(NOTICE: this story in no way, shape, or form, criticizes one group of people. This story is completely fiction and is specifically for fun and laughing at ourselves. so chill out okay?)
Here Jason sits in the midst of the smoking wreckage with an old acoustic Martin on the outer walls of a rusted and crumbling bridge, fires raging in the distance. He persistently plays a G chord over and over and over on no particular time signature. "I can't believe it. I'm the only one left of the outbreak..." He looks over realizing the middle of the bridge is starting to quake. He immediately leaps from the concrete and off onto the street. The structure slowly crumbles into the water. "Dang. There goes my primary route to my old studio." Jason puts his 6-string in its case and begins his trudge to the top of an abandoned ten story building where he sleeps. He is just beginning his saunter up the stairs when a creature busts down the doors of the third floor. "What the heck?! I quarantined this whole sector of the city!!" The pale grey humanoid with a studded belt, dismembered Lamb of God t-shirt, hanging iPod cord, and a ridiculous amount of long hair hurls himself down the stairway at the fresh meat. He turns face to face with Jason. The fiend's eyes begin to glow. "NO! The 32nd notes are taking over my head again... In a flash, his stressed mind goes back to how it started:
Jason pulls out his earplugs just after the song. "That's a wrap!" his lead guitarist shouts unaware of the immense volume in his voice because of the ringing in his ears. "Dude, that was intense! We need to add more distortion onto the ending though." Daniel says. "I don't think it needs anything" Jason says. "Nah, man. This thing needs to be so heavy it blows people brains out of the ears." Jason, not realizing the irony in what Daniel had just unknowingly predicted, just shrugs and allows his track to be coated with distortion.
Jason walks home from practice with his guitar on his back. Maybe I should join an acoustic band, He said to himself, I can still write deep lyrics and songs but I don't have to deal with all these retards wanting to distort and overdrive everything. Sometimes the music speaks for itself without throwing dirt on it. Just then, as if on signal, two kids leap out onto the battered road excitedly ranting about a The Sleeper concert wearing the most uncanny band t-shirts. Wow... that couldn't have been any more ironic...
His mother turns from the doorway of the kitchen to see her son walk through the front door with his retro gig bag, and his Wolfgang black vintage guitar. Jason throws everything on the floor and flunks down on the couch. Apparently something is wrong, His mother inferred, you never throw your precious gear' like that on normal grounds.
I'm just tired of hearing the constant triplets and growling and screeches. It's like every time we write a song, we have to load it down with all this crap. Why do things have to be heavy? Why can't it be a sweet melody or a painful blues solo? Jason sighs and slouches down on the sofa. Maybe if the Beatles hadn't written Helter Skelter' and put distortion on the guitar, no one would've thought of that stuff. Jason's mom inquired. I think Kramer would've found a way anyways. Well, without the Beatles, Kramer would've never needed to make all that stuff because Jimi Hendrix would've had one less inspiration. Jason had heard enough. Mom, The Beatles aren't responsible for the birth of music. Stop acting like they're gods or something! After the infamous Beatles argument' everyone has had in his or her lifetime, Jason was tired. He ate a bowl of Ramen Noodles and went to bed.
Another normal day had set into effect as the morning sun shined into Jason's window. He sighs and proceeds to wake up then glances out the window from his position. What the hell he looks out the window to see his whole block trashed. Beer bottles and litter lay across the neighborhood. Did the circus roll through here or something? The curious kid saunters downstairs to eat breakfast. Rounding the kitchen corner, he starts to ask his mother, who is always up early, what went on last night. Hey Mom, why is the neighborhood covered in Mom? He scans the room to see no one in the kitchen. I wonder where she went off to he starts to pout some frosted flakes when Wooooooah! Last night was crazy! Jason's Mom walks into the house smelling of alcohol. Mom, where have you been? And what's up with the cul-de-sac being trashed? She didn't seem to notice Jason was talking. That concert was great. Now Jason looks puzzlingly at his mother who is wearing a Rob Zombie T-shirt, fingerless gloves, studded belt, and a studded dog collar. Her eyes are bloodshot and she is half passed out on the couch.
After a few hours, his mother starts coming out of her random laid-back state-of-mind and back into her motherly state. So what happened last night? Jason pries. Oh, some neighborhood band was playing and had a bunch of people out in their yard, she says as she squirts windex over the kitchen counter and rubs it in, I decided to check it out. When they stopped playing, everyone went inside for some drinks. Next thing I know, I'm waking up with these hideous clothes and riding an awful hangover. Suddenly, loud banging noises start outside. Jason looks out. Man, That party last night was METAL! I can't wait til this band has another!
At school, Jason takes a test with his iPod's ear bud fed through the sleeve of his jacket. He leans on his hand to cover his ear. He bubbles in answer after answer; until his pencil tip breaks. He gets up to sharpen it. He looks through the class left to right. Wow, like half the class is doing the same thing I am. Almost every other desk has a kid head banging subtlety. The audience for general hard rock is growing at an aggressive speed if this many people in the class are listening to heavy stuff. He goes back to his desk and proceeds with his test.
TO BE CONTINUED...