he’s a songwriter, with many of his albums he creates scenarios and world that he likes to explore through the music. But House of Balloons is known to be based entirely on his life. It remains The Weeknd’s most critically acclaimed work.
House of Balloons was crafted through the influences of Hip-Hip/Indie-Rock with the main focus on R&B. Through the genius of Ilangelo, the record was—and is—mesmerizing capturing the essence of a lifestyle that The Weeknd described as “anti-everything.”
House of Balloons assisted The Weeknd in gaining the attention of Republic Records, which would then host The Weeknd’s own label XO. Though hesitant at first, XO decided to partner with Republic after the co-founding brothers Monte and Avery Lipman kept coming back to Toronto solely for The Weeknd.
House of Balloons received three videos, The Knowing, Wicked Games and Twenty Eight. The Knowing was the very first video The Weeknd made, so of course it’d be something other-worldly; it essentially reflects the song itself but in a sci-fi setting. Twenty Eight represents Abel’s life after fame but also his remorse of letting captivating women into his life.
Fun fact— House of Balloons is an actual place in Toronto, it was where him and his crew lived after he dropped out of high school. They’d host parties, call girls, do drugs, and to make it less depressing they’d fill it with balloons.

Thursday.

Valerie on the cover

Welcome to the other side. (Life of the Party)

Thursday consists of the same themes as HoB; sex and drugs. But there’s a twist, he’s in a semi-relationship with this girl Valerie. She’s the only one on his mind, even though they meet only one day of the week, any guesses on what day that could be? Through The Weeknd’s phenomenal voice and the insane production, we’re also presented with this story of a toxic relationship where Valerie used to have the upper hand but she no longer does when she falls for The Weeknd.
While Thursday isn’t entirely about the relationship of The Weeknd and Valerie, it consists of reflections to Abel’s life after the release of House of Balloons. The song Rolling Stone notably has a double meaning, in which Abel asks his fans if they’ll stick with him when he gets mainstream appeal and decides to change his sound.
The track Valerie wasn’t on the original release of Thursday, it added when Trilogy was released. Ending the mixtape with Heaven or Las Vegas meant that The Weeknd’s actions with and without Valerie were a result of his fatherless childhood, making him push anyone away. That meaning behind Thursday doesn’t change when Valerie is added to the track list, it just means that both want the toxic relationship back.
The Zone (feat. Drake) was the first feature The Weeknd had on any of his work, the video for it was released in November of 2012. Rolling Stone had also received a video in October of 2012. Both were directed by The Weeknd and reflect the two different aspects of Thursday. The Zone has Valerie living it up in the House of Balloons. And Rolling Stone has The Weeknd doing a photoshoot for Trilogy, reflective of the song itself.
Fun Fact— the female voice heard in Lonely Star is The Weeknd’s, he pitched his voice to make it sound like a woman’s.

Echoes of Silence.

Diana on the cover

Laisse tomber les filles. Un jour c'est toi qu'on laissera. [Leave the girls alone. One day it’ll be you they will leave.] (Montreal)

Out of a dark introductory into the early life of The Weeknd, Echoes of Silence is the darkest work of his Trilogy. Let’s be honest the story here isn’t entirely ethical at times but makes for one hell of a mixtape.
Similar to Thursday, Echoes of Silence follows a storyline. After accumulating success, The Weeknd gains the attention of various women. There was this one woman (D.D.) who he liked but she initially rejected him (Montreal). The woman came back to him for his fame status and evidently fell in love with him (Outside), but now that he’s got the upper hand he treats him like a groupie (XO/The Host) and lets... bad things happen to her; she’s gotta pass a test before she can get with him. This test is either drugs or his crew (Initiation). He ultimately tells this woman that he’s not exactly longterm-relationship material, perhaps because her love is temporary (Same Old Song), because he’s Next. With the end of Echoes of Silence (originally ending on the title track) the listener is left to wonder why The Weeknd left her if he’d simply want her to stay.
As a side note— Initiation should not be condoned. It remains true that The Weeknd is a songwriter and the progression of time has changed perspectives. But a song that makes such suggestions as Initiation should not be ethically/morally claimed or celebrated.
The mixtape follows The Weeknd’s lifestyle after he’s gained all this success, he’s still the same person but now he’s gotten everything he wanted. Some tracks such as The Fall continue to emphasize his journey into stardom and his acceptance of fame being temporary. With the added Till Dawn (Here Comes The Sun), The Weeknd acknowledges the changes in his life, realizing that the old lifestyle is no longer there for him or his past lovers.
Echoes of Silence is known as an underrated gem of The Weeknd’s discography, it’s well received by fans and critically acclaimed but often brushed under the rug in discussion of his work. A lot of fans and casual listeners play the mixtapes through Trilogy rather than their respective albums. This often leads to people not playing EoS either at all or only the first few tracks, this is predominantly due to the nature of the compilation being nearly three hours long.
Fun fact— D.D. is a cover of Michael Jackson’s iconic Dirty Diana. Fans have named the woman in Echoes of Silence Diana because of this track. Various theories argue that the mixtape itself is based on the Dirty Diana itself with exaggerations of the truth, or whether or not it’s a story The Weeknd crafted based on the song.

Trilogy.

Rolling Stone video doubled as a shoot

You don’t know what’s in store. (High For This.)

Trilogy is a compilation of The Weeknd’s mixtapes, House of Balloons, Thursday, and Echoes of Silence. These three mixtapes were released 3-4 months apart from one another for free digital download in 2011, they gained quite a lot of attention from various industry executives.
Prior to the release of Trilogy, The Weeknd featured on Drake’s Take Care with Crew Love. The song was Abel’s first exposure to a Rap crowd/Rap fans, more people began listening to his music after the release of Take Care. The Weeknd then featured on Wiz Khalifa’s Remember You, which served as the second single off Wiz Khalifa’s O.N.I.F.C. Following those two releases, The Weeknd released Wicked Games as the first single off Trilogy.
Trilogy was formed after The Weeknd came under Republic Records’ management. The compilation album reached a debut/peak position of 4 on the Billboard 200 while reaching number one on the US Top R&B/Hip-Hop Albums chart. It’s a well received album with the highlight said to be House of Balloons, which arguably went on to influence various sorts of R&B music of the 2010s.
Videos for Trilogy

Kiss Land.

Iconic

I went from starin' at the same four walls for 21 years. To seein' the whole world in just 12 months. (Kiss Land)

Kiss Land is based on The Weeknd’s tour life. Visiting unfamiliar places gave Abel horror movie vibes. A guy who used to own the city (Toronto) he lived in is now a small fish in the ocean of the entire world. The Weeknd’s first studio album was a great introduction into the sound he would soon get well acquainted with.
While continuing the R&B sound with the essence of Dark Wave, the album explores emptiness and regret throughout the lyrics—or what pop fans could categorize as dark pop—. The Japanese aesthetic used for various videos and the single covers/booklet reflects the themes of feeling overwhelmed by such a loud world that there’s no point in being if you don’t belong.
The album explores the real-world and the women in it as well as regrets regarding past actions, namely letting go of women who could’ve been the one in Adaptation. The Weeknd attempts to find that satisfaction in other women and past lovers, but accidentally falls for a sex worker in Belong To The World. With Wanderlust he accepts and expresses that love in the modern world isn’t entirely possible. While continuing to tour the world he enjoys these new experiences with XO (Live For feat. Drake), as well as the new women in his life (Kiss Land). And when he’s back home, he accepts the loss of the relationship he cherished.
Kiss Land debuted and peaked at number two on the Billboard 200. It was fairly acclaimed but gained a massive cult following. There were four videos for made for the album, the title track, Belong To the World, Live For (feat. Drake), and Pretty. Those four songs received interesting visuals that kept up with their respective themes while Belong To the World/Kiss Land got visuals that matched the aesthetic of the album. To this day fans ask Abel for a part two to the horror-movie-inspired album after he said it’s the only album he would have a sequel for.
Videos for Kiss Land
Fun Fact— The video for Kiss Land on YouTube is an extremely edited version of the actual video shot for the song. The directors cut further explores the erotic-horror themes if the album.

King of the Fall.

King of the Fall 2020 cover (even though I talk about three other songs here)

Driving by the streets we used to walk through like a triumph. (King of the Fall)

These next few song were released between the Kiss Land and Beauty Behind the Madness era. Some fans would classify them as part of the Beauty Behind the Madness era—I’d say the same tbh—but they stand apart on the basis of success and acclaim. It’s a transition between The Weeknd being an underrated R&B musician to being a mainstream artist with massive recognition and appreciation.
The first of these four songs is King of the Fall. A fan favourite and a standout in The Weeknd’s discography. This is one of The Weeknd’s few Rap tracks, it gained a lot of attention within the Rap sphere. It was the way in which XO would announce that they’ve made it, little did they know that this was just the start.
Prior to the release of Beauty Behind the Madness (BBTM), The Weeknd gained mainstream attention. The Weeknd’s exposure to mainstream music was uphill, it wasn’t overnight. The first taste of BBTM came from Often, a song that reflected the themes of sex that Abel was known for. The track was released more than a year before BBTM’s release and had made it onto the trackless unlike King of the Fall. Slowly but surely The Weeknd gained exposure, his main sources of exposure were through a collaboration and a soundtrack.
Most pop fans heard about The Weeknd through his hit collaboration with Ariana Grande, Love Me Harder. The collab was made through Republic when The Weeknd said he wanted more than what he had gotten through Kiss Land. Ariana and Abel had formed a real bond cough The Hills cough, their bond assisted the song in becoming a memorable hit for both artists. Love Me Harder was a top ten hit on the Billboard Hot 100.
Later that year, The Weeknd was featured on the Fifty Shades of Grey soundtrack with Earned It, as well as Where You Belong. Earned It became a massive hit peaking at 3 on the Billboard Hot 100 and receiving an Oscar nomination for The Weeknd; a massive milestone for XO. Earned It kept up with Abel’s signature lyrics but the production differed heavily from the sort of R&B he was known for.
Videos from that era

Beauty Behind the Madness.

I can hear this image

I'm that ***** with the hair singin' 'bout poppin' pills, fuckin' bitches, livin' life so trill. (Tell Your Friends)

Following the success of Love Me Harder and Earned It, the Beauty Behind the Madness era began with The Hills. This was The Weeknd’s first number one on the Billboard Hot 100. Along with the video, The Hills became an addictive classic. The production and lyrics mirror a mature version of the sound that was originally found on Trilogy. It was truly in keeping with The Weeknd’s character, the only difference was his haircut.
Next came Can’t Feel My Face, a Max Martin production that differed greatly from anything The Weeknd put out in the past. In past songs, Abel had expressed his fear of losing his following if he went mainstream simultaneously asking his fans if they’d stay. He repeats that sentiment in the Can’t Feel My Face video. The sound has changed, the lyrics stay the same but now he’s a pop-star. The song became a hit as it reached number one on the Billboard Hot 100. With this massive bop previous fans still stayed, The Weeknd becoming a pop singer didn’t at all alter his image or sound; he mastered it.
In The Night and Acquainted were released as singles on the same day, the were the only singles to come after the release of Beauty Behind The Madness. The former received a music video treatment that followed the theme of the song itself while also starring Abel’s girlfriend at the time, Bella Hadid. Acquainted was robbed of a video even though Abel had shown off the fact that a video was in development; the song kept in the tone of The Weeknd’s work prior to BBTM.
Beauty Behind the Madness captures a Hollywood-based reality that The Weeknd came to understand: the dark aspects of your life will continue to follow you wherever you are. Real Life, Losers (feat. Labrinth), Tell Your Friends, Dark Times (feat. Ed Sheeran), and Prisoner (feat. Lana Del Rey) all capture a nihilistic view of a dream achieved.
Most of the videos of Beauty Behind The Madness have a mysterious white man. He’s featured in The Hills, Can’t Feel My Face, and Tell Your Friends. That man represents the devil. Throughout his journey in those videos, (The Hills) Abel runs into the devil after his car crash, (Can’t Feel My Face) he’s at the club then lights him on fire. The significance behind the fire could be selling his soul to the devil, BBTM is about Hollywood and a popular Hollywood myth is that celebrities sell their souls to the devil in exchange for fame. So in the Can’t Feel My Face video, Abel changes his sound to Pop (from R&B) thus leaving his signature sound in order to become famous, everyone starts enjoying his music once he’s sold his soul.
Then we see The Weeknd burying himself in Tell Your Friends, perhaps leaving the old Abel behind after the deal with the devil. However, instead of thanking the devil, Abel takes his revenge and shoots him. But wait, there’s more! The album trailer for BBTM features the devil burning a billboard with The Weeknd’s face on it, revealing Beauty Behind The Madness. HOWEVER, the final cut for the video features the devil being arrested while The Weeknd watches. This is a more realistic form of karma that the devil gets.
Videos for BBTM

Starboy.

Filled with bops

If I could, I'd trade it all, trade it for a halo. And she said that she'll pray for me, I said, "It's too late for me.” (Ordinary Life)

After the massive success of Beauty Behind the Madness, there was a lot of hype around what The Weeknd would do next; evidently he decided to explore Pop. The fandom he had gained wasn’t entirely based in the Pop sphere, his fans consisted of general Rap fans, but Starboy attracted the Pop audience.
Initially, most of his older fans couldn’t get behind Starboy, it differed greatly from the previous sound. It was crazy to think that the guy who made Trilogy managed to make such a Pop-centric album. But this was Abel expressing his versatility.
Since this is where most pop fans found out about Abel’s work and became fans I won’t talk too much about the singles, rather more about the album itself. His work with Daft Punk cemented this album in an efficient mix between Pop and R&B, where Beauty Behind the Madness was more R&B with Pop, Starboy was considered Pop with R&B.
Beyond the genres, Starboy explores two evident themes. One being his life with fame and recognition. The next being his love life in Hollywood, this aspect of the album came from his relationship with Bella Hadid which ended after the release of the album.
The cross became the symbol for that era and appeared in the album’s photoshoot as well as the videos. There was never any conclusive word on the use of the cross but there are various theories about it, something to note is that Abel was raised Christian, it could perhaps be a reflection of his past.
The cross he uses to destroy his accolades (Starboy video) is assisting him rather than something that’s holding him back. Abel’s upbringing was rough but now he’s celebrating it rather than feeling bad for himself. The cross continues to come up in the Party Monster video, this time it’s in the party house he’s making his way through. Then it shows up in the video for Reminder, this time in the form of his merch, the people wearing it are perhaps representative of his fans. Then we see it in the False Alarm video, both Abel and the girl are wearing it; the notable thing being that Abel holds his cross up before dying. Then in the brilliant video for Secrets, after giving up on the girl he’s with he leaves the building to find a giant cross. And finally in the I Feel It Coming video, The Weeknd sports a shiny cross necklace, and Daft Punk find it years and years after Abel froze.
The videos tell us that the cross is an evident piece of his story. This could mean that his past will always be with him, no matter what sort of fame he’s experiencing he’ll always be who he once was.
Also, I’m gonna take this moment to once again the genius that is the Secrets (both the song and the video). Yes it’s my favourite song/video off of Starboy but it’s so underrated.
Videos for Starboy, Secrets video bottom right
Fun Fact— Most demos of the tracks on Starboy weren’t as pop as they became, they started off R&B but became pop after production.

My Dear Melancholy.

Note the comma

They said our love is just a game, I don't care what they say. But I'ma drink the pain away, I'll be back to my old ways. (Privilege)

Oof (but in a good way, this whole thing is a bop). For this one I’m gonna talk extensively about The Weeknd’s relationships, which personally feels really invasive but it’s but it’s essential when talking about these sad boy anthems. Beyond that I’d just like to state that though they are part of the narrative both Bella Hadid and Selena Gomez deserve respect/privacy.
So when it comes to Pop music fans I think it’s safe to say that we all know a lot about this one. My Dear Melancholy (MDM) came after the very public relationship of The Weeknd and Selena Gomez. However it’s not just about Selena, some songs reflect his relationship with Bella Hadid (whom he got back with a month after MDM’s release).
My Dear Melancholy consists with The Weeknd’s exploration/mastery of merging Pop and R&B together. The EP was praised by fans for its lyrics and production, many went on to theorize that it was his most personal project since House of Balloons. The EP was the shortest album to reach number one on the Billboard 200.
My Dear Melancholy and fan conspiracies; name a better duo. The first theory being that the EP is entirely about Selena Gomez which wasn’t too much of a mystery since the lyric “I almost cut a piece of myself for your life” exists. Not only did MDM come after Abel’s relationship with Selena Gomez but also after his relationship with Bella Hadid. As far as fans were aware those two relationships were the most important relationships Abel had ever been in.
In theory, the songs about Bella and Selena can be categorized. Call Out My Name, Try Me, and Privilege are likely about Selena. Wasted Times, and Hurt You are likely about Bella. Leaving I Was Never There to act as an introspective look into The Weeknd’s life, basically making him hop back on his vices for comfort.
Another popular theory was that My Dear Melancholy was the first of another trilogy. This rumour was widely believed due to the comma at the end of the title on the album cover. But the fans soon gained a real reason to believe this theory, since the CEO of XO (the record label), Sal had liked an Instagram post that featured the cover and alleged date. Since Trilogy is a fan favourite this conspiracy spread like wild fire, so much so that fake titles and covers were made. The name of this trilogy would be: (1)My Dear Melancholy, (2)We’re Alone Together, (3)Abel.
Only one song served as a single for the EP. Call Out My Name was released nearly two months prior to the actual release of the album, it debuted/peaked at number four on the Billboard Hot 100. The mysterious video captures The Weeknd in various atmospheric places that reflect the tone of the EP, a haunting yet unexplained reality that the listener is to reflect on.
From the cover, to the music, to the video, to lyrics, My Dear Melancholy is an introspective reflection of heartbreak.
Call out my name video

After Hours.

Talented, Brilliant, Incredible, etc.

My darkest hours. (After Hours)

After Hours comes after success but references two lows in The Weeknd’s life. The album welcomes darkness and leads the listener towards a dead-end. The Weeknd’s past two albums (Beauty Behind The Madness and Starboy) ended on hopeful notes, they left the listener with a sense of hope but all hope his lost with After Hours.
Fans compare After Hours to House of Balloons—a rare occurrence considering House of Balloons’ acclaim—arguing that both albums are on the same level. Debate continues on whether or not both albums are on the same caliber. The belief that After Hours stems from reality does a lot to help its side of the argument.
The era began with Mercedes-Benz commercial that featured Blinding Lights, that was our first taste of the everlasting bop. Heartless was premiered on an episode of Memento Mori hours before its release on the 27 of November (2019), Blinding Lights was released two days later. Both videos were as brain melting as promised and the served as the tip of the iceberg.
After Hours was released nine days after COVID-19 was declared a pandemic, there was a massive risk in releasing an album that would not have a lot of promotion after it’s release (other than magazine coverage). There was no telling whether or not people would pay attention to the album during the height of the fear surrounding the pandemic, but it was a massive success. After Hours debuted at number one on the Billboard 200, with singles Heartless and Blinding Lights topping the Billboard Hot 100.
The album is layered with haunting productions that remains predominantly R&B but dives deep into Pop with some of the tracks. Max Martin produced the massive hit Blinding Lights as well as In Your Eyes, Save Your Tears, Hardest to Love, and Scared to Live which samples Elton John’s Your Song. Other notable producers include Metro Boomin who worked on the hit Heartless as well as Escape from LA, Faith, and Until I Bleed Out. With Kevin Parker on the interlude Repeat After Me.
Beyond the production are the narrative driven lyrics. In theory the album references two significant events in Abel’s life, his second breakup with Bella Hadid and his arrest in Las Vegas. The latter was due to his misbehaviour; in January 2015 he punched a cop in Vegas, lmao. Which means that After Hours is a recollection of The Weeknd’s first few years in LA. He merges the concept of his breakup with the idea of being an upcoming star, feeling free in the city of lights all while diving deep into the meaninglessness of those lights.
While After Hours starts with loneliness and a second chance it leads up to Abel returning to his vices of lust. In Alone Again his loneliness caught up to him and he’s asking for a second chance. He acknowledges his mistakes and situation in Too Late/Hardest to Love, in Scared to Live his ex then returns to him for a second time. He remembers his past ways in Snowchild and the way in which it lead to better days, but where do you go after such highs? In Escape From LA he faces the superficial reality of Hollywood, glad that he got that he got back with his ex, while continuing to question if it’s worth it. But he fucks up the second chance when she pulls up to the studio.
Who is she? Much like the other mysteries surrounding The Weeknd’s music, we may never know. Is it all more of The Weeknd’s songwriting ability or is it driven by reality? Fans found a merge between the two to be more accurate, After Hours is about heartbreak and a return to the vices that held The Weeknd back.
Heartless is when The Weeknd is once again back to his ways, he may have been in a serious relationship but after throwing that away he spirals back to the way he once was. It’s sad but it’s one hell of a song. Speaking of brilliant songs, Faith is when Abel admits that he’s back on his vices, he states that he needs his ex back with him till the end; he’s back to self-loathing.
So when he says he’s blinded by the lights, there’s two meanings to it. The Faith outro tells us that he’s in a car with flashing lights, a cop car (as confirmed by Abel) to be exact. Then Blinding Lights tells us that while he’s watching the bright lights of Vegas pass him by he calls out for the girl that he regrets losing. That is the peak of the After Hours narrative. He’s behaving badly over the loss of the girl he loved and is now at the worst position trying to find her and gain her trust for a third time.
Following Blinding Lights is In Your Eyes, this is where The Weeknd vows not to judge her; he can see right through her but will never do anything to make her upset. Does this mean their back together? Not exactly. Save Your Tears details a sort of moving-on that The Weeknd isn’t ready for but tries to help her move on, blind to his own inability to move on. Does it work? Not really. Repeat After Me (Interlude) shows that he’s still trying to convince himself that he’s unfazed by the loss of a meaningful relationship.
Then you hear a true masterpiece. The title track is a spiral into true regret and an apology for his actions, he admits that his ex girlfriend is the only reason he lives. In a dark lonely city she’s the only one keeping him sane. But his pleas fail, Until I Bleed Out is when The Weeknd no longer wants her in his life so much so that he wants to erase his memory of anything related to her. The bonus tracks then echo the final sentiment.
It’s one sad ass album, ain’t it. But here’s where the Red Suit Character comes in.
Shoutout to the makeup department
The album isn’t the only narrative to follow with After Hours. The videos for the album follow their own sort of narrative. The story follows an unnamed guy that goes by “red suit character” according to The Weeknd.
There’s a lot of confusion and endless theories surrounding this character’s story, after The Weeknd confirmed that it’s about a decent into Hollywood culture it makes more sense… kind of. I’m gonna discuss the storyline without talking about the movies that have influenced it, this way the focus remains on the character.
The order of these videos is Heartless / Blinding Lights / Blinding Lights (Live on Kimmel)* / After Hours short film / In Your Eyes / Until I Bleed Out / Snowchild / Too Late / Live at AMAs* / Save Your Tears
*Though all live performances could count as part of the narrative, these one relate directly with the videos that follow.
He’s is first seen in Vegas with Metro Boomin (Heartless), intoxicated on various substances. He dives deeper into his high until he licks a frog, after that he faces the true effects of this high. He’s frightened by the result and runs far away from Vegas. (Blinding Lights) He’s then found in LA, where he’s dancing in the street, hypnotized by the singer, beat up by guards, and races past all those bright lights in his Benz. Ultimately realizing the shallowness of the Los Angeles fantasy.
(Blinding Lights Live on Kimmel) We then find him performing Blinding Lights live, while he attempts to find more reason in within the madness city; he couldn’t find it on the streets so he goes to the stage. (After Hours short film) Even then there’s no meaning to anything in the city, he mindlessly wanders into the depth of the subway where he’s dragged by the reality of it all and ends up possessed. (In Your Eyes) After being possessed he chases the woman whose boyfriend he just murdered, she runs into a club falls deeper into the After Hours fantasy, in a successful attempt to defend herself she beheads the red suit character and dances all over LA with his head, iconic behaviour.
(Until I Bleed Out) Then in an ethereal dreamscape, red suit character finds himself in a House of Balloons. He’s trying to escape, but the people there keep pulling him in; he’s getting higher while observing Glass Table Girls. He spirals into the antarctic, the other side of the world. From Heatless to this point in his story, his vices lead him back to the lowest point in Abel’s life. Is it Hell, Heaven or Las Vegas? (Snowchild) He relives his career up until the point where his story began. Considering he’s dead, his life basically flashed before his eyes.
(Too Late) LA girls find the red suit character’s head and live their best life. They wanna have sex with him so they find the best boy parts by calling up a stripper who could be the body. The stitch the head up with the body and do what they want. But now he’s brought back to life. (Live at AMAs) He’s had work done… He went in to get his nose fixed and the doctor said “you sure that’s all you want?” The red suit character’s face is healing while he tries to celebrate his life on top of a bridge.
(Save Your Tears) Surrounded by a masked cult he debut’s his new face. Do they like it? Are they impressed? Not instantly, their masks translate no expression so how’s he to know? Is any of this worth it? Nope red suit character continues to die inside. He finds a maskless girl in the crowd, she’s lively unlike the rest; but even then, nothing on the inside nothing on the outside. He wants death again, somehow a second chance with this city is still pointless. He tries to kill himself via the girl and himself but it’s all a facade; theatrics.
His story continues but that’s all we know so far.
The videos make a lot of film references. This post by explain these references very well, as well as past album references here (part one) and here (part two).
After Hours is inspired by a lot of movies, since Abel is in fact a cinephile. The main movies that inspired the aesthetic and storytelling are believed to be Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998), Casino (1995), Joker (2019), Uncut Gems (2020), and After Hours (1985). The album tells two sad narratives but remains one of The Weeknd’s best works yet. He’s expanded his videography and enhanced the interest of people who casually enjoy his music and of course his fans.
But the era isn’t over, by the time this is posted his Super Bowl Halftime show is yet to happen. And it’ll continue the red suit character’s story.
Videos for After Hours (so far)
Fun Fact—The Heartless video features a reference to Thursday. When he’s trying to run from Vegas, a sign behind him flashes “Heartless / Heaven or Las Vegas.” This could be a reference to Abel running from his past, after all Heartless is about him returning to his vices.

END.

Thank you for reading this, again, I didn’t realize it would end up being this long. But I hope this this served as a nice refresher for any fans who wanted to revisit Abel’s work before the Super Bowl.
And I really hope that anyone interested in getting into his music finds this helpful. Once again, the theories/interpretations mentioned aren’t conclusive, they’re widely based on fan discussion/mutual interpretation.
Due to the character limit I couldn’t add too links to the albums, so here are some artist links.
Apple Music | Spotify | YouTube | The Weeknd’s Shop | Tidal | Genius

(Note: be warned, kind of long background info here, but I think it’s needed)
As far as interesting lives, few can beat Benjamin ‘Bugsy’ Siegel. Born February 28, 1906 in Brooklyn, New York, Siegel came from a poor Jewish family. Before he was even twenty, he’d established a profitable protection racket and a lengthy rap sheet, including armed robbery, rape, and murder. Siegel had connections—he was childhood friends with Al Capone and familiar with many of the well known New York City mobsters of the day—and he also had a taste for violence. Soon, he’d established a small mob specializing in hits for the numerous bootleg gangs of the time with Meyer Lansky, a fellow mobster. His violence and short temper led some to say he was “crazy as a bedbug,” giving him his famous nickname ‘Bugsy,’ which he even more famously despised.
Siegel was making money, which he was happy to flaunt, but he wanted more. He carried out several hits for Charles “Lucky” Luciano, and eventually formed Murder Inc. with his associates, establishing himself as a skilled hitman for the National Crime Syndicate, an organization of mob families. But Siegel was already making enemies, and several assassination attempts were made on his life, some of which came very close to being successful. So, it was time to move out west.
In California, Siegel helped establish gambling rackets, drug trade routes, and prostitution rings. His star was rising outside of the Underworld too, and in addition to the numerous politicians and police on his payroll, he befriended stars like Cary Grant and Clark Gable. Incredibly, while in Italy with a socialite in 1938, he met Hermann Goering and Joseph Goebbels, whom he immediately disliked and offered to kill. The offer was declined by his lady friend. Yet Siegel was not always looked upon fondly by the upper echelons of Hollywood; he borrowed exorbitantly from celebrities, knowing he would never be asked to pay it back, and began to develop extensive plans to extort movie studios. After several trials and acquittals for failed and successful hits, it was time to leave California.
Siegel’s next stop was Las Vegas where, in 1945, he purchased and developed the Flamingo Hotel & Casino, the first luxury hotel on the Vegas strip. As you might imagine, that was expensive, and over the course of its construction, costs were equivalent to over $61 million in today’s money each year. Siegel’s checks were bouncing, and many of the locals felt threatened by him. Mob bosses were beginning to lose patience with Siegel too, and he was refusing to report on business, claiming he was running the California Syndicate himself. For now, they left him alone—he'd been valuable in the past, after all.
The Flamingo Hotel was a dismal failure, and people—very powerful people—were starting to get tired of waiting for the promised money to materialize. By 1947, it was gradually turning around—with the help of Meyer Lansky, now in Vegas—but for most, it was too little too late.
Death:
On June 20, 1947, Siegel was gunned down in the Beverly Hills home of his sometimes-girlfriend Virginia Hill. He was 41. Somewhat suspiciously, Hill had taken an unscheduled flight to Paris the day (or by some sources, week) before. As Siegel sat reading the newspaper with associate Allen Smiley, an unknown assailant fired with a .30 caliber military M1 carbine through the window, striking Siegel many times (NSFW). Two shots hit his head, with one passing through his right cheek and the other his nose. Though he was not hit directly through the eye (NSFW), a bullet-in-the-eye death became a popular trope in Mafia media, including in the Godfather, where a character based on Siegel is murdered in the same manner.
The death was covered extensively in the media, which portrayed Vegas as a bastion of sin and mafia activity. As early as the day after Siegel’s death (or, as some sources have it, during Siegel’s death), however, more personal things were changing: Lansky walked into the Flamingo and took over operations.
Theories:
The mob is famously tight-lipped, and Siegel’s death was no exception. Despite the extensive speculation, no precise motive has ever been confirmed. There was a massive police investigation, but in a case like this, that doesn’t mean much, nor does the media coverage. The media in particular salivated over the potential for splashy crime stories, and the circumstances of this case have been complicated by contemporary coverage. Several days after Siegel’s death, for example, one newspaper ran the headline “BUGSY'S BLONDE EX-WIFE GIVES CLUES TO HIS KILLERS,” while another read “BUGSY'S EX NO AID IN HUNT.” As far as the most popular theories:
A Mob hit: A mob hit seems like the most obvious cause, and it's a theory that’s been popularized by several novels and the 1991 movie Bugsy. It would certainly make sense; it was the mob’s money Siegel had been spending wildly on his unsuccessful hotel after all, and he’d been growing uncooperative. Of the proposed hitmen, the most often mentioned are Frankie Carbo (Ralph Natale, former Philadelphia boss and Mob squealer, claimed Carbo as the true killer) and Eddie Cannizarro, both Syndicate hitmen. But even here, there are several proposed reasons for the hit. As some have it, mob money from the Flamingo’s funding was going missing and Siegel was skimming off the already meager profits. Skimming could have been forgiven, if the Flamingo was a success. It was not. After a meeting of the Syndicate’s “Board of Directors,” it was allegedly decided that Siegel would die, with Lansky reluctantly agreeing. Others believe that a hit might have been ordered whether Siegel was skimming or not; the Flamingo was simply too expensive. As one historian put it, “Bugsy was a dreamer. And he was dreaming with other people’s money.”
Yet many have also argued against this theory. According to one of Siegel’s emissaries in Vegas, for example, no one would have dared to order a hit on Siegel. He and Lansky were close until the end of their lives, and Lansky would never have agreed to it. And if Lansky would not agree, then Charles “Lucky” Luciano, who was “the head of everything,” would never have agreed either. And as others have argued, the method of execution (NSFW) didn’t match with typical mob methods; firing a weapon from outside a house increased the risk of missing as well as the risk of being seen. The preferred method was a clean shot to the back of the head. According to some, the oft-referenced money problems of the Flamingo also wasn’t an issue. At the time, Lansky was paying back any investor who wanted out, and the gradual uptick in its profits was quickening by the day. Personally, I don’t think the financial uptick invalidates the theory. If the hotel was starting to make more money, then that might be all the more reason to get rid of the difficult-to-manage Siegel and take over.
Wire Business: At the time of his death, Siegel was embroiled in a dispute with Jack Dragna, dubbed the Capone of Los Angeles. Siegel and Dragna had had an uneasy partnership in previous years, but Dragna, far less powerful than Siegel and the New York gangs, resented the income and respect Siegel commanded. This came to a head when a racing wire service (a way of cheating on bets) between the two of them soured. Siegel wanted control for himself, and ordered Dragna to turn it over or be killed, to which Dragna agreed. After Siegel’s death, control was returned to Dragna. He had a motive, but his story would only have been one among many for a man as ruthless as Siegel, which, in a way, complicates things further—there’s a real possibility that the culprit in Siegel’s murder was someone never even considered. His list of enemies was long, varied, and probably mostly unknown. Yet another man who had reason to want Siegel dead, for example, was his bodyguard and muscle Mickey Cohen. A Cleveland gangster, Cohen was given control of the Syndicate’s West Coast gambling operations. If Siegel still lived, he would never have gotten it. Interestingly, he, like Al Capone before him, was eventually felled by tax evasion.
Virginia and/or brother: The same emissary of Siegel who shot down the mob hit theory believed that Virginia Hill’s brother had carried out the murder. The brother, a marine stationed at Camp Pendleton named Bob or Bill, had seen Siegel and Virginia fighting outside the Flamingo as well as the bruises Siegel had left on her and threatened to kill him. Another of Virginia’s brothers, Chuck, was also at the Beverly Hills house when Siegel was murdered.
Virginia herself has also been the subject of suspicion. Nicknamed the “Queen of the Mob,” Hill worked, among other powerful jobs, as a cash courier, laundering money and stolen goods as well as blackmailing high-ranking men through sexual liaisons. Her relationship with Siegel was tempestuous at best, and she may have been embezzling from the Flamingo. She’s also been accused of two-timing with rival mob operations, though this is unconfirmed. Eventually fleeing to Europe permanently, Hill died of an overdose in 1966, though some have alleged that she was actually murdered after she, completely broke, attempted to leverage her intimate knowledge of the Mob.
Rival Mobs: Unfortunately, I can’t find much concrete information about this theory (note: story of my life researching these posts haha), but some believe that rival mob operatives wanted Siegel gone. He was a powerful—and very public—figure, which made him something of an obvious target in the cut-throat world of Mafia politics.
Moe Sedway: This is a relatively new theory, emerging after Robbie Sedway was interviewed for LA Magazine after his mother’s death. Here, he alleged that Siegel’s murder was ordered by his mother Bee, the wife of powerful mobster—and childhood friend of Siegel’s—Moe Sedway. According to Bee, who wrote and scrapped a book proposal called Bugsy's Little Lunatic (Siegel’s nickname for her), Siegel had threatened her husband, who was the Flamingo’s numbers man, and therefore watching Siegel—who, remember, had been accused of skimming—closely. So Bee contacted Mathew “Moose” Pandza, a truck driver whom Bee married after Moe’s death. Moose, the perfect killer, since he had no connection to the Mob, then shot Siegel to death. The problem with this theory, however, is that Bee is the only source; as she herself said, anyone who could contradict her was dead. She also squandered most of the fortune left to her by Moe over the course of her life, and died almost penniless.
All of the above: Some believe that almost all the suspects were involved. Usually, it goes something like this: “Virginia supplied the location and received some reward. Cohen knew Bugsy's schedule for the evening, but happened to not be watching him that night…Dragna ordered the hit, with the approval of Lansky and Luciano.” It’s unlikely, but it certainly has its believers, if only for the convenience of it.
Final Thoughts & Questions:
This case is interesting to me because of the sheer number of suspects. In the end, a mob hit seems the simplest and most likely explanation. But there were so many people with means, motive, and opportunity. So:

• Why was Siegel killed and who killed him? The Syndicate, rival mobs, Virginia Hall, her brother, Mickey Cohen, Jack Dragna, Mathew Pandza (as ordered by Moe and/or Bee Sedway), several of the suspects, or someone else entirely?

Sources:
https://www.lamag.com/longform/mobster-murder-moll-secret/
https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/lasvegas-bugsy/
https://themobmuseum.org/blog/killed-benjamin-bugsy-siegel/
https://unsolvedmysteries.fandom.com/wiki/Bugsy_Siegel
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bugsy_Siegel
https://themobmuseum.org/blog/virginia-hill-queen-of-the-mob-was-no-ones-pushove
To many, Siegel’s legacy exceeds his mob connections, and in some ways, even his death; without him, many believe, there would be no Vegas. So if you take anything away from this write-up, let it be this: The Blue Man group’s Vegas residency is Bugsy Siegel’s fault.

Continuing… (It's Part 6 in the saga, I fucked up. Sorry.)
So, after a few re-fueling and impromptu cigar-purchasing stops in South and Central America, we wheel up to the deserted jetway at LAX.
“Thought we were going to Elmendorf?” I asked.
“This isn’t it?” the pilot replied, feigning worry.
“No.”, I replied, “Looks like California. Fruits and nuts. All around. What’s going on? One minute we’re off to Texas, then Cali, then Texas again, now we end up here at the California airport of the iconic tower.”
“Yeah, it’s confusing enough haulin’ civilians around. But when we get a call from Virginia, we tend to comply without any questions,” the pilot explains.
“Aw, shit!”, I sort of exclaim, “Rack and Ruin called?”
“Yeah”, the pilot replies, “Figures you’d know these guys. They said they were closer to LAX rather than Texas and had us divert here. In fact, you look over there, see that dark blue Chevy? That’s them; and evidently, your ride.”
I tipped the airman from earlier a couple of cigars as he helped me with my gear off the plane and into the trunk of Rack and Ruin’s plain-Jane blue late modeled Chevy. Had to move the Sidewinder Missiles off to one side, though.
“Most honorable Agents Lack and Luin!” I quipped in my faux-racist greeting. “What the hell, guys? I’ve got to get to Japan and get some newly rigidified digits.”
“Let’s see your hand”, Agent Rack asks. “Nasty.”
“Yeah”, I sigh “And with the medicos in South America and their penchant for plaster, I don’t so much have a left hand as more of an ankylosaur tail.”
“Or Thagomizer”, Agent Ruin tittered. “Anyone gives you grief, and one upside the head should set them right. Or dead.”
“You’re a riot, Ruin.” I replied, “But not entirely incorrect.”
We all agreed that I really didn’t need any extra accouterments to make myself look more dangerous. I mean with my severe haircut, stern beard clip, and perpetual ‘Go fuck yourself’ scowl.
“Yeah”, I replied, stroking the aforementioned beard, “I just can’t get that. I’m such a people person.”
After Agents Rack and Ruin finished drying their eyes from laughing what I thought was en extremis, we finally got down to business.
“So, what’s the skinny, guys”, I asked. “New marching orders?”
“No. Not as such”, Agent Ruin said, still sniggering over my ‘people person’ comment.
I see we’re moving. Agent Rack is just driving casually, like Chewbacca when they were waiting to see if the Empire went for that expensive Bothan code.
“Then, what?” I asked, getting a slight bit piqued.
“Well”, Agent Ruin noted, “When you went to South America, you took some of your artillery collection with, correct?”
“You know I did. You even made some snide comments about my personal choice of sidearms and their ‘excessive’ calibers, if memory serves”, I reiterated.
“And if you are proceeding normally, as you always do, they’re all nestled in the trunk of this very car. All cleaned, quiet, unloaded, and smelling sweetly of Hoppe’s Number 9 and WD 40, correct?” Rack inquired.
“Yes?” I cautiously venture.
“Well, ya’ big dummy, do you think they’re going to let you saunter into Tokyo armed like the Third Fleet?” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Um…well…I do have a Diplomatic Passport.” I ventured.
“That’s not going to work this time.”, Agent Ruin said, shaking his head. “They’re tighter than Dick’s Hatband about sidearms. Want to bring in your Rigby SXS .500 Nitro Express double rifle? Not a problem. Sidearms, especially in your alien hunting calibers, nope.”
Well, that’s just….*dandy!”, I reply, semi-put out. “Now what the hell am I going to do?”
“Ever think that’s why Ruin and I are here, now?”, Rack asks.
“And here I thought it was just so you could bask in the warm glow of my fucking wonderful personality. Or that you actually cared about me as a real goddamn human”, I joshed.
“Ummm…yeah”, Rack replies, “There’s no way we can answer that without going on some Deadpool list. “
I agreed.
“OK, here’s the deal: you get your sidearms, ammunition, speed loaders, brass knuckles, Asp, laser range finders, Sap, Zeiss scopes, Kukri, Wisconsin Cheese Whittler, Buck folding skinner, Marine K-Bar, those two ultra-illegal Cheburkov Cobra titanium switchblades...”
“Three. Olga the KGB lady sent me one for Geologist’s Day.”
“Ahem. Those three ultra-illegal Cheburkov switchblades, that Wyoming Speedholer, your MASER Time-Distance Computer, garrote, pocket rail gun and whatever else lethal you carry and deposit it in the iron box in the trunk. We’ll ensure that it’s delivered to Esme post-haste. And by post-haste I mean one of our guys will deliver it personally.”
“Well…I suppose”, I conceded, “But best send someone who’s been to the house recently. I don’t know how much bigger Khan has grown since I left on this little fantasy trip. Wouldn’t want a star on the wall in Langley for someone eaten by a mastiff. Want to see a picture….Oh, bother. That’s right. My phone’s at the bottom of fucking Lake Maracaibo.”
“Good point”, Ruin interjects, “Guess we’ll do a little road trip and deliver it ourselves. Best call Esme and let her know what’s going on.”
“I have no objections to your proposals. Please give Esme this when you see her. I had some luck in the Calaveras Casino and if I don’t send her some mad money. Ouch. She’ll never forgive me for not taking her along to Japan.” I asked.
“But I thought Esme hated Japan? Too crowded and too ‘fussy’, I believe was her estimation.” Ruin asked.
“Yes, but once she saw the Ginza, all bets were off. Shopping the likes of which even Allah himself hasn’t seen.” I replied, slowly shaking my head.
“I see”, Ruin said, “Well, since you’re off to Sapporo, perhaps you can do a recon for Esme on the shopping there.”
“Not bad. Not bad at all.”, I smiled, “Now I know why I let you guys hang around with me.”
So, as advertised, I am now standing on the tarmac at LAX, basically feeling naked.
“Can’t I keep just one switchblade?” I moaned to Agent Rack.
“Go ahead, if you’re really keen on donating it to Japanese customs”, he replied.
“Fuckbuckets.” I groused.
“There, there now. That’s the usual Dr. Rocknocker of which we’re all so fond.” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Remember, you do have that wallet-sized credit card gizmo from the Company. So you’re not entirely ‘naked’. Think of it as an emergency breechcloth.” He smiled.
“I’d like a larger model if you don’t mind. It’s chilly out here.” I joshed.
After Agents Rack and Ruin stripped me metaphorically naked as they de-weaponized me, they handed me a Business Class ticket to Tokyo, and a pass to the Japan Airlines Hospitality Suite and Lounge.
“So sorry you guys can’t hang around and have a few farewell snorts”, I chided, “But you’ve got a bit of a drive, so best be off before the weather turns to shit.”
“Who says we’re driving?” Agent Rack asked as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the ready and waiting C-130 cargo plane currently taxiing slowly in our direction.
“Well, in that case”, I smiled even more broadly, “Let’s invite the flight crew to join us. That’ll make the flight home all that much more interesting.”
After near tear-jerking farewell sentimentalities, i.e., “Piss on you”, “Get stuffed” and “Take a fuckin’ hike”; Agents Rack and Ruin, my weapons and the Agency’s plain-Jane Blue Chevy were all nestled snugger than buggers in ruggers in the belly of the thundering C-130.
Now truly on my own, I trudge the hundred thousand or so centisteps to my departure terminal, make a quick recon that my flight’s still slated to go in a generally westward direction, and hightail it to the nearest courtesy desk to ask for a motorized cart to take me and my remaining luggage to the JAL Hospitality Suite.
Hey. I’m old, infirm, and currently among the walking wounded.
Anyone that disagrees risks an Ankylosaur tail club swat or Thagomizer to the skull.
Finally ensconced in the JAL Hospitality Suite, Polo Lounge of course; I was drinking Tokyo Teas (3 oz. vodka, 2 oz. gin, 2 oz. rum, 1 oz. triple sec, 1 oz. Midori, good splash of lime juice, a slight splash of 7-Up (diet, of course), over ice with a lime wheel) with Pabst Blue Ribbon Extra 1844 chasers and Hangar One’s “Fog Point” vodka on the side, hiding from the brutish realities of this foul year of two thousand and twenty-something, Common Era…
I’ve already called Esme and we’ve had a good, long chat. She still managed to give me her shopping list for whenever I find myself bored on the Ginza.
She’ll be shocked when she learns that I’m not going to be in Tokyo long, but have 1st class tickets on the Bullet Train to Sapporo. Still, I’ll probably find myself in Pole Town or the Stellar Place there, trading piles of US greenbacks for locally produced Japanese curios and clothing.
I can hardly wait.
I order another round of drinks, as the wonderful attendants in the Hospitality Suite were bored out of their skulls because of the COVID-induced drop-in customers flying anywhere that requires a hospitality room stay, and I was virtually the only one around. They tried their level best to outdo each other when it comes to Japanese efficiency and friendliness.
After a couple of hours, they ask if I would like something from the grill, as the day chef had “the COVID” and the night chef just arrived. A quick perusal of the menu and I chose a 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse and another round of drinks.
I usually don’t like to eat too much before I fly, but JAL tells me the flight is going to be virtually empty, something like <121 pax, all told, so restroom availability shouldn’t be too much of a concern.
Plus, who am I to say no to a free, blue 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse?
There was a bit of difficulty conveying to the chef through the intermediaries of the hospitality just how I wanted my steak.
“Blue,” I said.
“Brue?” was the reply.
“Rare. Very, very rare.” I continued.
Look of total bewilderment.
I drag out my Personal Language Pro, speak “Steak, very, very rate” into the infernal gizmo, and hand the contraption to the attendant.
“珍しい、非常に珍しいステーキ?”[ Mezurashī, hijō ni mezurashī sutēki?]
“Raw! Nama!” I say, louder than need be.
They toddle off to find the chef.
“How is it sir, that you would like your steak cooked?” he asks.
“Very rare. Just a minute or two per side. Inside still cold.” I instructed.
All I got for the trouble was a puzzled smile.
“Give me the language gizmo…” I type in a few words…
“お尻を洗い、角をノックオフして、ここから出してください”
[O shiri o arai,-kaku o nokkuofu shite, koko kara dashite kudasai.]
“Wash its ass, knock its horns off, and walk it out here.”
“OH!” as the lightbulb pops. “Rare. Got it! Excellent!” the chef laughs and zips back to the kitchen.
Like I always say, I’m nothing if not the international ambassador of amity and goodwill.
“Crack tubes!”
Dinner was fantastic. I do wish I could have somehow mailed the Porterhouse bone back home for Khan. After that hambone incident, he might even taste it.
Finally on the plane, in an almost empty Business Class, the flight captain informs us that we’re headed to Haneda Airport Tokyo and anyone not headed in that direction better ‘haul ass off’ the flight or forever hold their peace.
Late-night international flights tend to be a bit more wooly than your average Chicago to Omaha gig.
Especially when the flight’s damn near empty and we have the next 12 hours or so to be best friends.
We taxi, turn and head into the wind. I’m doctoring up a couple of dossiers and keeping my personal cabin attendant, Luna since there were two of us in Business and two business flight attendants, busy with her trying to play ‘Stump the Geologist’.
“I’ll bet you never had this before.” She beamed and handed me a tumbler of very dangerous-looking brown liquor.
I cautiously sniff, take a modest gulp, swirl and glug the rest down.
“Ohishi Single Sherry Cask”, I say with a muffled belch. “Light. Fruity. An Englishman’s drink.”
“Oh. You knew. Let me try again.” She smiles beatifically.
“I have no objections to your proposal.” I smile as nicely as this crotchety old Komodo Dragon could.
She returns with another flagon of spirits; it smells of obsidian, leather, and earth.
I just had some of this back in LAX. I take a snort, smile, and shotgun the rest.
“Hibiki Japanese Harmony…lovely stuff.” I smile. “A little light for my jaded palate, but I’d never turn it down if it were free.”
“Oh, you win again. Wait. One more.” She smiles and skitters off to the galley.
She returns with another soupçon of some more dangerous brown liquor.
“Here, try this. It will make you very popular at social gatherings”. She smiles.
Sniff. “Splendid.” Snort. Swirl. Smile. Shotgun.
“Kanosuke New Born, if I’m not mistaken.” I smile back. “Very nice. I really do like this one.”
“You too good at this. One more!” she stands and stomps off defiantly. She returns in a trice and hands me the glass.
“Hmm…brown. Light notes of earth, leather, dating your daughter, and Kentucky…
“Beam Suntory, right?”
“You know them all!” she says, feigning irritation.
“And I thank you. Those were all excellent. Now, anything in the dangerous clear liquor category? I asked.
Luna smiled as I palmed off a 20k yen tip.
“Oh, no sir. Wait until we land.” She demurred, referring to the gratuity; which is know is not de rigueur in the Orient, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Just in case we never make it to Tokyo”, I laughed, unknowingly presciently.
We both chuckled about that last line as she tried out various sakes and shōchūs and an actual Japanese ‘White Liquor’ (ホワイトリカー), which were all excellent as was the company.
I tell her that I need to get some work done and could she bring me a tall Rocknocker. After explain the origins and construction of the eponymous drink, she brings me one that must tip the scales at 1 or so liters.
She settles down to an empty seat and I get after the work that I need to finish before we land. I’m about ½ way through my drink when it felt as if the plane hit a brick wall. She quivered and quaked and clutched at herself while I made some comments about the pilot’s mental health.
We dropped like a paralyzed falcon, then just as suddenly, felt like it was an express elevator to Angel’s 11. The plane bucked and shimmied, wickedly. Then we slam-danced right and fell a few more stories. It was like we were in a Mixmaster and the owner was trying out every speed.
The emergency lights in the 777-300ER popped on, and the fasten seat belt sign barked loudly so even sleeping travelers could enjoy the show.
Rinse. Spin. Shudder. Repeat.
Finally, the ride smooths out and we hear the captain on the blower.
“This is your captain speaking…ah, we seem to have hit some uncharted turbulence back there.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious”, I muttered.
“Everything’s A-OK. “ he reports.
“That’s good”, I note.
“But…”
“There’s always the but…” I groan.
“…we have a couple of warning lights for which we can’t quite account. So to just be safe and certain, we’re going to divert to Hawaii, get a clean bill of health and resume this flight once we make sure everything here is hunky-dory.”
There were scattered groans and applause. Add them together and divide by two and the average response on the flight was “Meh. Whatever.”
Except for the other guy in Business, with whom I hadn’t shared two words. He began to absolutely lose his shit.
“Oh, man! We’re so screwed! Mechanical malfunction? What does that mean?” he positively fizzed with fear.
The flight attendants tried to calm him down, to no avail. They basically gave up and said they’d report his misgivings to the Captain.
I motioned over to my personal flight attendant, Luna, and asked if I could be of service.
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled at me, “If you could speak with him. You are so calm, and he is…”
“Losing his bloody mind”, I chuckled as I finished her sentence for her. “Of course, I’ll take a stab at it.”
So, I grab my drink and ease over to my Business Class partner and introduce myself.
“Hey, pal. How’s it going? I’m Dr. Rock, gentleman, scholar, and connoisseur of cigars and things alcoholic. You doing OK?”
He looks at me with an ashen face and his eyes the size of bloodshot dinner plates.
“Yeah. I’m Todd Schotts. I’m flying to Japan for business.” He mumbles
“No surprise there,” I reply calmly and take a slug of my drink.
“But now we’re all going to die. The plane is busted and we’ll crash…” he started off again.
“So, Todd is it? Good. You drink?” I asked.
“Yeah?”, he stammered back.
I asked Luna to make us a fresh batch of my eponymous cocktails.
“OK, Todd, listen up”, I began after the drinks were served, “I have flown literally millions of miles over the last 4 decades. On Aeroflot when it was still the USSR. On TACA (Take A Chance Airways), on Chalk’s in the Caribbean, on Bob’s Verrifast Plane Company in Rhodesia, on regional carriers that don’t even exist anymore. All over the world. Had some bad experiences flying, and me ol’ mugger, this ain’t one of them. This is nothing more than the glitch for this mission.”
I chuckled lightly and complimented Luna on a fantastic drink.
“Yeah…yeah…yeah…but we have to land and check out some lights…” Todd squealed.
“Well now, Todd. It would be rather difficult to do any external assessment while in flight, don’t you agree?” I asked.
“But we’re diverting. We have to land and that adds more risk. We’re going to crash and die!” he was coming more and more unglued.
“I will bet you every cent you have on your person and home bank accounts that that will not happen”, I chuckled.
That took him by surprise. At least it shut him up for a while.
“Look, Todd. This is Boeing’s latest model. They have the most incredible safety record. And if a little clear air turbulence were to be knocking planes out of the sky, don’t you think we’d hear about it as the press went berserk?” I asked.
“But they don’t know what the lights mean! What if one of the engines’s out? How far can we fly on one engine?” Todd stuttered.
Having my fill of a supposedly grown man with inane childlike fears, I calmly replied,
“All the way to the crash site.”
He went white.
“...hope we hit something hard. I don’t want to limp away from this.”
He went limp.
Then I went to my seat and motioned for Luna to prepare a reload.
Of course, 45 minutes later, we land without incident at Daniel K. Inouye International Airport, Honolulu Hawaii.
We were told to just wait around until they figure out what the problem if any, was.
They had officials waiting at the end of the jetway to check our COVID status and passports before they let us loose in the terminal.
I asked Luna if she knew this airport. She noted that she did.
“Is there a JAL hospitality room here at this airport? I asked.
“Yes, Doctor. It’s the Sakura Lounge. It is located on the third level above The Local, Terminal 2.” She replied.
“Please notify whoever needs to know that that’s where I’ll be for the duration”, I smiled and handed her my business card. “See you soon, I hope.”
“Oh, Dr. Rock”, she replied, “I am sure it is nothing much. We’ll be back in the air within mere hours.”
“Well then”, I smiled, “Guess I’d better get ready to hoof it to the lounge.”
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled, “No rush. I will call for you a courtesy cart. You are injured, you are Business, you are priority.”
“I love that Asian efficiency.” I smiled back and toddled down the jetway.
At the terminus of the jetway, I show my COVID-clear papers, dates and times of my Anti-Virus vaccine administrations, the letter from Virginia clearing me of all detention, and my red Russian diplomatic passport.
While in the cart, whizzing our way to the JAL lounge, the driver said “Man! You must be some kind of VIP. You were through that welcoming committee in less than two minutes!”
“Me? Nah!”, I chuckled, “Just an old phart of a geologist that they didn’t want to mess with. Not on such a bright, sunny day as this.”
“I see you’re not wearing a mask.” The driver quipped.
“Very observant. There are reasons for that.” I replied.
He careens around a corner and if this were a normal pre-Covid day, I’m certain we’d have killed hundreds. However, the airport, as I’ve come to grow accustomed to, was virtually deserted.
“Yeah? Like what?” he asks.
“Well, Scooter, 1. I have an active and hardworking immune system that I let off the chain every once in a while for exercise. Got to let it know what it’s up against, right? 2. I’ve had all my shots and some that were experimental. They seem to have worked. And 3. I find it difficult to drink and smoke cigars while wearing a mask. However, if you’d prefer, I will mask up. No problem, though it still is optional.”
“Nah, man”, he said, “I was just wondering if you were one of those religious idiots or conspiracy nuts.”
Nope”, I smiled back, “Just another geologist out in the world plying his trade for cash. Y’know, whorin’ around for money.”
He laughs aloud as we skid to a stop right in front of Lounge.
I slip the guy a $20 and ask if he’d listen for the JAL flight I was just on. If we’re going on ahead today, I’d need him to scoot by and putt-putt me back to the plane.
He laughs and pockets the $20 as quick as a mink ruts.
“No worries. I’ll just hang around this area. I hear anything about the flight, I’ll come and let you know.” He grins.
“Good man”, I say, as I hand him my card. “I’m Dr. Rocknocker. Call me Rock”.
“And I’m Kapula Mano, call me Kap” he replies.
“Good man”, I say again, “Hope to see you in a while.”
He grins, floors his electric cart, and peels out at speeds approaching 4.5 MPH.
I wander into the lounge, show my credentials, and am escorted to a post up on Mahogany Ridge.
The bar is very quiet. Besides the bartender, I can’t see anyone else in the darkened and Smooth Jazz-infused drinking emporium.
I order a local drink, a Mai Tai, just for the experience and something a bit different.
It’s served in a goldfish bowl on a stem, bedecked with a slice of lime, a sprig of mint, a stick of sugar cane, a polychromatic orchid, and the obligate paper umbrella.
“Ah. Mai Tai. I will enjoy it.” I said to no one in particular.
One was enough, and I decided to go back to the old standard. Once I explained to the bartender what that was, he made them heroic and enthusiastically.
I’m reading up on a random dossier, making notes in a new file, and puffing away on a Fuentes Onyx double Maduro Churchill cigar.
I hear a slight cough coming from my right, and this here lovely lady, she sat to my immediate starboard and looked at me semi-quizzically.
Not in the mood for shenanigans of any stripe, I give her the obligate Baja Canada nod and tilt of the drink. I return to my dossiers and continue to read and take notes.
“Excuse me!” I hear.
Fearing the worst, either the woman is Karen-oid anti-smoking or a religious fruit-and-nutburger, I slowly turn to face her and reply, somewhat glacially, I have to admit.
“What?”
“That cigar…”
“Here we go…” I mutter, eyes rolling northward.
“Smells exquisite. Could you tell me the brand? My husband would enjoy some like that.” She notes.
Instantly my demeanor switches 180^0.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s an Arturo Fuentes Onyx. Churchill size, or 60 ring x 7” length, double Maduro. Here, take one for your husband. I have an ample supply.” I smile.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. Could I?” she asks.
“Please. I insist.” I smile the best I could given the circumstances.
“Thank you. You’re too kind…umm…Mr….?”
“Doctor. Doctor Rocknocker. World traveler, oilman, and international ambassador of amity, good drinks, and fine cigars. Call me Rock” I said.
“Oh! A Doctor?” she brightens.
“Yes, of Petroleum Geology and Engineering. Not medicine.” I chuckle.
She chuckles back.
“And I am Hella Aaberg”, as she offers her hand for a quick shake.
“Interesting name, Hella. Scandinavian or Old German heritage?” I ask.
“On my father’s side. He’s Finnish.” She replies.
“But I’ll wager your mother is not Scandinavian, correct?” I ask.
“She was from Truk, an island…”
“In the South Pacific, Micronesia. Was she from Weno city?” I asked.
“Why yes. How could you possibly know that?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve been there. Great diving amongst the WWII wrecks. I think it’s actually called ‘Chuuk Lagoon’ or something like that now.” I said.
“That’s right! Amazing. Where else have you been?” she asked.
“Anywhere there’s oil, strife, booze, cigars, heavy explosives and typically long distances from whatever most normal people call civilization,” I replied with a chuckle.
Suddenly, I hear a voice booming out behind me.
“Why don’t you save that rapier-like wit for those musky-fuckers back home, Rocko?”
My expression changes. My eyes pop fully wide open.
“Hella?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“May I ask you a favor?”
“You can ask…”
“Thank you. Now, looking over my shoulder, is there a hulking goon of a person, thin up top, paunchy halfway down with the most ridiculously tiny sized shoes you’ve ever seen for a so-called grown man?” I ask.
“Yes. Yes, there is.” She replies.
“I thought so. Many thanks.”
I spin and launch off my barstool and grab Toivo by the hand. He hadn’t seen my left-hand Thagomizer yet.
“Toivo! You old sumbitch. What the flying fennec fox fuck are you, of all people, doing in Hawaii?” I laughed.
“Just keeping an eye on you, Rock!” he laughed equally as loud.
“No, fucking-A, seriously. What the actual fuck? What are you doing in this actual nice place?” I asked.
“Just headed to Tokyo to conduct a bit of service company business. I walked into the lounge and smelled a foul cigar. I figured it can’t be the venerable Dr. Rocknocker. He’s back at some school up north terrorizing geology and engineering grads and undergrads.” Toivo laughed.
“But there I was. Surprise!”, I laughed and pumped his hand.
“What the fuck, Rock. Now what did you do?” he asks, referring to my Ankylosaur tail club left hand.
“Ah, fuck. Long story. Oh, pardon me. Toivo, this is Hella. We were just talking about the South Seas Islands.” I said.
“Planning on running off together?” Toivo laughs, to the amusement of neither party.
“Oh, and this idiot is Toivo, a man with a congenital foot-in-mouth disorder. He’s mostly harmless.” I noted to Hella.
Greetings were shared all around. Hella made some small excuses and said she needed to depart. I gave her another cigar for her husband, shook her hand, and wished her well.
“Here’s my business card. If your husband has any questions, have him drop me a line.” I noted.
Hella smiled beautifully. She said she would. Then she thanked me shook our hands, and like that, there she was, gone.
“Well Toivo, you old bastard. Don't just stand there in the doorway like some lonesome goddamn mouse shit sheepherder, get your ass over here and have a drink.” I motioned over to my perch on Mahogany Ridge.
“Don’t mind if I do”, he says as he deftly winds his way to a seat to my left, snagging a cigar out of my pocket on the way over.
“You might want these”, I say in an exasperated tone, and hand him my gold Dunhill Hobnail lighter and V-cutter gizmo.
He cuts and fires up his heater.
“What you drinkin’, Rock”, he asks.
“Anything with alcohol, as usual. You know that Toiv.” I reply.
“No. I mean right now.” He clarifies.
“Well, I had a Mai Tai. Very nice if you like fruity, flowery drinks. It’s the locals’ favorite.” I reply.
“Sounds good. I’ll have several. And you?” Toivo asks.
“My usual. The bartender is already apprised of the situation.” I reply.
Toivo smiles the smile of one knowing his sobriety is going to be taken out for a swim. Hell, taken out and tossed into the deep end.
Toivo and I sit there, swapping lies, smoking cigars and sipping at our toddies.
Hell, Toivo was slurping them like a sump-pump during an extra-wet summer.
We chattered about family, work, whether or not Tokyo was going to host the Olympics or if the COVID-boogie man scared everyone off.
Toivo, always one afflicted with TB (“Tiny Bladder”) got up to go to the loo for the third time that hour. He left his pocket organizer on the bar and I swear on a stack of Origins of Species, I didn’t touch it.
I reached over to his vacated seat to retrieve my cigar lighter when I looked down and saw in his organizer a tab that reads “Rack & Ruin”.
“Oh. No. Fucking. Way.” I recoiled as I’d just reached out and petted a 6-foot hungover scorpion.
“One of my best friends? Secretly allied with the Agency? No. Not possible.” I drained my drink and called for another.
“No. No. No. It can’t be. No. No fucking way…” as doubt began to dissolve when I thought back to all those times I had just ‘run into’ Toivo.
“But he’s oil patch as well. That could be chalked up to coincidence.” I ruminated quizzically in my brain.
I quickly reflected back on J.M. Darhower: “Yes, you see, there’s no such thing as coincidence. There are no accidents in life. Everything that happens is the result of a calculated move that leads us to where we are.”
She may be the author of the execrable New Adult Sempre series, which Esme likes and I loathe, but she might just be right on this occasion.
Toivo return, lighter in the bladder and good sense. He never even noticed he’d left his organizer out in broad bar light for all to see.
“So, Toivo, when’s your flight?” I ask.
“Oh, man. Was I lucky. The JAL flight to Tokyo from Los Angeles had mechanical trouble and had to divert here. I got a ticket on the plane for that flight, when it continues.
“You mean ‘if it continues’,” I replied.
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I meant. Hey! Was that your flight?” he asks innocently. He’s really innocent of fieldcraft.
I decide to have some fun at my old friend’s expense.
“Yep. Hit some CAT (Clear Air Turbulence) and the JAL pilots reported some lighting problem. No apparent ruin to any of the systems. They relay racked their brains to figure it out, but they couldn’t that’s why I here.” I said, waiting for the words to swim upstream in Toivo’s coconut and make some sort of connection.
“Yeah. Double lucky. No problem with the plane and I get to go to Japan early.” Toivo crookedly grins.
“So, no trouble with the plane? Then why haven’t I heard that the flight’s going to resume?” I asked as I pushed a fresh, seriously strong drink to Toivo.
“Oh, must have heard it in the john.” Toivo countered and tried to cover his tracks by taking a huge gulp of his drink and damn near dying coughing.
I pound on Toivo’s back.
“Heimlich time?” I ask.
Toivo signals ‘no’.
“Jesus Christ, Rock. What was that?” he asks.
“Just my usual”, I innocently replied.
“Holy fuck. No wonder you have the reputation of…” Toivo realizes too late that he’s said too much.
“Yeah. They can rack you out. Really ruin a person if they’re not careful.” I reply icily.
“Why, Rock. Whatever do you mean?” Toivo slurred as he realized he’s been caught out.
“The jig is up, you turncoat. You know Agents Rack and Ruin from the agency. Right? You keeping tabs on me for them? You Quisling! You Benedict Arnold!” I almost was on the verge of losing my cool.
“It was nothing. They approached me years ago as I kept being mentioned in your reports. They asked me for some information. One thing leads to another…” Toivo was ready for an Ankylosaur tail club swat to the bean.
“Oh, put your fucking hands down, you asshole.” I smiled and chuckled.
“You’re not mad?” Toivo slurred badly. I had the bartender make him another special drink.
“No, Toivo. Not mad. Just disappointed.” I said, smiling like a Komodo Dragon just finishing up a fortnight-old wildebeest.
Toivo sat there and puzzled and puzzled until his puzzler was sore.
“You’re not going to kill me or anything rude like that?” Toivo asked, half-assedly trying to inject humor into the proceedings.
“Nah. The paperwork’s too ridiculous for me to do another liberation. But, Jesus Fucking Christwagons, Toivo; you could have mentioned it to me. Fuck, I thought we were friends to the end?” I said, dejectedly.
I was really getting through to Toivo. I could tell he was loaded; feeling like shit and massively deplorable.
Great fieldcraft, indeed.
I told him things “are what they are” and that I won’t blow his cover nor his honorarium.
He began to feel better. I often wonder if he was serious about the sanctioning thing.
Then I delivered the strategic missile strike.
“Just remember, Toivo. I wrote your dossier for the Company…”
He swivels to look at me.
“And one for the KGB. Olga says ‘howdy’.” I grin evilly.
Toivo short-circuited at that. Russia is his company’s bread and butter. Now he has the KGB as well as his best buddy looking over his shoulder at every move.
I bought him a few more drinks and continued to needle him about his ’leading a double life’. He was well and truly fuckered when the electric tap-tap driver from before came looking for me to whisk me back to the plane.
Seems it was simply some knocked-out wires on the plane, or slammed bulbs that were generating a false positive, indicating something other than the system that alerts one to something haywire went haywire.
Toivo was pretty much down for the count. I got him sober enough to hand them his ticket and ensure that he was really supposed to be on this flight. Thing was; h e was in Economy, and I was, as always, in Business.
I spoke to Luna, and the plane was going to be even less crowded than previously because some folks could or wouldn’t wait, or didn’t want to go on with the rest of the trip on a ‘damaged’ aircraft, or were just stupid and superstitious.
“Luna, could I pay for the difference between Business and Economy for my less than 100% conscious friend here? He’s had a rough day.” I asked.
“Dr. Rock. Just put him into Business. No one will be the wiser. Luna says so.” As she gave us a grand smile.
“Luna, I owe you. Thanks so much.” I said.
“Now get on board. Your friend looks like he needs all the downtime he can get.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I said and saluted here be best I could which dragging a schnozzled Toivo down the jetway.
I dumped Toivo in a window seat well away from my seat. I know Toivo. He snores like a semi-load of live hogs rocketing downhill locking up the brakes at 88 MPH.
Surprise! There was no one else in Business. Luna looked at me, at Toivo, and gave me a thumbs up.
Whatever I can write to further her career at JAL, she’ll have it before I deplane.
We finally get everyone settled, and with Captain Kangaroo at the helm, we bounced gracelessly off the tarmac, into the warm, tropical Hawaiian air, finally headed for the Land of the Rising Sun.
Toivo was snoring like a chainsaw hitting rusty nails as I worked on the various letters, communiques, and dossiers which needed updating before we reached touchdown. I gave Luna a thick letter with instructions not to open it until we were on the ground and Toivo and I were well off and away into the terminal.
We left Hawaii at 1300 hours, so we should arrive at Tokyo Nareda around 4:00 pm, the previous day. I was so bereft of time and time zones, I couldn’t figure out what time it really was, as judged by my biometric rhythms, so I asked Luna for a stiff drink as I was kicking off my boots and going to attempt to get some kip.
She brought me another liter or so eponymous drink. I was sawing logs by the time I slurped the last swig of that nifty drink.
Suddenly, or later, I have no idea really, some loudmouth drunk asshole from way-the-fuck-back in economy-land toward the ass end of the plane staggered into Business demanding free drinks.
Luna was nothing but civil, and asked him to both shut up and return to his seat. His air cabin hostess, or whatever the fuck they’re calling them these days, will attend to his needs.
“Naw they won’t! They want me to pay for more drinks! I’m broke but I demand more booze! You fucking owe me.” railed the asshole. “I sat at the bar in Hawaii for four hours. Them fuckers charged me an arm and a leg!”
“No, they don’t owe you shit”, I said in a voice that unmistakably loud and clear.
“Fuck you, old man! You stay the fuck out of this!” he bellowed. “Shut up or I’ll do ya’!”
“’Old man’? ‘Do me’? Excuse me. Luna, may I have a word alone with this individual?” I asked sweetly.
Luna shook her head in the affirmative, and I stood up to confront this flagrant asshole.
“Now look, Scooter. You have gone way, way over the fucking line. You are loud. You are abusive. You are obnoxious. And you stink. Plus you insulted a person who is just barely containing his righteous wrath right now. So, I’m giving you one and one only chance to shut up, sit back down before your body spontaneously develops all sort of bruises, contusions, broken bones, and unconsciousness.” I said calmly, evenly, and threateningly.
“What da’ fuck you think you’re going to do…old man?” he screeched, trying to inflate himself into full mammalian threat posture, all 5’ 9” of it.
He didn’t notice Toivo walking up quietly behind him, as Toivo was returning from the head, quiet as a moose.
“Well, Scooter, I am an Air Marshall. Duly appointed, fully trained, and properly pissed off. Right now, I can arrest you, physically detain you, turn this flight around and take you to the Hawaiian police, at your cost for the inconvenience of the entire flight. Or I could arrest you, physically detain you, and turn you over to the Japanese authorities when we land. It’s really your choice. Choose wisely.”
To be continued…⇝

Disgraced fashion mogul Peter Nygard's own SON is helping police investigate his alleged sex crimes By Guy Adams Investigates For The Daily Mail
15 Jan 2021
Link to article
'He has become my arch-nemesis. I no longer regard him as my father . . . He is a monster. I am now here to serve in any way I can, to support survivors and the justice process and also to help expose the people who covered up his crimes.'
Kai Bickle's world came tumbling down one night in May 2019, when he attended a dinner party at a lavishly decorated mansion overlooking the golden sands of Venice Beach in Los Angeles.
The host was his father, Peter Nygard, a Canadian fashion tycoon famed for the hedonistic lifestyle he pursued at a global portfolio of high-end properties, including vast residences in Winnipeg, Toronto and Montreal, as well as New York, and, most notoriously, a Mayan-themed 'private luxury resort' in the Bahamas.
Modelling himself on Playboy founder Hugh Hefner, the flamboyant Nygard, now 79, kept a revolving harem of girlfriends. Those caught up (often completely unwittingly) in this web had included actresses Susan Anton and Jennifer O'Neill, stripper-turned-reality star Anna Nicole Smith, and a former Wheel Of Fortune card turner by the name of Vanna White.
His Caribbean parties, meanwhile, tended to attract a better class of A-lister. Past visitors to the island property had ranged from Jane Seymour and Bo Derek to Robert De Niro, , Michael Jackson and Joan Collins, not to mention and , who were photographed there in the early 2000s on an innocuous family holiday.
The 2019 bash, during one of Peter's occasional business trips to LA, was to be a more down-to-earth affair. Roughly 20 guests, including Kai, 38, and his younger brother Jessar (one of roughly ten offspring Nygard has fathered via more than seven women) had been invited for food and drinks, followed by a late-night poker game.
That was the plan, at least. But Kai never made it to the card- table. Instead, he fled the lavish premises in a state of distress, shortly after dinner, believing that he had just witnessed his father attempting to sexually assault an eight-year-old girl.
Details of this ugly development are (it should be stressed) strongly disputed, and we shall examine them later. But the incident would kick-start an extraordinary chain of events that culminated just before Christmas, with the arrest of Peter Nygard on nine charges of sex trafficking and racketeering.
Currently behind bars, with his $900 million (£660 million) business empire in tatters and the FBI poring over his computer hard-drives, the fallen tycoon has now been accused of rape or sexual assault by at least 57 women. Several of Nygard's accusers were children when the alleged crimes took place, and many claim they were drugged.
At least 57 women have accused him.
He will appear in court in Canada next week, seeking bail as he fights extradition to the USA.
It is, perhaps, the most high-profile and shocking sex case since handcuffs were slapped on Jeffrey Epstein. And in a remarkable twist, it turns out that a leading figure in the increasingly public campaign to prosecute Mr Nygard is his aforementioned son, Kai.
Upcoming documentary: ‘Unseamly’ Canadian Designer Peter Nygård True Crime Documentary
Behind the scenes, I can reveal that Kai has spent the past 18 months secretly helping both the U.S. and Canadian authorities investigate his own father's alleged crimes. Keeping his role hidden from Nygard and his associates for several months, he has worked tirelessly to assist victims, and their legal teams.
On the personal front, he has changed his name (taking up his mother's surname to become Kai Zen Bickle) and used his influence over various Nygard companies to block efforts to move his assets offshore, fearing that would allow him to flee. 'We have been engaged in a brutal battle against my father and his enablers,' is how Kai summed things up when we spoke this week.
'He has become my arch-nemesis. I no longer regard him as my father . . . He is a monster. I am now here to serve in any way I can, to support survivors and the justice process and also to help expose the people who covered up his crimes.'
Perhaps most remarkably of all, Kai recently helped two of his younger siblings, one of whom remains a minor, to sue Peter Nygard over claims he 'engineered' the rape of his own sons. In an extraordinary lawsuit filed in August, the boys claimed that their leathery, multi-millionaire father instructed one of his long-standing girlfriends (who was also a sex worker) to 'make a man' out of them.
The first of these alleged attacks (which, again, are vehemently denied by Nygard) took place in the Bahamas 2004, when the son was 15 and the woman was in her mid-20s. The second occurred in Winnipeg in 2018, when the younger child was 14 and the woman was in her 40s. Court papers filed by the boys stated that the unnamed girlfriend was instructed to seduce Nygard's son by showering in his bathroom so that he 'could see her naked'. Then she raped him.
Afterwards, she allegedly told the boy he 'wasn't bad' for a 'baby.' The next morning, Nygard's girlfriend brought him breakfast in bed, kissing him on the lips and announcing: 'Mommy's got you.' Kai says he first became aware of this appalling incident last spring, and was 'sickened' to hear his brothers' claims.
He would often yell and scream at his staff.
'We all spoke and decided the best course of action was to file a lawsuit publicly in the hope that other survivors would feel safe to come forward and also file criminally against Nygard,' he says. 'We were originally going to have me in the suit as my young brother's guardian, but in the end decided not to because it would reveal to Nygard that I was working against him . . . At the time I was [secretly] doing everything I could to improve the odds that he would get arrested.'
To appreciate the extraordinary journey taken by Kai, we must wind the clock back to the mid-1980s, when his father was one of Canada's most talked-about self-made millionaires.
The son of penniless immigrants from Finland, Peter Nygard had launched his empire in the late 1960s, with an $8,000 (£6,000) investment in a struggling fashion firm. By the time he was 30, the company had become one of North America's most successful suppliers of leisure and sportswear, while his flamboyant eccentricities, which included keeping parrots in his office and filling the lobby of Nygard HQ with bronze busts of himself, turned him into an object of public fascination.
In 1987, the party-loving entrepreneur purchased a 4.5-acre patch of the island of New Providence in the Bahamas and set about turning it into a 'dream home' where he could indulge his champagne lifestyle. Over the ensuing years, he built 150,000 sq ft of Mayan-themed buildings, stretching over a dozen 'cabana-style' residences. The buildings at Nygard Cay eventually included a casino, a disco hut (with cameras beneath the dance floor, reportedly to shoot images of revellers from below), and the world's largest sauna, a 6,000 sq ft lodge made from 2ft-thick Canadian pine logs.
In the grounds were fake volcanoes that belched dry ice, a flock of peacocks, stone cobras which hissed steam at sunset, 60 ft towers festooned with hundreds of flaming torches (lit nightly by staff) and giant statues of nude women, purportedly modelled on some of Nygard's favourite girlfriends.
At weekends, he would host lavish parties, which appeared on various TV documentaries, including Lifestyles Of The Rich And Famous.
The place became a magnet for freeloading celebrities and, while Kai believes they generally had the most fleeting and brief relationship with Nygard, photos of their visits were then plastered across company literature and websites.
Prince Andrew, to cite one example, was recorded for posterity wandering with the long-haired fashion magnate on the beach, wearing blue shorts and boat shoes.
Born in the 1980s, Kai spent the first three years of his life in the Bahamas until his mother, Patricia, left Nygard, with whom she'd had three children but never married.
They moved first to California and then to the Pacific Northwest in the U.S. Over subsequent years, he had almost no regular contact with the fashion tycoon aside from occasional visits during school holidays, where he met various half-siblings.
'He would have one family weekend per year at his lake cottage, and a few days set aside for Christmas,' says Kai of the somewhat unorthodox arrangement. 'During those times, the days were filled with activities like horseback riding or mini golf.
'He could be a very charismatic person when he wanted to be and the family weekends were very light and brief.'
In the very limited time he spent with his father during childhood, Kai saw nothing that gave him reason to suspect that Peter Nygard was guilty of criminality, though he did have a highly volatile personality.
'He would yell and scream at his staff often, and that always was upsetting to everyone around it, but he would describe his yelling as 'passion' because of his 'high standards',' Kai says.
Nygard's children were further told that he 'lived a consensual, non-monogamous lifestyle,' Kai says. 'He made speeches at dinner to family when we were together to talk about how he hoped everyone got a wonderful partner and wished that he could find that special someone, but that it wasn't the life for him.
'He also had girlfriends that were persistently with him, always two or three, and often they were around for years. He wasn't embarrassed about it. He flaunted it on TV, it was part of his brand, something he showed the whole world. He was proud of it.'
Be that as it may, rumours of predatory behaviour by Nygard —and worse — had occasionally reared their ugly head, only to be quickly suppressed: a relatively easy task before the internet.
In 1980, for example, he was charged with the rape of an 18-year-old, but the charge was dropped when the complainant refused to testify. In 1996, three female employees meanwhile filed sexual harassment complaints in the Canadian province of Manitoba.
It looked like his hand was on her thigh, rubbing.
One, a 39-year-old communications manager, said that, when called into Nygard's office, she would 'find him in a state of undress . . . with his hands down the front of his pants, fondling himself.' He settled by giving the women $18,500 (£13,600) and denied any wrongdoing.
Then, in 2010, a Canadian TV network put out a Panorama-style documentary about Nygard, focusing on alleged sex abuse and harassment of former employees.
It quoted a former stewardess on his private plane who alleged that on one journey — during which Nygard was accompanied by a troupe of topless women — he lost his temper with staff, shouting: 'You are nothing! You are garbage! I am God!'
The programme also alleged that Nygard had engaged in 'inappropriate sexual contact' with a young woman who had been brought to his home in 2003 from the Dominican Republic. Nygard denied that either incident had happened, and sued to stop the documentary being broadcast.
Fast forward to May 2019, however, and those ugly incidents were largely forgotten. Kai, who was by then in his late 30s, had worked for his father's companies for just over two years after leaving college, but quit to pursue a career in activism and health science.
Nygard's trip to Los Angeles afforded them a rare opportunity to catch up, so he attended the aforementioned dinner party in Venice Beach.
As the night wore on, he recalls becoming uncomfortable about his father's behaviour towards an eight-year-old girl, who was attending with her mother, one of Nygard's old girlfriends.
'He's got her sitting right next to him at dinner, which is usually his girlfriend chair. And he's a creature of routine. So I'm already thinking this is weird.
'He's trying to act like the Papa. It was just weird . . . I'm noticing things. I'm noticing that he's telling her little secrets at dinner. Putting his hand close to her ear and going all hush-hush.' At the end of dinner, most of the other 20-odd guests got up to adjourn to the card table. However, Kai adds: 'I'm still watching him. Her chair gets pushed back. He brings her round to him.
'She was on his right side. He brings her to his left side, with his arm around her waist, and I see his elbow change and start moving as if — it looked to me, I couldn't see, but it looked like his hand was on her upper thigh, and rubbing. That's what it looked like to me . . . Everything in my body told me he was doing something terrible.'
'I had a huge adrenaline rush and I immediately told the mother to get her daughter away from him,' he adds. 'I stood up next to him and looked in his eyes. At that moment, for me, it was like all the walls were crashing down around him . . . And I realised that, yeah, he's probably trying to groom that girl.'
Nygard vigorously denied wrongdoing, and even called Kai 'sick' for thinking as much. But Kai was unconvinced.
Then, in February last year, ten women filed a bombshell lawsuit in New York claiming that the fashion magnate had used wealth and status to 'entice underage girls' from 'young, impressionable and often impoverished backgrounds' into his home, where they would be 'plied with alcohol' and (some allege) date-rape drugs, before being taken to Nygard's private quarters, where he would 'assault, rape and sodomise' them. Court papers claimed they were then coerced into joining a globe-trotting harem of sex workers paid thousands of dollars from Nygard's company funds and trafficked around the world on his company's private jet, which reportedly boasts a stripper pole.
One alleged victim, who was just 14 at the time, claimed Nygard raped her and paid her $5,000 (£3,700).
Another said her encounter with Nygard began with him showing her pornography after which he raped her, 'causing her extraordinary trauma and pain', the suit states.
Three of his existing ten accusers were 14 at the time. Three more were 15.
Within days, dozens more alleged victims had come forward. By the summer, some 57 survivors were pursuing legal action — and the number of alleged victims had reached 100.
Kai again confronted his father, only to be told it was all 'lies' and asked to speak out publicly in his father's support. But days later a friend texted Kai to complain about a recent visit to Nygard's house in Los Angeles.
'He said he'd brought a female friend with him, who had one or two drinks and had started to feel very high. Nygard took her up to his room and aggressively had sex with her, not using a condom.
'When I heard that, I knew he was not only as bad as people said he was, but was a dangerous criminal and had to be stopped.' He duly alerted the authorities about the friend's message. In a podcast called Live To Walk Again, released this week, he revealed that he began helping both the police and the alleged victims' lawyers, who he regards as 'heroes'.
Over the summer, Kai also used official positions held in Nygard firms to block two apparent efforts to move assets overseas, amid concerns that the tycoon might flee to evade justice.
PODCAST EPISODE: Peter Nygard Discusses His Father
'Through the course of ten months I also helped several survivors to file criminally against him, and spent countless hours on the phone with survivors, lawyers and authorities,' he says. Last month Nygard was arrested on U.S. charges at a home in the Royalwood area of Winnipeg. He spent Christmas behind bars and has consistently denied any wrongdoing, saying he 'expects to be vindicated' in court.
Kai has renounced his inheritance and is working on 'making the world a better place' by campaigning to close legal loopholes exploited by sex offenders.
'I'm very happy earning my own money, as I have all my life. We've never had a trust fund or an allowance, and since his money has been made through pain and suffering, I won't accept a potential inheritance,' he says.
His father's cash, he says, should instead go towards compensating victims. 'My focus now is to help the healing process.'

Ramtidings, dear friends! It is I, your dutiful lord and master, the eternal GM. My sabbatical proved most fruitful, having figured out some depth mechanics for 3 dimensional combat in my pet project, Blood & Thunder, a maritime piracy RPG that has been both a joy and a nerve-wracking nightmare to create. If you want to see what's going on with that, you can swing by patreon.com/BlackFlagPrintingPress to take a look or support my endeavors. But I digress, because I did not come here today to talk about Blood & Thunder, no. I came here with something else in mind, good friends, for while I have been writing my bread and butter, you have gone without your beard and butter, and this is unacceptable! And so, I have trawled the depths of my memory to bring you yet another TAAAAAALE FROM THE TABLETOP, lovingly subtitled A Prologue Into Poverty.
Life is not an easy thing. There was a time when life was very difficult for me. I had far less than most, and I went without frequently, my entire life loaded into a backpack of bare necessities. Joys were few and times were hard, but I made the best of it. I traveled the countryside, mostly alone, making friends where I could amongst the other forgotten souls who haunt the streets of the United States. I met a good number of people, many of them listless drifters in their own right, who became fast friends. We would hang out for a time, but like all drifters, we would eventually part ways, called to different places to do different things. I had just come from North Carolina. I had been in Asheville, playing bluegrass to make money with friends who eventually proved dishonest, and so I parted ways with them. While in Asheville, I had met a girl, also on the road like myself, and I developed a massive crush on her. Fortune would have it that our time together was short lived, as she disappeared on a freighter down the train tracks, and I layed curled up in a bush sick as a dog for the next 3 days.
You can't get a ride from a freighter with 8 people without getting pulled off by johnny law. Our group had fractured, and myself and one other soul continued on our own, until we parted ways in Atlanta. Now, on my own, clueless and green, I wandered aimlessly, until a friend of mine at the time reached out to me by way of the internet. He had work for me, back in California, if I could just make it there. What's 3000 miles? I've got this. I walked out of Atlanta, hitched a series of rides to Arkansas, and then caught a freighter myself, all the way back to the west coast while UP did the driving. I laid on the back of that train for 3 days until I finally ran out of water and decided to get off. I was in Los Angeles. After a bit of panhandling, I got a bus into the central valley, and my friend came and scooped me up. I worked on my friends farm for a bit, building green houses and stacking money until the time came for me to once again depart. During that time, my crush from North Carolina had found me on Facebook. We got to talking.
She told me she had gone back home to Wisconsin and was working in some greasy spoon trying to save up money to afford a bus. She'd been back for awhile now, but wasn't making any headway. Her vices were getting the best of her, and she couldn't seem to get ahead. I told her she needed to knock that shit off and clean up her act. After a long enough time talking, however, things started to get flirty and dirty.
I wanted to see her, and it's actually amazing what a guy will do for love. You're how far away? Piece of cake. Hold my beer. With the work season coming to a close, I took my pay and my leave of my old friend, and he dropped me off in Modesto at the Greyhound. On the way out, he loaded me up with gifts for my travels - a new backpack, socks, a sleeping bag, some snacks for the ride... and naturally, he gave me a gift that I always treasure. He gave me a set of RPG dice. I gave my boy a hug, wished him well in his endeavors, and promised I'd be back in the fall to help him with the harvest and gathering firewood. So I went on my merry way.
I absolutely despise Greyhounds. Have you ever been on one? It's miserable. There's no room to stretch out unless you sit in the back, right by the toilet. Some asshole is always blaring garbage mumble rap on his phone all day long. It doesn't matter who you are - at the end of the trip you exude the pungent aroma of a neckbeard. This didn't bother me too much - personal hygiene suffers when you have no way to bathe regularly, so I was used to being dirty, and my friends from the road were usually very dirty people in their own right at the time, so I could handle a certain degree of grossness... within limits. I did shower at my friend's farm before I boarded that bus, though, and was feeling rather spiffy - clean body, clean clothes. Life was good and I was on my way to see my woman.
I did my best to zone out. I tried to sleep as much as I could and ignore the general atmosphere of the bus, but that was no longer an option after a layover in Las Vegas. We boarded the bus once more after an almost 24 hour delay on our schedules, and finally got moving again. I sat in the back near the toilet, as I was no stranger to this game and wanted that bench seat, and foul smells at the time didn't bother me much... or so I thought. With the bus filling up and the seats reducing to slim pickings, it dawned on me that my coveted back seat bench was going to get shared. Then, I saw him... the Busbeard.
I'm usually a pretty nice person, but I did not want my coveted backseat benchseat getting taken up, let alone by this massive lardass that now lumbered towards me. I did everything in my power to seem as big and hostile as I could. This was all in vain, however, as some people cannot read social cues. I stared at him, dripping hostility, mentally repeating sit somewhere else like it was a Zen mantra. However, nobody wanted him to sit by them either, and so, he made his way, closer and closer, as he asked people if seats were taken until he got to me at the back. He shifted to sit into the seat, angling his ass in the general direction of my face. The smell of soggy feces-laden underwear wafted up as he slid his bulk onto the bench.
Did I mention that personal hygiene suffers on a greyhound bus ride, especially when you've been riding for days? I've taken my fair share of Greyhounds, and it's unlikely that this new arrival had been riding for awhile. He was eastbound, like the rest of us, and we were in Las Vegas. His point of origin was... not very far east. I had only been on the bus for approximately a day so far, minus the extended layover time of course, so I was getting a ittle sweaty myself, but this guy smelled as if he not only lived on this bus, but was born in the blue poop goop of the latrine. It was a question worthy of debate as to whether this man had actually employed the use of a speed stick in his life. His patchy jowels jiggled at me as he said, hi.
I responded with a gruff and monotone hello, and then turned my attentions to the window, watching the bus depot workers loading up suitcases beneath. My fate was sealed. This man was to be my travel companion all the way to Denver. I decided then that maybe it would be best to ignore him. I plugged in my phone, booted up an emulator I had downloaded, and started to play some Pokemon to whittle away the hours. It didn't take long, however, before I could feel his olfactory looming become physical looming as he examined the screen upon which I played from over my shoulder.
Busbeard: Pokemon? I fucking love Pokemon! I didn't know you could play it on a phone. How are you doing that?
His heavy respirations were like an infusion of green spearmint and halitosis.
GM: Emulators.
I went back to my game, trying to angle myself away from him in such a way that he couldn't lean over my shoulder and watch me as I trained my team, but I was effectively sandwiched between him and the wall, forced to sit straight as he leaned over and watched me play. I debated then, what I ought to do. Playing Pokemon would make the time fly, but I would be crushed between the window and a sweaty fat man. Not playing Pokemon would save me the physical agony of being squished, but I would be painfully bored for seemingly endless miles, and he may use it as an opportunity to interact further. A decision needed to be made.
I shut the emulator off and put away my phone, turning my attention back out the window as the bus pulled out of the Las Vegas terminal and began down the freeway. It was not long after we had pulled out of the station, however, when that wheezing, rasping voice chirped up again.
Busbeard: So where are you going?
I ignored him, focusing on the casinos towering in the distance of the skyline, pretending as if I hadn't heard the question, or as if it weren't addressed at me. With insistance, he repeated his question at my turned back again, searching for a response within my stony exterior. I mumbled, the Midwest, and he questioningly grunted, and asked me to repeat myself. I guess we're doing this.
GM: I'm going to the Midwest.
Busbeard: Where in the Midwest?
GM: Wisconsin.
Busbeard: I've never been to Wisconsin before, but I know they got really good cheese! Hyuk hyuk... Is that why you're going there?
Judging by his smell, he must have been an excessively avid connosieur of fine Wisconsinite cheese. However, cheese was the last thing on my mind at the time.I was enamored with my lady love.
GM: I'm going to see an old friend.
Busbeard: Oh, that's cool... who is it?
The odds of this man knowing the person who I was on my way to visit were astronomically low. Your odds of getting struck by lightning, winning the lottery, and becoming president in the same day were probably higher than this cretin knowing the one specific person whom I was going to go visit in some backwater Wisconsin town. Still, I humored him, and in the same flat voice, answered his question, and told him I was on my way to see my sweetheart.
This caught Busbeard's attention. For a grown man in his mid 30s, he let out a loud "oooooooo" like a middle schooler would when he finds out his friend has a crush. I contemplated execution methods and the subjective severity of their barbarism as he excitedly asked me where she was from.
GM: Wisconsin.
Busbeard: Yeah... but, where in Wiconsin?
GM: Fuck off, dude. I'm not going to tell you the town where she lives.
Busbeard: Heh! I'd be terrified of telling a superior male like me where my girlfriend lives, too. A little kid like you wouldn't stand a chance next to a man like me. Her panties would hit the floor from one whiff of my pheromones. It happens all the time, bro, I swear. I could have any woman on this bus. They just can't resist me. They can sense my manhood, I know it.
I shouldn't stir the pot. All common sense tells me that I should just stop myself while I'm ahead, but sometimes... sometimes I just can't help myself. I've always been a pretty reserved and self-contained person for the most part, and I just want to be left alone 90% of the time to do my thing. Apparently, that's a lot to ask, because every now and then, somebody comes and invades my personal space with their protruding belly, bad breath, and self-aggrandizement, and then I find it really hard to resist my inclination to fuck with them. I know, I know, it's wrong of me to do that, but I'm human, damnit, and something good was cooking in the kitchen. What's the harm in dipping a spoon into this self-important concoction of body odor and bravado?
GM: Any woman, huh? Tell ya what, Busbeard, I just got paid, and you seem really confident in the power of your, ahhhhh, pheromones, so... how about a wager.
I laid out the terms of my devil's bargain. With a wager of 100 dollars, I would pick a lady on the bus at the next break. Busbeard would then have to seduce her. He MUST "present" his pheromones to her, naturally. If he recovered her phone number, or anything in excess thereof, like a kiss or a consensual toilet stall consummation, it would suffice to meet my criteria and loose my grasp from the freshly printed Franklin in my wallet. He agreed enthusiastically to my terms, insisting I was going to loose and he was going to get his dick sucked in a Greyhound portajohn "blumpkin style".
We rode along in silence for the next hour or so. The sun was high in the sky when we made our next stop at some gas station in Utah, and everyone filed off the bus to stretch their legs and get their snacks. I wandered around, huffing down my smoke, chatting it up with people and making friends, seeing just who they were, asking them questions - where they were going, who they were going there with. I got to talking with one guy and his girlfriend.
The guy, who we will call Sarge, was built like a brick shithouse and was a former infantry man who served 2 tours of duty in the middle east. He was traveling with his wife, a young and pretty little thing who we will call Alexandra. They were on their way back to the east coast to stay with family. Alexandra's mom was getting old and had asked them to move in to help take care of her. They were on their way out there to steward her aging mother's estate. I remarked that that was awfully kind of them, and sincerely wished them the best on taking care of Alexandra's aging mom. I told them a little bit about myself, as well... that I was effectively living on the road, playing life by ear, and on the way to see a loved one of mine for a bit before the wind blew me somewhere else.
Eventually, the bus driver gave everyone a 5 minute warning before departure, and we all filed on board. I moved back to my seat and waited for Busbeard to arrive. He came back, cradling piles of gas station sandwiches, bags of chips, and a couple of sodas in his massive paws. He sat down beside me with a loud "oof" and offered me a drink, saying that it's the least he could do before he took my money. I took that beverage. It was both cold and delicious.
GM: Well, Busbeard, I've done my rounds, and I've come to a decision.
Busbeard: Who is it? She better be hot. I swear to God, if you make me waste my time on some dried up roastie, I'm gonna be so fucking pissed at you dude.
GM: Why would I do that dude? Naturally, I only want the best for you. No, she's very pretty. You see that girl over there, in the aisle seat? That's the one. Make your move whenever you're ready.
I pointed out Alexandra to him. I already knew this was going to end very poorly. There was no way in Hell that Alexandra would express any interest in this disgusting lardass whatsoever when she had a stable and solid man like Sarge, and Sarge wasn't about to take guff from anyone. Add on to it that Sarge was easily the size of, if not bigger than, the prodigious Busbeard himself. Sarge was also trained to kill and hardened by years of combat in the graveyard of empires. I can fight - I've fought a lot - and I would not want to square up against him under any circumstances. Busbeard was going to get the snot beat out of him and pay me 100 dollars for that privilege.
The bus took off and I listened to the disgusting sounds of Busbeard inhaling the equivalent of 5 pounds of gas station food. I was only halfway through my soda, when Busbeard emitted a satisfied belch that rumbled the seats, and the feeding frenzy had ended in an effervesence of curdling bile and preservatives just as fast as it had begun. He then started to pump himself up for the task at hand. He started to sweat with excitement and latent cardiac arrest as he prepared his pheromonal aura about himself, and then with a gruff, alright, let's do this, he stood up from his seat and waddled down the aisle, his greasy belly bumping into everybody who had chosen an aisle seat.
He approached Alexandra. They were near the front end of the bus, and so I couldn't hear a word that they were saying. I watched Busbeard as he extended an arm and held on to the overhead luggage rack, exposing the damp miasma of corn-syrup infused armpit sweat to his unsuspecting victim. His pheromones were beginning to work their magic over the unsuspecting Alexandra who would soon be enraptured by its juicy spell. I waited, leaning forward intently, when a loud shout broke the silence.
Sarge: BACK THE FUCK UP.
Alexandra started to shout, too, yelling "get the fuck away from me!"
The driver turned back and yelled for everyone to sit down and shut the hell up or he would pull the bus over.
Sarge: Please do! I'm gonna beat this fucking lardass into the pavement! Saying shit like that to my wife? Who the fuck do you think you are?
The bus driver repeated his warning, and Busbeard began to shout his protests, insisting upon his innocence.
Busbeard: B-but, I was put up to it! It was that guy, in the back seat! He said---
He pointed back at me. I yelled back, I don't fucking know that guy.
The bus driver meant his threat, and pulled the bus over. We were on a long and empty stretch on the I-15 somewhere in rural Utah. The last town I had seen was about 20 miles back. It was late spring, and it was getting hot outside that afternoon. The bus driver got out of his seat, walked up to Busbeard, and told him to get the Hell off of his bus. Busbeard kept protesting, when Sarge moved past his wife, and started forcing Busbeard towards the front door.
I've heard the threat of getting kicked off maybe a thousand times on a Greyhound, but I had never seen it play out before. Busbeard was thrown off the bus. Sarge did not join him outside and pummel him into the asphalt, regrettably, as I would have loved to have watched it. Busbeard kept pleading with the bus driver as the driver shut the door on him, sealing him out on the shoulder of a lonely stretch of highway. I breathed a sigh of relief, and stretched out my legs. It was another 15 miles before we saw signs of civilization. A part of me felt bad for Busbeard, but the other part of me said, "if I can walk 20 miles in a day with 60 lbs of shit on my back, he can do an unencumbered 15 and be fine."
The ride continued on in sweet, reclined silence for me until we reached Denver, werein there was another changeover, and this bus was much, much more desolate. The rest of the Greyhound voyage passed without incident, and I spent my time flirting with my lady love and training some Pokemons. At long last, I finally arrived in Wisconsin. She came to pick me up at the bus station, and when we approached each other, we made out like long lost lovers for a good 5 minutes before we finally caught our breath enough to say hello. I got in her car, and spent maybe a week or so with her, before it was time to take my leave. I couldn't live there forever, and so, as fast as I had drifted into her life, once again, it was time for me to disappear. We said goodbye, and she dropped me off at a lonely interstate overpass on the edge of town. I put my thumb out to catch a ride to Anywhere But Here USA.
I planned my next move, and I figured that there were some friends of hers and mine that lived not too far away in the Dakotas, and maybe I would pay them a visit next. I was in the neighborhood, and figured that I might as well say hello. I reached out to them online, and then made my way west again. They were excited for me to come see them. It was only a day into the voyage when I received a message from Janet. It said, "wait for me, I'm catching up." She had packed her backpack again, and was coming after me, hot on my tail. I told her we could meet up at our mutual friend's house.
I dialed ahead to our friends, who we shall call Sarah and Queenie. Sarah used to travel together with Janet for many months before she stabilized, and then settled down. Queenie was one of my friends from North Carolina. He was a loveable chucklefuck of a drifter, missing a few teeth, wore a skirt, and spoke in the most haggard voice you could imagine. Still... he insisted on being called Queenie. He had settled down with Sarah after they hooked up, and they were living at Sarah's house. He was on thin ice there, however, and she was threatening to kick him out.
I arrived at Sarah's and Queenie's, and spent the next few days waiting for Janet to come up on my heels. During that time, Queenie and I played a lot of Magic (he had just gotten into it), and I remembered the dice that my friend in California had given me that were laying unusued in my backpack. I asked him if he had ever played tabletop RPG's before, to which he answered no. I told him that, maybe next time I see him and I'm in a better spot, we could run a game. Eventually Janet caught up, and we prepared to leave Sarah's for good towards our own new horizons. Queenie, however, had finally broken through the thin ice upon which he skated, and was getting thrown out. On the day of our departure, we asked him if he wanted to join us in our travels so he wouldn't have to go it alone.
Thus we began from Sarah's house out into the unknown once again, a cheerful trio, and true to my word, I began to teach not only Queenie, but Janet as well, the joys of tabletop RPGs.
As I'm sure you can surmise, dear friends, that this is not the end of our story, but only the beginning of another chapter. Is Busbeard still alive? What does the future hold for Ramtide's love life? How do a gaggle of vagabond drifters play tabetop games without a table? Some of these questions will be answered, my dear friends, in our next installment of TAAAAAALES FROM THE TABLETOP.
A shoutout to my lovely patrons, Tatoferret and Sillibits. You guys are wonderful. Thank you for believing in the dream.

Over the years I have thoroughly enjoyed throwing together playlists for different occasions (making coffee, working out, weddings, seasons, etc.) and thought I'd share! Please let me know your thoughts, favourite mixes, as well as recommendations for future playlists. All feedback is welcome! Hope you enjoy them:
That Weekend Feeling
Skip to the good bit; weekend grooves to wave away any weekday blues.
Awesome Mix: Ultimate Edition (Mixtape)
A great hero, named Kevin Bacon, once taught an entire city full of people with sticks up their butts that, dancing, well, is the greatest thing there is. The legend of Footloose comes alive with Awesome Mix: Ultimate Edition - Songs from and inspired by the Guardians of the Galaxy series.
Morning Motivation: Steal Some Sunshine
Soak up the sun with energetic jams and breezy classics!
I'd Drink To That: Party Playlist
Mix it up with a party playlist to keep the night buzzing.
I'd Sing To That: Carpool Karaoke
Pack up and take those pipes on a roadtrip! The catchy. The memorable.
Just Jams 🎧
Nothing but jams to fill a pair of headphones or stadium.
Brendan's Listen Local
Funky & Thumpy! Some of my favourite energetic jams, classics, and BBQ party starters from our local Australian & New Zealand artists.
Friday Fire
It's Friday! Friends. Family. Fun.
Groovin' The Brew
Nothing but rockin' party grooves on tap.
Diverse Pop Sounds
It's pop, but not as you know it.
Break Thru
Ear Candy.
Sunday Sesh
Beers & bangers on a weekend!
Run To Paradise
Set up goals, and knock them down with an energetic running playlist.
Summer Daze
The heat is on with a playlist of crisp summer tunes.
Autumn Mix: Volume 1
A breezy & brilliant playlist for the ever-changing Autumn seasons.
Chilled Pop
Soft, chilled winter pop songs.
Warm Tunes
Warm songs of Spring, like a comforting embrace.
A Mid-Summer Night's Drink 🍻
Lord, what fun these mortals be!
Wind Down 🌚
When the night winds down, so does some great music.
90's Baby! 📼
It is the sound of the roller disco, BMX bike track and arcade!
The Hip Hip Hop
Only the hippest of the hip. My modern and classic hip hop favourites.
Indie Bops: It's ALT Good
Get your alternative bounce on.
Not Your Final Form: A Workout Playlist
All the other licks with the pumped up kicks to keep you going during a workout. My favourites and a few other choice tunes for pushing harder, faster, stronger.
Easy On The Ears
Easy, Easy, Easybeats.
Life Is Good ☀️
Today is gonna be a good day.
Dial M For Music
Deep, cathartic music.
JOY
Smile.
Vibe Hard
Get into the zone, and vibe-out to infectious tunes!
Rock & Roll Never Dies
Who says rock & roll is dead? Commercial radio? It's always been around; you've just got to roll with it and look harder. Get your kicks!
Brainfood
Introspective acoustic, calming strings, uplifting anthems, and a touch of nature. Food for the brain, and perfect background noise for studies.
Game Night 🎲
For every occasion... casino, tabletop, videogames; a soundtrack to a brilliant game night!
Sizzlers: BBQ Playlist 🍔
Fire up the burner and the anthems with a barbeque playlist hotter than the bright ball in the sky.
Kickstart My Heart: Classic Rock Radio
Rocking all over the world.
Rush Hour
Grinding Gears.
Riff Raff: Party Rock
Some rowdy rock to turn up the night.
RE : FRESH 🍹
SUPERDOPE. Piña colada's and Caribbean Rum.
The Driver
There's a voice in my head that drives my heel.
Country Road
Might as well cruise. Might as well banjo.
Born to be Wild
Life's an adventure; you can't be tamed.
Night Moves: Dancing In The Moonlight
Unwind with the moonbeams. Night drives & night lives.
Funk Right Off
Get Funk'd.
Rambling Roses 💐
Beauty and Love are as body and soul. Beauty is the mine, Love is the diamond.
Sweat. Reset.
Whatever it takes. 'Cause you love the adrenaline in your veins.
Power Pop: Marathon
Power pop to push and electrify a workout.
Cool Beans: Coffee Playlist
Recharge with some warm tunes.
Kitchen Crooners 🎀
Now we're cooking!
Now We're Cooking!
Tasty tunes for the Kitchen.
Pool Party
Dive in to great poolside swing.
Inspiration 💡 Takes Flight
Reach for the Sky!
Going Places
Always push forward.
First 💍
Songs for special days.
DisNeat - Taking The Mickey
Nothing but Disney favourites.
Road Trip: Spinning Wheels
Hear the call for adventure and hit the road.
Guilty Pleasures 🍨
You like the Grease soundtrack? Word.
Catchy AF POP
Pop that bops. Essentials and the catchiest of the catchy.
Acoustica
Stripped Back.
Playlist + Chill
Cool off with some chilled beats and sweet acoustic.
Making Waves
Unwind with breathy, breezy songs perfect for a walk on the beach.
The Playlist Of The Decade (New Years Eve)
We welcomed 2020 with the ultimate party playlist jam-packed with familiar throwbacks and modern favourites from the 2010's! Good times!
Rhythm Heaven
Step up and dance.
Sax on the Beach 🎷
Gratuitous? Nah! An instrument to elevate a song from good to great!
BedroX 🔥
Sparks.
Pump It Up: The Playlist of Champions 🏆
Winner winner, chicken dinner.
Retro Rewind
Twist & shout to killer Jukebox Classics.
Classic Se7ens
Nothing but 70's favourites.
Great Eight's
Nothing but 80's Favourites.
Noughty & Nice
Nothing but great 00's Throwbacks.
The Best Playlist Never Heard
It's unheard of!
Best Songs You Might Have Missed
Potentially slipped under the radar.
Songs for Soundtracks 🎬
Royale with cheese.
The Grand European Playlist
About to take off!
EPIC 🗡
Fortune & Glory!
SUPERHOT VR : ROCK
The champ is coming.
SUPERHOT VR : HIP-HOP
Kings never die.
SUPERHOT VR : ACTION
John Wick Schtick.
Cowboy Bebop : Spike Spiegel
Spike Spiegel is an ex-Syndicate goon and a bounty hunter aboard the Bebop. He is proficient in martial arts, zipcraft flying, and gunfights, but he also has comical and aloof sides of his personality. If there's three things he can't stand, it's kids, pets, and women with attitudes.
Cowboy Bebop : Faye Valentine
Faye Valentine is a coma survivor of over 50 years and she is trying to regain her memory. She got into a lot of debt upon entering this futuristic world, and she had to resort to a life of crime and hustling to survive... that is, until she decided to live on the Bebop and become a bounty hunter.
Cowboy Bebop : Jet Black
Jet Black is an ex-ISSP Special Forces Officer and the Captain of the Bebop. He is a bounty hunter and is called the "Black Dog" because once he sinks his teeth in he never lets go. Jet enjoys American Jazz music, taking care of Bonsai trees, and has a knack for investigative work.
Cowboy Bebop : Radical Edward
Edward is a net diver from Earth. Edward is a child prodigy for hacking and has an aptitude for anything mechanical, even though Edward has some eccentricities in other parts of her personality. For instance, Edward speaks in third person and sometimes behaves like a wild animal.
At The Movies 🎟
Lights, camera, playlist.
James Bond Classics 🍸
A martini, shaken, not stirred.
The Word Is Bond 🍸
The world is not enough; but this playlist comes pretty close.
Live Love LIVE
Blistering live performances.
Future Nostalgia
Neo-swing, retro swagger; it's future nostalgia.
B-Side Yourself
Hidden Gems, Deep Cuts & Rarities.
Punk'd
You're Gonna Go Far, Kid.
Building Houses: Hit By Hit
Baby let's play house.
Far ALT
A playlist rocking that weird shit.
Stay Home: The Safety Dance
Stay safe out there.
Day Tripper
A playlist for a long drive - a day trip.
In Tents
Music For Camping.
Roots
Bluesy classics to strut to.
All That Jazz
Get jazzy on it.
Focus Features
Take a breather.
Australiana
Paradise.
Drive Time
Coast to coast. Songs for a spin.
Stone Cold Classicals
It's classically classic.
Hall of Fame 💎
Songs for the career climbers and L.A. dreamers. Glitz & glam; all that jazz.
This is Halloween
Everybody Scream!
It's Beginning to Sound A Lot Like Christmas!
Christmas Classics.
Just For Laughs 🎭
What a Joker!
Two Nights In Tao🎙
Karaoke? There's a first time for everything.
GAME
Take control.
Game On : Borderlands Psycho-delic
CHOO CHOO THE PAIN TRAIN'S COMIN'
Red Dead Redemption II
Songs For Bloody Duels, Whiskey-Fueled Gambles, and Rolling Desert Plains.
Energy Shot
Keep animated with an energetic dose of catchy music!
Party Fillers
A background mix for any event.
The Essential AC/DC
AC/DC are an Australian rock band formed in Sydney in 1973 by Scottish-born brothers Malcolm and Angus Young. Although their music has been variously described as hard rock, blues rock, and heavy metal, the band themselves call it simply "rock and roll"
The Essential One Republic
OneRepublic is an American pop rock band formed in Colorado Springs, Colorado, in 2002. It consists of lead vocalist and multi-instrumentalist Ryan Tedder, guitarist Zach Filkins, guitarist Drew Brown, bassist and cellist Brent Kutzle, drummer Eddie Fisher and keyboardist Brian Willett.
The Essential Shinedown
Shinedown is an American rock band from Jacksonville, Florida, formed by singer Brent Smith in 2001. Shinedown has sold more than ten million records worldwide, and has had the most number one singles on the Billboard Mainstream Rock charts out of any band, with 16.
The Essential Dua Lipa
Dua Lipa is an English singer and songwriter. After working as a model, she signed with Warner Music Group in 2015 and released her self-titled debut album in 2017. The success of the singles helped her self-titled album become one of the most-streamed albums on Spotify.
The Essential Preatures
The Preatures are an Australian band from Sydney. The band was formed in 2010 and features Isabella 'Izzi' Manfredi on vocals/keyboards, Jack Moffitt (guitar), Thomas Champion (bass) and Luke Davison (drums). The band won the Vanda & Young Songwriting Competition with their song Is This How You Feel.
The Essential Maroon 5
Maroon 5 is an American pop rock band from Los Angeles, California. It currently consists of lead vocalist Adam Levine, keyboardist and rhythm guitarist Jesse Carmichael, lead guitarist James Valentine, drummer Matt Flynn, keyboardist PJ Morton and multi-instrumentalist Sam Farrar.
The Essential INXS
INXS were an Australian rock band, formed in 1977 in Sydney. INXS was fronted by Hutchence, whose magnetic stage presence made him the focal point of the band. Initially known for their new wave/pop style, the band later developed a harder pub rock style that included funk and dance elements.
The Essential Beatles
The Beatles were an English rock band formed in Liverpool in 1960. The group, whose best-known line-up comprised John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr, are regarded as the most influential band of all time. The Beatles are the best-selling music act of all time.
The Essential Volbeat
Volbeat are a Danish rock band formed in Copenhagen in 2001. They play a fusion of rock and roll, heavy metal and rockabilly. Their current line-up consists of vocalist and guitarist Michael Poulsen, guitarist Rob Caggiano, drummer Jon Larsen and bassist Kaspar Boye Larsen.
The Essential Chromeo
Chromeo is a Canadian electro-funk duo from Montreal, formed in 2002 by musicians David "Dave 1" Macklovitch and Patrick "P-Thugg" Gemayel. Their sound draws from blue-eyed soul, dance music, rock, synth-pop, disco and funk. As of 2018, the band has released five studio albums.
The Essential Queen
Queen are a British rock band formed in London in 1970. Their classic line-up was Freddie Mercury (lead vocals, piano), Brian May (guitar, vocals), Roger Taylor (drums, vocals) and John Deacon (bass). With estimated record sales ranging from 170 million to 300 million, they are one of the biggest.
The Essential Michael Jackson
Michael Joseph Jackson (August 29, 1958 – June 25, 2009) was an American singer, songwriter, and dancer. Dubbed the "King of Pop", he is regarded as one of the most significant cultural figures of the 20th century.
The Essential Brian Setzer
Brian Robert Setzer (born April 10, 1959) is an American guitarist, singer, and songwriter. He found widespread success in the early 1980s with the 1950s-style rockabilly group Stray Cats, and revitalized his career in the early 1990s with his swing revival band, the Brian Setzer Orchestra.
The Essential Florida Georgia Line
Florida Georgia Line are an American country music duo consisting of vocalists Tyler Hubbard and Brian Kelley. Their 2012 debut single "Cruise" broke two major sales records: it was downloaded over seven million times, making it the first country song ever to receive the Diamond certification.
The Essential KISS
Kiss is an American rock band formed in New York City in January 1973 by Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons, Peter Criss, and Ace Frehley. Well known for its members' face paint and stage outfits, the group rose to prominence in the mid-to-late 1970s with its elaborate live performances.
The Essential Sheppard
Sheppard is an Australian indie pop band from Brisbane, formed in 2009. At the 2014 ARIA's ceremony, they were nominated for Album of the Year, Best Group, Best Independent Release, Best Pop Release, Song of the Year, Producer of the Year, and Best Video.
The Essential Matchbox 20
Matchbox Twenty is an American rock band, formed in Orlando, Florida, in 1995. The group currently consists of Rob Thomas (lead vocals, guitar, keyboards), Brian Yale (bass guitar), Paul Doucette (drums, rhythm guitar, backing vocals), and Kyle Cook (lead guitar, vocals).
The Essential Coldplay
Coldplay are a British rock band that were formed in London in 1996 consisting of vocalist and pianist Chris Martin, guitarist Jonny Buckland, bassist Guy Berryman, and drummer Will Champion. Coldplay have sold more than 100 million records worldwide, making them one of the world's best-selling.
The Essential Daughtry
Daughtry is an American rock band formed and fronted by namesake Chris Daughtry, who was a finalist on the fifth season of American Idol. Their self-titled debut album was released in November 2006 and reached number one on the Billboard 200. To date, Daughtry has sold over 9 million albums.
The Essential Black Eyed Peas
The Black Eyed Peas are an American musical group, consisting of rappers will.i.am*, apl.de.ap, Taboo, J. Rey Soul and singer Fergie. Originally an alternative hip hop group, they subsequently refashioned themselves as a more marketable pop-rap act and have become best-selling artists.*