If You're gonna Play In Winston- You Gotta Have a Vaper in the Band
The Inquirer leaned on the back of his heels and gnawed a tooth pick in his grubby mouth. This man... wearing a corduroy sports coat, cut so crisply, it could have been made of the finest oaks...This man was the chosen one. Picked by the tribe of the Friday Night Entertainment Council and sent directly to me; This man had proven his great power of ball busting and was now harassing me during set up.
Questions Are harder to Answer when Your unwinding Microphone Cables.
"Music.." He started, "what kind of music do you play? I wanna know about your music. You're in the band, right?
"This Band?" I asked.
The venue had a freshly scented mildew. It was small and if it had any character at all- that character would be a biker in his mid 50's wearing a t-shirt two sizes too small. This corduroy man was out of place. He was suspicious. But, with the neon blues shining atop of my dark prescription sunglasses, I knew that I was suspicious too. No sense in telling this man that I was tonight's entertainment.
"This Band? Hell no I'm not in this band! Communal hippie freaks! Buncha stage orgy having; swinger sycophant deviants. I hear they practice witchcraft... right there on stage. Some backward Gnosticism with a smidgen of Pagan just to be silly."
The man was becoming uneasy with my scene. He was sweating. I could see him envisioning the dark corners of an America he didn't understand. I retrieved my mirror sharp metallic itaste VTR. A vicious looking mod...
"What the Hell is That?"
"Listen!" I screamed; snatching the left side of his collar, "I didn't want to be the one to tell you this, but... they're on to you..."
He was shaken.
"Who?" He whispered.
"The Fucking Freaks you asshole," I blurted. "They're here tonight and you're target number one. What the hell do you think I'm doing here? Just what on earth would stop you from allowing me to put these Government issued - Grade A- tracking devices into their mic cables? Are you one of them... did they flip you Hoss?"
"I'm not one of them." He said offended.
"Good." I backed him into the bar, "Because we have big plans tonight, Hoss. Plans that challenge the natural order of this Earth and maybe even the next one. Don't let me down captain...we're all counting on you."
I could see my guitarist rolling his amplifier along the sidewalk. The rest of the band followed behind him.
"My God...They're here."
His face faded into a colorless pale.
"Here, take this." I shoved The VTR into his dumb face and pressed the mean looking block button on it's side. "Now inhale this."
He began coughing heavily.
"Knock it off you stupid twit!" I screamed shoving the drip tip into his hacking head again.
"Breathe! Heavier, deep breath!" His eyes were full with mist and his face had gone purple.
"This is a psychoactive agent currently making it's way through your lungs and eventually latching onto your spine. Think of it as a reverse narco-synthesis that allows you to lie about your identity with all the reliability of a truth serum. Tell me if you start believing you're a chicken."
"What! What have you done?"
I slapped him in the mouth. "Snap out of it you son-of-a-bitch! Any minute these abominations will be twisting your pants to your ankles and performing Tuesday's Gone over your overly sensitized corpse. Are you feeling okay? You don't think you're a chicken, right? You're arms are folding- if you feel compelled to cluck- you will need to eat three table spoons butter and lay face down."
The door swung open with my band laughing loudly.
"Get Out!" I shrieked.
His world unfolded as his hands hammered the front entrance. I knew that nothing...not the running through the streets drenched in panic, nor the revelation of a world where dreams became true... none of these things could ever let his life be the same.
My guitarist shot his head back at the sight of the grown man screeching in the streets. He looked to me in disgust, "What, did he ask what kind of music we play?"
"Yes," I said..."Yes he did." -MoocH 1
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