Fuck Happened to Green Day?

Sorry guys.  It had to be asked.

Exhibit A:
(not that I'm gonna keep with the theme of various "exhibits" of evidence and whatnot; I just wanted to say "Exhibit A")

See that?  That's old Green Day.  Like Green Day from when I was a tot.  I'd chill with those motherfuckers if I could.  They'd probably still be dicks, but they'd be hilarious dicks whose pastimes include drive-by moonings and raging with chicks with tattoos and daddy-issues, things I'd gladly participate in, preferably while wasted.  Shit, mah hurr used to be the same color as Billy Joe's as of like, a year ago, looked about as dope.

Okay, so far I haven't really said much about their music.  The guys above, sure, they were your standard Nineties Sapiens, kids that looked like they dressed by jumping into a dumpster full of hand-me-downs while covered in honey.  Honey that turned their hair funny colors, for some reason.  They played the latest evolution of punk.  Nothing intrinsically special, but they did it better than most.  You could tell they had potential, as a lot of their songs had real hooks and an attitude that welcomed the alienated rather than the alienation.  Don't get me wrong, Green Day was never one of my favorites, but I've got a real soft-spot for the old stuff. Shit, Brain Stew was the first song I ever learned (on a stolen guitar on Halloween, half-naked on the back porch... and I think I just got another idea for an entry).

Well anyway, then this happened.

Is that Pete Wentz's dad and his two work buddies?

I don't even...  Really, I have no idea where to begin.  I guess first I'd have to make the obligatory "lol they're wearing guyliner" comment, but...  remembering who these guys once were, it's really not that funny.

So uh... I guess they branched out?  There's that.  Given, it was to middle-schoolers and other types of people who put their fingers in their ears and hold their breath when people start talking about how the grown-up world of politics and business and global events and economics actually works.  No, I'm not bashing all people that don't have an in-depth understanding of all those things, because, well, I fall into that category.  I'm bashing those whose uninformed (and uninformative) opinions tend to show up in modern-day Green Day lyrics.  "One twenty-one guns, lay down your arms..."  Seriously?  These guys went from the kind of dicks that'll spooge in your beer to the ones that'll drunkenly corner you into a conversation about how "legalizing pot would totally save the economy, bro" while he smokes right into your face.  Weirdly, I'd way rather deal with the first type.

I know a musician's head getting bigger as their music gets worse isn't exactly a new thing, but Green Day has one of the worst cases I've seen.  Remember that little Usher fiasco?  Yes, I get it.  Dick move on Usher's part; if you're that big of an act, you don't pull that shit on the people you share a bill with.  But then what, you... you throw a fucking tantrum?  You're over forty, dude.  And I don't wanna hear shit like "you're never too old for punk" or whatever, because that was probably the least "punk" thing I've ever seen.

Once again, I've depressed myself into not wanting to finish with any real point.

You know what?  No, fuck that.  Here, Green Day.  Here's punk.

That kid's probably never heard the word "punk" in the context we're talking.  His mother was probably casting the gentleman on the left wary looks, saying "No no, keep walking, don't ask the man why he's covered in spikes."  Now the kid knows about something new.  He can put it with a friendly face, he knows it's about finding a weird kind of solidarity in a not-so-solid world.  Not in those words of course, but he knows it's about dressing how you want and cutting your hair all goofy and doing it with your friends, and not hiding it from the world, whether they want to touch your spikes or ask why you did that to your hair.  Maybe it changed that kid's life, got some kind of gears turning.  Cuz punk's not the fucking attitude, it's not breaking instruments and giving the finger (of course, those things are all in good fun if it's not to assist your bitching) and moshing while you're covered in mud and beer.  It's the ultimate safety net for the bottom of the barrel.  You lose your job and your place and your girlfriend? Throw out the fucks, shave your head, start from the ground up.  DIY, motherfucker.  It's a world of do-what-you-need-to-do-or-don't-doesn't-matter-let's-get-drunk-and-keep-the-neighbors-up.

That's something I feel like they used to get.  And they may have moved on, but they sure as hell didn't grow up.

Monument (Part 3 of 3)

WOOHOO!

Scene Three:

[Lights up.  Slap is sitting on the amp, looking anxious.  Screech is slumped on the couch.]

Screech: So then she said “Only the first time,” so I was [hand gesture] outta there. [pause] Came straight here.

Slap: [trying to be sincere] I’m sorry about that, man.

[Silence.  Slap is about to continue when Screech starts again.]

Screech: Three fucking years, man.  Three years. [looks Slap dead in the eye] I gave that cunt three years of my life.

Slap: Come on man, you’re young.

Screech: [yelling] Exactly! [pause] I’m…  Sorry.  But you… [huffs, ruffles his hair agitatedly] That’s just one little piece of what’s fucking me up so much.  We get a few years to be morons and I spent mine in a committed relationship.  I wasted my free pass, dude.

[Brief silence.]

Slap: You really think that?

Screech: Sure I do.  If I knew I’d get fucked this bad for trying to be grown up, I would’ve put it off four more years.

Slap: Like everyone else?

Screech: [shrugs] Why not. [pause] I wanted to be a kid. [pause] She was more important.

[Long silence.]

Slap: Well, I know you’re not looking for advice, but at times like these, I find it prudent to share some words of wisdom passed on by one great sage and forefather.  [stands up, takes theatrical stance] Bitches… ain’t shit… but hoes and tricks.

[Screech starts laughing]

Slap: Lick on these nuts!  And suck the dick.

[Bang pops in from stage right, clears his throat.]

Slap: Get the fuck out after you’re done, and I hop in my ride-

Bang: [barges in, clapping, talking fast] Hey yeah, great!  Hey Screech, you seem to be having a bad day, why don’t you grab a beer?  Like now?

Screech: Uh…  I don’t really-

Bang: Don’t be ridiculous!  My casa’s your casa, now go on, don’t be shy! [claps Screech on the back, pointing stage left]

[Screech gets up and walks off stage left, confused.  Bang watches him go, waiting until he’s out of sight.]

Slap: Dude, what the hell!  We were having a moment!

Bang: A moment?!  Don’t be ridiculous!  You hate the man, you said it yourself!  Just what are you trying to pull here, Erikson?

Slap: Look, he’s really-

[Slap stops to squint at Bang, scrutinizing him.]

Bang: Well?

Slap: Did you just call me ‘Erikson’?

Bang: Yes.

Slap: Why?

Bang: Seriously man?

Slap: What – yes I’m serious!  You’re being confusing again!

Bang: [gesturing] 1984! [pause] 1984?

Slap: Look – no.  I’m stopping you right there.  Before you eat my brain anymore, I’m picking up this conversation at its sanest point.

Bang: Party-pooper.

Slap: I don’t think I can do it, okay?  I wasn’t-

Screech: [calling from offstage] I can’t find it.  Can I come back now?

Bang: Keep looking, it’s a deep basement.  A lot of corners.

Slap: You hid the beer, didn’t you?

Bang: Maybe.

Slap: Just to set up this diversion.

Bang: Man’s gotta have a code.

Slap: [sighs] The one quote you ever get right and it’s not even in good context.  Are you proud of yourself?

Bang: Man, why you always picking on me?

Slap: Because you touch yourself at night.

Bang: Good point.

Slap: So how about you?  How’re things going up there?

Bang: [shrugs] They’re going.  Just talking. [beat] Why do you ask?

Slap: I thought you were… [gestures] You know.

[pause]

Bang: I don’t follow.

Slap: Like… [repeats gesture]

Bang: Dear god, what kind of man do you take me for?!

[Screech re-enters.]

Screech: Really, I checked everywhere.  It’s-

Bang: [points stage-left without taking his eyes off Slap] YOU WILL CHECK AGAIN.

[Silence.]

Slap: [turns to Screech] I don’t know either, man.

Screech: …Yeah, I’ll leave you two alone. [exits stage right]

Bang: [glares at Slap] You sicken me.

Slap: Bang.

Bang: Present.

Slap: Have you brought it up at all?

[Bang bites his lip, staring at Slap.  He then sits down on the couch with a sigh.]

Bang: No.

[Silence.  Slap sits down on the amp.]

Bang: Every time I think ‘yeah, I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna do it; now’s your chance’, I…

[beat]

Slap: You what?

Bang: I think about how unrealistic it is.  I tell myself it’s not gonna happen, so then it doesn’t.

[Brief silence.]

Slap: Why do you think it’s unrealistic?

Bang: [shrugs] She’s younger.

Slap: So?  She’s legal.

[Bang looks at Slap humorlessly.]

Slap: Sorry.  I’m just saying, so what?

Bang: It’s four years, man.

Slap: Still abides by The Rule.

Bang: …Enlighten me.

Slap: Half your age plus seven.

[Pause as Bang “calculates” on his fingers.]

Bang: By Jove, you’ve done it.

Slap: See?  Given, she’s the lowest you can-

Bang: All right, that doesn’t really change anything though.  She’ll still think I’m creepy, I’m probably friend-zoned by now anyway, and what if it doesn’t work out?

Slap: Then-

Bang: Then the band’s fucked for sure.

Slap: Dude, so what?

[Bang stares down Slap, furious; Slap slowly realizes what he’s done.]

Slap: …Please don’t kill me.

Bang: It is taking every fiber in my being not to.

Slap: Let me-

Bang: ONLY… because you told me about The Rule. [pause] That is why you are still alive.

Slap: May I explain?  Please?

Bang: [inhales deeply] I shall consider it. [considers it] I shall allow it.

Slap: Okay… hear me out. [pause] There’s a good chance the band, in its current incarnation, ends tonight.

Bang: Maybe if you fired Screech like you said you would.

Slap: Look-

Bang: Which you still haven’t explained.

Slap: I know!  I know, dammit.  I chickened out, I get it.  He was feeling shitty, so I chickened out.

Bang: So you don’t hate him.

Slap: It was a lapse dammit!  I forgot to suppress my sense of humanity for a minute!  Won’t happen again.  Anyway.  We self-destruct the band.

[Silence]

Screech: [offstage] Hey, we kinda drank all the beer.

Bang: Fire him.

Slap: You got it.

[Slap walks off stage-right.  Bang remains sitting for a while, appearing to just be thinking to himself.  Eventually, he gets up and walks off stage-left.  He comes back a few seconds later, beer in hand.]

Bang: Heh.  Drank all the beer indeed.

[Bang starts chugging the beer.  Shred walks in from stage right.  She watches Bang for a second.]

Shred: Bang?

[Bang, surprised, spits out beer before looking at Shred.]

Bang: Yes please.

Shred: What?

Bang: I mean yes?

Shred: Uh…  Slap said you needed to talk to me about something?

[Long silence.  Bang drops the beer on the ground.  More silence.  Bang steps forward and looks out at the audience.]

Bang: I can’t believe this is really happening.  I guess it’s time to make a decision: Shred or the band.  Music’s the most important thing in my life, and the past three years I’ve done nothing but work towards my dream of being a rock star.  But for the first time in my life, I’ve found something that might not be worth losing.  If by-

Shred: Bang!

Bang: What?

Shred: Do you want me to call an ambulance?

Bang: No, why?

Shred: You were talking to a wall.

Bang: [narrows his eyes] Are you sure of what you saw?

Shred: Bang.

Bang: Yes.

Shred: Do you remember what you said?

[brief silence]

Bang: Maybe.

Shred: Bang.

Bang: Yes.

[Long silence.]

Shred: And you meant it?

[Bang nods.  Another long silence.]

Bang: Well…  I’ll be in the storage room.  Drinking the rest of the beer.  In the dark.  Don’t tell Screech.

[Bang turns toward stage left and starts to walk away.]

Shred: Bang.

Bang: [swallows] Yes?

[Long silence.]

Shred: I don’t know.

Bang: [looks back at Shred] Wanna join me?

Shred: In the storage room.

Bang: Yep.

Shred: Drinking beer.

[Bang nods.]

Shred: In the dark?

Bang: If you want.

[One last long silence.]

Shred: Couldn’t hurt.

[Bang and Shred walk off stage left together.  Lights out.]

FIN.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Korn

Tabs currently open: a random King Diamond-related Wikipedia article, Grooveshark, petition for a third Alice game (SIGN IT BITCHES: http://www.thepetitionsite.com/372/809/248/make-american-mcgees-alice-in-otherland-a-reality/?cid=FB_TAF_CIT), OKCupid, this, porn, and a writing blog that isn't mine.  I've been alternately checking the slowly-increasing amount of signatures, pecking away at a reply message to a sweet young lady from my dad's hometown, trying to figure out what the FUCK this post is gonna be about, yearning for my pre-bed fap, and reading that other thing.

For you prudes weirded out by the fact that I've touched my wiener a couple times during the writing of this post, I posit to ye: calm thy tits, it's the 21st century.

KIDDING.  No sperms were harmed during the making of this post.

But at last I decided to stop being a bum and pull up my list o' ideas.  Lo, at the top of the list, was the title above.  Simply cuz I'm proud of that title, even if I may not be able to provide a real ending (again), I feel I owe it to myself to turn it into a real thing.

Suggested by the above title, I used to freaking hate Korn.

I can't imagine why.

A lot of it I'm guessing had to do with Jonathan Davis' voice.  I realized a few years ago, some years after first being exposed to them, that I liked everything else besides the general tones of his caterwauling.  The rhythm section, the riffing, the imagery, their use of electronics and studio tricks, how unique their sound was/is/whatever, the fact that Todd McFarlane animated multiple music videos for them, even most of their lyrics.  You know, when they weren't cobbling together various nursery rhymes and calling them songs.  Seriously Jonathan, what the fuck?

It was just the dude's voice that sometimes ground my gears.  To me, it sounded like someone doing a bad Marilyn Manson impression.  Over the years, I've come to terms with this, realizing I've gotten over even less accessible vocal stylings in the past, so why should I let something like that hamper me from listening to something I otherwise truly enjoy?  Sorry, what's that?  Because music typically has lots of vocals and they can make or break a band?

Hm.  Point taken.

In any case, I eventually came to "get" Davis' unorthodox take on the human voice.  It just wouldn't be Korn without the closet monster trying his absolute hardest to sing your angsty self to sleep.

More dreads, less adorable.

All the bonus points in the world if you know what this is from.

What's that?  Time for another Self-Deprecating Disclaimer?!!?!  Yeah, yeah it is.  *Sigh*

So I realized, coming to the "end" of this thang, that there's no real story here.  No one thing that Kornlightened me, no epiphakorn...  Oh dear god, I should've just stopped at "Kornlightened".  Point being, the entire "arc" was this:

1) Disliked Korn.

2) Got over myself.

3) Liked Korn.

Holy rig-ma-roley, there's not even a point to this.  Have a creepy drawing.

Weird that I think this is awesome?

richardakirk.com

Fucking Drummers.

Like the title says, fucking drummers man.  My experience with them has been nothing but Spinaltappian.  I mean, they haven't exploded or anything, but I feel like the problem would be less confusing if they had.

Drummers 1, 2, and 3: The First Band
Like it says, my first band.  We were terrible and no I'm not telling you the name; it's a name I came up with and it's a name I'm still damn proud of, but I can't say the same for the music.  Started the band with three friends.  I'd just learned bass and that's all I did, whereas the other three all switched between guitar, vocals, and drums. Thus, the first three drummers.  Band dissolved, goodbye first three drummers.

Drummer 4: The Weak Link
Being in a band with this drummer was easily the most fun I've had in a band setting, and he's still one of my best friends.  But damn playing with him could be hard.  Were the singer-guitarist (who was actually one of the members of The First Band) and I just so ahead of the curve?  Not really, no.  Did we make it work?  Sure.  Anyways, that's not why his time as Drummer #4 was cut short; he actually quit for his job.  Pssh, real careers.

Drummer 5: The Older Dude
The Older Dude was cool, good drummer.  Usually.  He had his problems though; namely, the last show we played with him where he fell asleep in the middle of the set.  Not kidding, went fucking narcoleptic on us, hands moving autonomously (if it was on-time, it would've only been a problem for him).  The singer/guitarist's CD release show no less.  Again, like Drummer #4, the problems weren't what got him (unofficially) terminated.  He eventually just dropped off the map, not returning calls and shit.

Drummer 6: The Prodigy
Not even fucking around, this guy's the best drummer I've ever played with.  What's crazier, he doesn't own a drum kit and, for the most part, doesn't even listen to that much rock music.  Or, you know, any other kind of music where you think of drums.  Dude listens to and plays mostly gospel.  Okay, funk-kinda-stuff too, which is definitely known for drumming... stuff...  Anyways, off track.  So, good drummer, great fucking drummer... LAZY fucking drummer.  Seriously, there were several practices toward the end there, before we finally pronounced him dead, where I'd come all the way from downtown and he just wouldn't show up.

Drummer 7: The Doofus
Good friend.  Good drummer.  Good dad.  Wherein lies the problem.  Motherfucker's on his second goddamn kid with a second goddamn woman.  For an atheist, he's got a weirdly hard time believing in birth control.  Well in the meantime, it looks like he's giving up on music, sold his kit and everything.  Not calling him a doofus for having kids, more for being silly and not wrapping his willy.

Holy balls, I'm just gonna stop here.  This was all a lot more depressing than I'd intended.  God damn it life, why can't you be more like Spinal Tap?

For your time and troubles, here's a picture of a silly drummer.  Or the offspring of Danny McBride and a walrus. You decide.

My Sister Got Me Into Tool. Go Figure?

I desperately want to either finish the acoustic bullshit sensitive-guy song I'm writing or keep playing Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door.  Oh my god do I love that game.  BUT!  I promised myself one more post tonight, at least one more freaking post.  So here it is.  One more post, one more real post that isn't pulled out of my backlog of finished things (also known as "my ass") or a string of pictures of Chris Barron And Friends.  I mean the Spin Doctors.

We do, Spin Doctors.  We do.

No, this is a post about Tool.  More or less.

Originally, I was looking for a picture of your standard "tool", as in "scumbag".  This came up instead, and well, I felt you needed to be in the same mental place as me.  For at least a second.

I was a sophomore in high school.  Still had glasses, finally managed to ditch the braces, girls still didn't like me (far as I know).  This was most likely due to the fact that I never talked to anyone (much less girls), was still in the habit of wearing the same smelly black hoodie for weeks on end (losing that thing was probably my greatest blessing in disguise since... actually, I can't remember anything earlier in my life), was a swimmer (not the greatest sport for getting your dick sucked), and was wading so deep in self-indulgent angst, I had to tilt my neck to breathe.

But I was visiting my sister for spring break!  Well, a weekend of it anyway.  Woo, party time, excellent.  College bitches, booze (which I really wasn't into back then; shockingly, my Irish and German genes hadn't kicked in very much), and I don't know, somewhere that wasn't Oak Park.  Oh, and no parents.  Oh, and I got to take flights all on my own!  Which is weirdly awesome.  And, even more weird, WAY simple when your entire family isn't involved.  Seriously, both flights I got all the way to my gate so fast, without a Gumbel Family Disaster, I had to quadruple-check to make sure I'd done everything right.

Anyways, I got to Pittsburgh, got to my sister's dorm, stayed there overnight, there was a party, I drank for the first time (green apple schnapps + 7-Up and a beer, if I recall), and... not much else happened; it was a fun trip, but nothing too crazy, sorry to disappoint.

Trust me, you're not the most disappointed one.

Something magical did indeed happen though!  Did happen indeed?  Did indeed... happen.  Hmm.  Those are both kind of really awkward.  Well, at any rate, there was something cool that happened.  My sister introduced me to Tool.

Let's clarify some things here.  Tool is one of the two great prog-metal bands.  The other one being Dream Theater.

Unless we're counting Rush.  And we're not counting Rush.

My sister is a huge, huge, huge, huge, HUGE a capella nerd.  And otherwise listens to like, Jason Mraz and Sufjan Stevens and Jack Johnson and yes, yes, I know.  That stuff.

Hey, I kinda like some of "that stuff".  See first sentence.

On a slightly different note, I never want to not look at this picture.

At that point, the hardest things I knew she listened to were Nirvana, Foo Fighters, and some Jack White-related things.  Same tree, different branch, me and my sister.  My sister and I?

So Vicarious (which happened to be one of the first songs I learned on guitar two years later) comes on her iTunes.  Not on Pandora, not a friend's iPod, not a... a... I don't know, radio (lol wuzzat?), on MY SISTER'S FUCKING Itunes (is that correct? the inverse capitalization? no? oh, well, suck my balls, aPPLE), my sister who I've heard refer to Metallica as "death metal" and Evanescence as "emo".  I may have made one of those up.  Actually, probably not.  Vicarious isn't even one of their slow, eleven-minute, droney, meditation-metal acid-voyage songs.  It kicks you in the fucking balls.  And I, as a sixteen-year-old whose definition of the heaviest band he knew being Slipknot (punch me later), was hearing this for the first time.  I, of course, asked her who it was.  She told me it's Tool (never even knew that was a band), she told me that "some of their stuff was kinda weird and scary" (again, very different tastes, she and I) but generally it was "beautiful".  My sister described Tool as "beautiful".  And I couldn't help but agree.

...YAY ABRUPT ENDINGS.

You need to know exactly two things about this show to get the joke.  C'mon.  You can do it.

Monument Part 2

So to make up at least a teeny tiny bit for that random garbage post about the Spin Doctors (and no, it is NOT the Spin Doctors that made it garbage, do not blaspheme; it's my total inability to budget time and other life-thingies), here's the second scene of that play from earlier.  At least one more post tonight.  Seriously, I'm going to stab myself with a pencil periodically to keep myself awake so I can do this.  Are there far more effective means of keeping oneself awake?  Surely.  Is this one the most fun?  You betcha.

Scene Two:

[Lights up.  Bang is once again sitting behind his drum set, looking agitated.  Slap is leaning against the wall between the drum set and the couch.  Shred is sitting on the couch.]

Shred: I just… [shrugs] I don’t wanna do it.

Slap: You just said-

Shred: No, I’ll do it, I just don’t want to be the one to do it.

Slap: Look, if I do it, it’ll be an even bigger mess.  He’ll be all ‘I always knew you hated me’ and I’ll have to be all-

Bang: Let it go, Slap.

[Slap and Shred turn to look at Bang.]

Bang: I’ll… I’ll fucking do it.  Just stop badgering her just cuz you’re too lazy.

[brief pause]

Slap: [taken aback] …Dude, what the hell?

[Bang gets up and hurries out of the room (stage right) past Slap.  Slap stares after him for a few seconds, angry.  He sits down on the amp in a huff.]

Shred: So um…  I smell like elephant.

[Slap looks at Shred like she’s insane.]

Shred: Oh fuck!  No, I mean, I smell an elephant.  Smell one.  Like… [points to her nose]

Slap: [laughs a little] You say it too?

Shred: Yeah. [beat] Too?

Slap: Yeah, Bang taught me that like right before you got here. [brief silence] You want a beer?

Shred: Oh, I really shouldn’t.

Slap: [shrugs] Suit yourself.

[Slap gets up and walks off stage left.]

Shred: [calling offstage] Slap!

Slap: Changed your mind?

Shred: No! [beat] Yeah!  But shouldn’t you ask Bang?

Slap: Milady, please. [sounds of beer-getting from offstage] When have I not been the master freeloader?  And when-oh-when… [walks back in, tossing Shred a beer, which she catches] have I respected Bang’s property? [sits back down on the amp and opens his beer]

Shred: Well, it’s not his house.

Slap: So why should he care? [takes a sip]

[Shred looks at the beer, setting it on the ground between her feet after a few seconds.  She looks back at Slap as he keeps sipping his beer.]

Slap: What?

Shred: Aren’t you two friends?

Slap: [huffs] Yes.  It was just a jab, okay?  I’d never do anything to fuck the guy.

Shred: [holds up her hands apologetically] Sorry; just asking.

[Slap goes back to drinking the beer, Shred goes back to staring.]

Slap: I’ll fire Screech.  I brought it up, I’ll do it.

Shred: That’s… surprisingly noble of you.

[Slap looks at Shred.  Shred smiles.]

Shred: He’ll appreciate it.

[Slap looks back at his beer, smiles, and takes a sip.  Brief silence.]

Slap: How well do you really know Bang?

Shred: You don’t think he will?

Slap: No, doesn’t have anything to do with that.  I’m just asking.

Shred: [shrugs] I dunno.  About as well as Screech by now.

Slap: So…  Like, enough to know that you like Bang more than Screech?

Shred: [gives Slap a very questioning look] That’s weird.

Slap: Never mind, never mind.  Forget it.  Forget I said absolutely anything.

Shred: Well, now you have to tell me.

Slap: No!  No I absolutely don’t!

[sounds of Bang coming down the stairs]

Shred: I swear to Christ if you say ‘absolutely’ one more time-

Slap: What the hell is it with you people and your trigger words?!

Shred: Just tell me dammit!

[Bang enters stage-right.  Slap and Shred look up at him quickly.]

Bang: …I smell an elephant.

[Shred starts giggling uncontrollably.]

Slap: How come I don’t get a catchphrase?

Bang: Because you touch yourself at night. [crosses over the stage by the drum set]

Slap: So?

Bang: SO?! [kicks Slap off the amp]

[Slap lays wedged between the wall and the amp, wheezing; Shred looks up at Bang, wide-eyed.]

Shred: Dude.

Bang: Oops.

Slap: [out of breath] You fucker.

[Bang and Shred start forward to help Slap; Bang gets there first, extending a hand in front of Slap.]

Bang: Sorry man.

Slap: I think I’m going into V-Tach.

Bang: Hey man, I can’t hold this forever.

Slap: Once it stops… you’re dead.  And I’m gonna kill you.

Shred: You two are insane, you know that?

[Bang helps up Slap; Slap straightens up and glares at him; brief silence.]

Bang: You said ‘so’. [Slap slaps him upside the head] It had to be done.

[Slap slaps him again; Bang starts laughing; Slap gives him a small shove before sitting down; Bang steps forward; he checks to make sure Slap won’t hit him before going around the drum set to sit down; brief silence]

Shred: What the fuck is wrong with you two?

[Bang and Slap look at her like she’s crazy.]

Slap: What are you talking about?

Shred: You just-

[Slap looks back at Bang; Bang twirls his finger by his head and makes cuckoo noises; Slap shakes his head and clucks his tongue disappointedly]

Shred: I hate boys. [picks up her beer and starts chugging]

Bang: [urgently] Why do you hate boys?

[Slap facepalms; Shred finishes her beer and tosses the can aside.]

Shred: What?

Bang: You um…  You said you hate boys, I uh… that seems like… something to see a therapist… for. [pause] Just asking.  Why you hate boys.

[Very long silence.]

Shred: You… think I’m a lesbian?

Bang: I don’t know.  Are you?

Slap: [under his breath] Dude, just stop talking.

Shred: …No?

Bang: I mean, I’m not calling you a lesbian; you just said that you hated-

[Knocking is heard off-stage.  Everyone freezes and looks to stage-right (towards the door) in surprise/fear.  There is a long silence where no one moves.  More knocking is heard, this time a bit louder.  Slap turns to Bang.]

Slap: I have always loved you.

AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGHH

Screw the Story Week stuff until further notice.  Seriously, I can't think of a single goddamn way I can link any of the three other days where I did stuff in Story Week to 90s music.  I don't know why I thought I could.  I...  GRAH.  In any case, that's why I'm going to nix that stuff until further notice so I can, you know, actually post.

Know what I'm gonna post about?

THE FUCKING SPIN DOCTORS.

Seriously, look at these guys.

Look at these silly motherfuckers.

LOOK AT THEM.

Done looking?  Okay, good.  I love me some fucking Spin Doctors.  My friend used to play them in the goddamn car nigh-constantly and for a good while I was like "Why?" until I learned to get the angsty-stick (fresh off the Angsty Tree (that Angsty Tree's a real dick, ya know that?)) out of my bunghole and appreciate silly music.  And before you're like "yeah well it's "fun" and "catchy" and fine for nostalgic blablabla negative negative but you can't really call it "good music", EAT A BALL.  You ever tried to play a goddamn Spin Doctors song?!  They're...  Well, they're not the hardest things ever if you don't learn the solos.  But their songs ain't Nirvana, lemme tell you.  I mean, Nirvana's better of course, I'm just saying Kurt's songs were easy to learn and...

Oh Jesus Christ, this post is a mess.  Here, have a picture have Chris Barron's beard.

I had about a dozen jokes about THC lined up for this picture and they were all pretty awful.

Seriously though, look how high that man is.

By the way, Google, there is a shameful lack of Chris Barron pictures in your supposedly-omnipotent self.  Getcho shit together.  Sincerely, me.