The Truth about Debbie Gibson and Tiffany (fiction)

Unfortunately, everything you know about Debbie Gibson and Tiffany is part of a cover up meant to protect the innocent. Here’s the real story:

In the mid 1980s I was part of a special Regan administration task force to fight trans-dimensional alien invasions in Jr. High and High Schools across the US; sort of a Men In Black Jump Street.  So my task force was battling trans-dimensional creatures that had an appendage that extended into our world and attached themselves to the wrists of unsuspecting kids in the 80s thereby feeding on their intellect. This appendage became known as the slap bracelet. By 1987 we were successfully countering the Slap bracelet aliens with “Operation: Friendship Bracelet” but we began to run low on funds.  As a means of raising money fo the operation, I began writing and recording music under the pen name Debbie Gibson (my voice hadn’t changed yet). When It became clear that we needed a public face, team member Jenny Schwartz agreed to act as Debbie Gibson for videos and public performances.  With their backs against the wall, the Slap Bracelet aliens countered by creating a shape sifting fungal creature with a dangerous PR machine that became known as,  you guessed it, Tiffany.  By then it was too late for them, however, and the Slap Bracelet aliens dwindled in numbers and eventually chose to seek greener pastures elsewhere.  Although the campaign was a success, it wasn’t without casualties. Jenny Schwartz began to truly believe she was Debbie Gibson and still does to this day. As for the shape shifting fungal creature, although it does have a short life span in terms of fame, it has been know to spawn other creatures; the first occurrence as documented by the Obscure 80s Podcast was when the Tiffany fungoid spawned an entity known as New Kids on the Block. Every few years a new fungoid progeny of the Tiffany creature surfaces on the pop scene; The Spice Girls, Rico Suave etc. , but they have been determined to be relatively harmless. The biggest threat from these creatures came in recent years when several of them combined to form a creature of pure terror called James Blunt, but as usual, it’s power soon dissipated.

I tell you this not to get credit as being the real Debbie Gibson but to acknowledge the sacrifice of agent Jenny Schwartz in service of her country and planet. If you see agent Jenny, please play along with her delusion and refer to her as Deborah Gibson.

Thank you 80s Nation and be safe.


San Francisco Moment 4

I had to do some skillful one handed maneuvering to get my fastpass out of my wallet while holding on to my two dark pink roses for A. Out the gate and up the long escalator ride to 24th street, I noticed that bright shiny Venus had moved in recent weeks from over the left shoulder of the escalator riders in front of me to over their heads. I switched to auto pilot when I got onto the bus my only goal being to keep the roses safe. As the bus got close to the hill I looked up to notice a teen couple standing by the door. The boy was a six foot pink cheeked brown haired white boy wearing a slightly tattered grey hoodie and the bracelet on one of his wrists was made from a bicycle chain. The girl came up to the boy’s chest and was a wholesome looking ABC wearing a black hoodie, a frilly black skirt fanning out and black stockings peppered with a scull and crossbones pattern. They were focused on each other but seemed to be contemplating something; perhaps their next move. Then the bus lights cut out. Now backlit from the glass bus door the girl was a silhouette with cat ears that I hadn’t noticed before. The lights came back on and I faced forward. The bus moved a few feet and the lights went off again. This time everything in the bus was silhouette but the light from the window behind me managed to come in at the right angle to light up the just the roses.

Pain, Pills, and Pupils

            She calls out to me, her eyes wide with pain and fear.  Before sleep she was in pain from the accident but something has changed since then.  I helplessly pepper her with suggestions: ice, heat, sleep sitting up?  She calls to her mother who passed in recent years.  She calls to any gods who have ears.  I may look still but so do sprinters on the starting blocks.  She gives the word and we’re off to the emergency room; the nice one that we took her boss’s wife to at a similarly late hour; it may be a bit farther a way but the time will be more than made up with a shorter wait.  It seems this ER is a well kept secret in a big city, or at least it is at 2am.  The transmission works twice as hard to move from stop sign to stop sign and makes a strange whistling sound.  The car wants to quit on us, that’s all I need.  Park-up the ramp-on the shiny dark wood floors to the lady.  Nice lady; good.  We don’t even sit down when baldish peach fuzz head in a Hawaiian shirt calls: “Tir. . . Thira. . .”  “That’s her,” comes out of my mouth in synch with her “That’s me.”  I’m at a point where I recognize the silence before someone tries to read her name.  He talks about her pretty name and is nice to her, good.  Then she’s gone and I’m in the land of podcasts and late night horror movies. 


Later Vincent price and a plain clothes cop are looking at a tiny fly with a human head calling ‘heeelp meeee’ from a spider web.  She comes out with papers and a new bracelet with her name on it and they have given her some pills.  She tells me she has whiplash.  Seems whiplash can show up well after the accident.  Nothing broken and we’re on our way back home.  She starts talking about liquid balance beams and the wonders of fish.  With and accompanying nod for each word she tells me: “People, eat, fish.” 


“Yes, people and bears and other fish.”


“Bears.” She giggles.


They gave her good pills.  Very good.  Help her out of the car and she’s awake again and on the bed within 12 minutes the fear and pain are back.  “It’s not working!”  I know she would be would be way too embarrassed to go back to the same emergency room but the pain doesn’t care about any of that.  Same trip, same struggling transmission, same nice lady but this time Hawaii Peach Fuzz is a bit cold.  You just jumped lists buddy.  This time I’m watching hulk get he with sonic cannons on my ipod when a nurse calls me in to see her.  She’s laying on a shiny bed under the bright lights in a wall to wall equipment and medical stuff room with an I.V.  in her arm.  She seems out cold but her eyes flicker to life when I get close and her fingers ask for me.  I hold her hand.  “Good stuff eh?”  “It’s odd, it’s a bit like. . . WHOOOOM (That’s the sound of something in the morphine family hitting her. It doesn’t actually make a sound but it’s just that clear that something is different now).  She went from sleepy eyes one instant, then blink, then pupils open so big that all the light that isn’t nailed down is falling in.  And I know she’s going to be ok for a while.  Bless all the gods who have ears for good drugs.