So you think we can just, you know, enter? There aren't any auditions or anything? Sam and I have been talking about the battle of the bands for the last 10 minutes or so. We haven't made much in the way of progress yet, either.
Yeah, man. I mean, I asked them, and they just assume you're not gonna suck too bad or you would just embarrass yourselves, so all we have to do is fill out the entry form and we're in!
That can't be how it works.
Dude, I'm telling you, it's open to all comers. My kid brother could try playing God Bless America' on a piccolo made of his own shit and enter with that if he really wanted to.
Sam's brother is three years old. I can picture this happening, actually. And then he'd probably start eating the shit halfway through and smear it all over. That was more than I really wanted to imagine. Oh, and since I'm thinking about it, how weird is it that Sam is 19 and has a three-year-old little brother? That must have been awkward, being old enough to hear and then understand what was happening Haha. Poor Sam. I remember this one time I was hanging out at his house, his parents were being really loud, and we weren't sure if they were fighting or not Oh, GOD, that's probably when little Billy happened! UGH. The timing would be about right Ewww. I have to go wash my brain out now.
Sam sees me grimacing and laughs. If only he knew
I think it over again for a minute the contest, not the other things. Alright, yeah. I think we should give it a shot. But we should make sure we can get our set list together, and get it TIGHT. Like your mom's p--y.
Yeah, ok Jack. We all know your mom is so easy it'd be like throwing a greased hot dog down a hallway at this point.
Only Sam can say this to me and still live. That doesn't mean he can get away with it completely, and I remind him with a kidney shot when he turns around to see what Kyle is doing. Kyle has begun some kind of interpretive dance on my kitchen table. It looks like he found the brownies too, since he has one smeared on his face like war paint. He giggles for a second and falls off the table.
Shit, he's really gone Sam laughs guess that kidney shot didn't hurt too bad and takes another look at Kyle. He'll be fine, Jack, just make sure he doesn't choke on one of the brownies or some shit like that. Put a blanket over his head or something and he'll be out for a while till Soda gets here.
Soda is our lead singer and rhythm guitarist. Yeah, Soda is a weird name, but he has weird parents. I think they might actually be Kyle's dealers, which would explain a few things. They have this massive herb garden in their spare bedroom, with UV lamps and everything. He was only going to play guitar for us and Kyle was going to sing, but two things happened Kyle got to the point where he was too stoned to play, sing and remember to still breath all at the same time. The other thing is that we had Soda try singing backup, and he was better than Kyle anyway, so he got the job, and now I do the backup vocals with some help from Sam too.
Soda finally shows up around eight, ready for practice and a little buzzed, but nothing like Kyle. We explain the situation to Soda with the contest coming up and our practice situation for the evening as well. I guess I was the only one who didn't know about the contest, but Soda gets a mischievous gleam in his eyes when he hears about the night's limitations. He walks over to Kyle and wakes him up out of his daze.
Hey Soda, Kyle giggles. I'm on a cloud right now dude, I don't even oh, god, tell your parents that was some good shit... That confirms that theory then. Soda laughs and says he'll pass along the compliments to his parents. Hey, Kyle, I have an idea, buddy. Kyle looks at him like God is speaking directly to him or something. Yeah, what is it, Soda?
Soda begins to explain in great detail how every boy must go on a quest to achieve manhood, and 5 minutes of total BS later, Kyle is walking across my front lawn in nothing but his boxers. He then walks up the steps to Mr. Johnson's house and proceeds to drop said boxers, along with the biggest, grossest shit I have ever seen in my life on his front porch right the on mat that says Welcome. He runs back to the house and we let him in, cracking up and giving out high five's to each other the whole time. Sam has taped the whole thing on his cell, and this is a good start to a great night, I can tell.
With that out our systems, everyone gets set up to play, and play LOUD. With that little gift that Kyle left behind, we intend to take full advantage of the situation at hand. I know that Father Time will want to yell at us before he would ever make good on his threat, and so we'll just give him something extra to yell about. I think chewing us out makes him happy anyway, so that makes us good people for making him happy, right? So if he just happens to step in something we had nothing to do with on his way over, we're just making him even happier, in a twisted, sad kind of way I guess.
Sam counts us in, and we warm up with a cover of Anti-Saint by Chevelle, and then Soda takes control and leads us right into one that he wrote, a fast number with lots of darker harmonies coming from our guitars and his vocals. Think of something like a Staind song played fast mixed with Tool, and sung by Wes Scantlin from Puddle of Mudd or Kurt Cobain, and you're almost there. Soda is good at making his voice sound like others' and then he has a good sound of his own too. We finish the first part of our projected set list with another cover, this one of a Pelican song. It's good music, and it gives Soda a chance to show what he can do on guitar since he doesn't have to sing at all.
We bring the song to close, and are greeted with a loud pounding on the door. Wonder who that might be? As one, we open the door, instruments in hand except for Sam, and I can hardly keep from laughing. Kyle is too stoned to care, and busts out laughing, crying, and if the stain is any indication, pissing himself.
I TOLD YOU TO KEEP IT DOWN! AND WHAT WAS THAT SHIT ON MY PORCH!?! YOU YOUNG SHITS, THINK YOU'RE FUNNY.. We're all laughing too hard to really catch what he's saying, and maybe three minutes into his rant, he starts coughing bad, and continues with, I OUHGTA, WHY, I, cough, hack, I, wheeze and doubles over, panting.
Oh umm, guys, I think he's having a heart attack Naw, man, he's fine. Right, old-timer? Ah, Sam. Ever the compassionate bastard. Kyle gives him some water and something in an inhaler before I can stop him, and we walk him back to his house, avoiding the shit on the steps. After getting back inside my house, we decide that continued loud music is probably not the best idea at this point.
Did you see his face? Dude, that was easily the best thing we've ever done! Sam clearly enjoyed this. Including the part where he almost died, dumbass? Hey, shitting on his porch wasn't my idea! Quit being a Debbie Downer, Jack. Well, you never said it was a bad plan, either This continues for five minutes before I remember something. Kyle, what the hell did you give him to calm him down like that?
Everyone looks at Kyle, expecting to hear one of three things: a) it's a secret, b) the best reefer ever, or c) I dunno, I found it on the ground somewhere. The last door is the one that Kyle chooses, and we just look at him. So because he was already dying, you decided it would be a good idea to possibly kill him for real?
Umm, I dunno. It's medicine right? So it's gotta be good for him So are laxatives. You want one? I'm sure it'll be good for you, seeing as it's medicine. What? Ummm, no, I just had a breath mint, thanks wait, what's a laxative?
Further argument with this logic would be pointless, so Sam, Soda and I go back to watching TV while Kyle eats more of the brownies and a part of a roasted chicken in the fridge. Not sure how long that chicken was in there, but Kyle doesn't seem to mind, so I guess I don't mind either. I make a note to myself to try and find a new practice space as soon as possible, and that thought is replaced by Steve-O and the rest of the Jackass crew. Not much I can do right now. It can wait for now I guess I'll talk to Taylor tomorrow.