The last professional photo of John Lennon was him, naked, hugging his fully clothed wife, Yoko Ono.
Hours later he was murdered by Mark David Chapman, shot four times in the archways of The Dakota apartment complex. Lennon had produced some of the greatest songs of the past century and those four bullets erased more than a man; they erased decades worth of potential and beauty. What else could have been achieved by the author of such classics like “Imagine” and “Give Peace A Chance?” Apparently, hardcore interracial erotica.
I was at an open mic recently, speaking to a man who was dressed like post-Vietnam era John Lennon. The package was fully realized with the iconic eyewear, an ironic military jacket, and sharp Liverpudlian ‘scouse’ accent. I asked him what he was planning on doing during his performance tonight, curious to share comedy ideas and tactics. I’m only a few months into performing stand-up and I wanted to know what gems of humor this obvious vet had hidden inside his small, dollar store notepad. He simply replied, “I’m fucking John Lennon”. Fair enough.
Open mics are a true democracy where everyone gets three to five minutes to say whatever the want. I’m a fan of the Constitution and the first amendment truly is one of my favorite, at least after three others that ensure I can’t be slave. And that women can vote. The first draft is never the best, right? Anyways, it’s one of my favorite things that I can hear truly fringe, strange ideas from some of the stranger people in New York. Except for this night. This night, a type of man who’s model should have been discontinued from the human collection took the stage and began a rant against women that everyone in the audience quickly realized wasn’t just poor performance art. It was like watching a baseball manager yelling at the umpire for a missed call except with a lot more pent up sexual frustration, rejection, and and childhood trauma taking the form misogyny. Eventually, the room rallied against him and the host booted the man out of the room.
It was dead quiet save for one of the women crying and audible righteous anger from the remaining comics. No one knew what to do. Should we continue the mic? Call the police? Just drink way the anger and awkwardness? In the midst of all this sadness and confusion…fake John Lennon took the stage.
I know we’re all in a bit of a tizzy from the…current events. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to introduce myself. I’m the ghost of John Lennon I would like to read you all a bit of interracial erotica that I didn’t get to publish in my lifetime
Fully committed to the character, John proceeded to read the most hardcore pornography I’ve ever heard, full with exclusive details of the Beatles touring life and behind the scenes escapades from his nude photo shoot with Yoko. The woman was crying, laughing, and saying “what the fuck?!” all at the same time. There was only one moment where he took his face away from the erotic epic to say, “I feel quite silly right now, should I keep going?” and I said,”You have to. You’re fucking John Lennon”. This is where my conspiracy theory brain took hold, thinking that this was a performance art piece where the rabid minsogynst travels with the ghost of John Lennon to break us down before John comes to build us back up. It was the greatest punchline I’ve ever seen. Just know that If you’re ever having a truly bad day, there is the off chance that the ghost of John Lennon is out there and can whisk you away to your happy place made of tantric sex and Karma Sutra-level specificity. John would’ve read more but he couldn’t finish the whole 13-page story in only five minutes.