Seven Demons by Aidan Truhen (best motivational books for students TXT) 📕

a hit with “Seeing Is Believing.” But back then even a decade later it was absolutely supercool to have German university students dressed as genies and houris and cheeky mujahideen and what all the fuck else prancing around bringing hookah pipes and affogato to the finance community. Do not ask me how the fuck that was okay I am not a hospitality person I do not even like people.

It being Hamburg there had to be a twist and the twist was that there were flamingos wandering around and if a flamingo stood on your table the house bought you champagne and the houris made a huge fuss about the whole thing.

Well enough but your flamingos for some reason don’t like to stand on tables especially they do not stand on tables covered in ashtrays and bottles of Cristal. It turns out that flamingos despite being associated with excess because they are pink they are real homebody types they do not appreciate bad smells or strong liquor and in fact these flamingos were depressed. They were becoming agitated and I think we can safely say even if Ronnie Platt hadn’t’ve come along they’d still have shut the place pretty soon. There is nothing sadder than drinking champagne with four dozen silent flamingos standing around in the grip of an existential crisis.

But Ronnie man Ronnie. Ronnie was a generous asshole and he could feel the sorrow and he figured to fix it. Ronnie figured that the flamingos were sad because they were captive and the night after I told the head of Lindo-Michaelsen to kiss my ring if he thought I was buying his crappy fauxlombian—I could smell the deceit on the fucking paperwork and I left him holding that warehouse full of shit and Jeni Sutton called me the Cardinal—the night after we were in the Garden. Ronnie was not real rational on account of having actually washed himself in vodka on the advice of some Swedish naturopath. He looked at one particular flamingo and it looked at him and some kind of thing passed between them like brotherhood and Ronnie shouted:

“FREEDOM!”

And he picked it up and he ran.

Ran like the wind.

To the edge of the building and launched this flamingo into the air so it would you know like have an advantage. The whole thing was just beautiful and there was actual background music which was a Pashtun cover of “Take My Breath Away.”

But of course it was all not great because the flamingos were clipped to keep them on the roof. Ronnie stood there with this deep connection burning in his face and he and the bird made eye contact and there was certainty and complicity between them and the bird spread its wings and Ronnie shouted FREEDOM! again.

And the bird fell seventeen floors and landed on a school bus.

No one died but you know the whole thing was not popular in general.

And obviously when I say no one I do not include the flamingo, which definitely for real died, along with Ronnie’s career.

So this is the face on the kindhearted total lack of intellect who grabs me in a hug and shouts my name right there at the top of his voice and of course he does not say Banjo.

He says Jack.

Eiger is listening now.

—

“HI JACK OMIGOD JACK PRICE? MAN IT’S MEEEE RONNIE FLAMINGO MAN HOW AREEEE YOUUUU?”

When Ronnie talks is the moment when everyone else pauses for breath so his whole thing his whole too-loud thing goes out like an air-raid warning? Nope. Because that is how it is when your world turns to one hundred percent asshole and you have stood there too.

Now you can see in my face I want to kill him. That is actually the danger with being a Demon is that every problem starts to look like the kind of problem where that is the best answer. Leaking faucet? Kill the plumber. Traffic on I-9? Kill the other drivers. Like that guy’s car? Easy he won’t need it. Network cancels your favorite show? Well sure how many of them gotta go before the rest get the fucking message that the world needs more Dichen Lachman not less?

Quite a few actually, as it happens, which surprised me, but never mind that right now.

“OMIGOD JACK SOO COOOOOLLLLL WOW MAN NICE THREADS HEY IT’S ME FLAMINGO RIGHT RONNIE FLAMINGO JAAAAACK EHEY RIGHT HAMBURG AM I RIGHT?”

Kill this asshole it would be

oh

so

easy.

But probably not ludic.

I am Banjo Telemark. Banjo Telemark the artist who lives for confusion and bewilderment and this right here is found fucking art it is Banjo gold disc. It is immortality.

I say:

“OOOOOOMIGOD FRIDA KAHLO I AM YOUR BIGGEST FAN!”

And I kiss Ronnie Flamingo on the mouth.

With tongues because hell it’s Frida fucking Kahlo.

The staff at the Hirschen are totally relaxed about sexual orientation but they do not like shouting or artists or public tongues that is not their jam.

They sit me down and they kind of hoosh Ronnie away like hoosh hoosh back to his own table.

Eiger says: “Jack?”

I say: “Man I have no idea what that was about. That guy thinks he knows me.”

Eiger says: “And he is wrong.”

“Of course he is.”

“I think it would be best if you left now Herr Price.”

“Price, what Price? I am Telemark. Man I have just no idea who this Price guy—wait is that the guy you totally shot in the face?”

“Your speculations are unwelcome Mr.—”

“Banjo—”

“As you say.”

I say: “So man I feel like I have upset your equilibrium man but Hans—baby—I really want to rob your bank call me it will be great.”

And I go back and I eat my lunch and then I pay and I leave.

I pay for Hans Eiger’s lunch too which is a nice gesture and also too it means he won’t find out for another few hours that someone has broken into his day-to-day bank account and stolen thirty-one thousand francs and his bank are saying it is all his fault for setting his password to P4SSW0Rd.

If that was