Peter Flatworth and The Rebounds IV
About 2 seconds ago, I was walking along the heinous flybelt with Matthew Foremost. I slapped him in his garm-type and he tried to do the Eric. “You suck, don’t ever call me”, I yelled at him, and I continued on the flybelt with a pocket full of Gauuu-Ever-Since-I-Moved-Here.
Back at All Branch’s the Tree House, Living in the Tree House, we were eating chilidogs on our six-man oversized armchair, watching the Ass Mariah detail the Tommy Lift. “Wax that shit, or I’ll wax your ass”, Walsh Pedro said as he threw a chilidog at Dobbers fetce. We all laughed and did the half Matthew, because we were sitting down. The Ass Mariah got shits pist and called your uncle, you fuckin’ self back no hundred. We finished breakfast and Lonely spoke up. “Rebounds, as you know, we have an Ebaneiser tonight at Mark and Oscar. We’ve made tit spank mad loot, right?” Lonely questioned. “Yeah, sure, fuckin’ wooo, YEAH, totally.” We all replied, shaking our heads and looking at each other. “Well after tonight, I don’t wanna play anymore.” Said Lonely. “What?” We all yelled. “What the fuck dude? What; do you wanna be a bum, live on the Thomas, and lose All Branch’s?” Terry yelled, as he willyed certs from the Chamber of Commerce. “Yeah, we’ll be skinny, no food… Shits Pocket.” I said, as my name is Thomas the Rebound. “Look, look, it’s not what you think. I want a change. It’s time to evolve.” Lonely's saying as he’s waving his hands. “Here me out! We’ve been playing music forever, right? We’ve made mass coin, and we have a following that wraps around your 2-bucks Leslie. I just think that it’s time to stop playing music, and start promoting it.” “You mean, start our own label?” Ryan questioned. “BOCK FREE, THE SERIOUS TUNDRA, DON’T PAINT THE ELEPHANT CLEAR.” Fish yelled to the sky as loud as he could. “Exactly peels. Think of it! We won’t have to play, but we’ll still get paid. What do you think?” Lonely replied with pure excitement. Ok, we’ll do it, SURE WHY NOT, fuck it, what the hell.” We all said.
Lonely Child sold us on the deal. He made some good points; and quite frankly I (Thomas the Rebound) was getting pretty burnt myself. Our next step was a tough one. HOW? WHO? WHEN? None of us knew the first thing about how to start a record company. Furthermore, who in the ass gasket were we gonna sign? We don’t know any other bands. We had our work cut out for us. No matter though. Just the thought of it made my arm hard. I could picture myself in a corner office, on the west wing of All Branch’s, over looking the city of Yellow Pages Up There. I couldn’t wait, you fuckin’ fat piece of shit. No more drums, no more practice, no more Ebaneiser’s.
Later that night, we all jumped on the freshly clean Tommy Lift and went warp 6 back to Mark and Oscar. We parked the Thomas on the loading dock and spent 5 bucks on a Turkish No-Over, you fuckin’ Moses Larry. “Hey, after tonight when was our next Ebaneiser supposed to be?” Terry asked, as he ate Nestle’s Crunch off a dinosaur’s friend. “Next week, why?” Lonely replied. “We can’t just quit on one weeks notice.” Ryan said. “Yeah, if we don’t have someone to fill our shoes and we don’t play next week…Dude, the bartender will so Jess factor us.” Walsh Pedro said, as he threw a chilidog at Dobbers fetce. “Well then, it looks like we better work fast then huh? Huh?” Lonely replied. “Yeah, I’m down. We’ll find a band in time.” I said. “Don’t worry, I’ll do all the talking, but right now lets get in that bar and put on a Hell of a last show.” Said Lonely Child. We walked in the back door of Mark and Oscar and cruised in to the dressing room. “20 minutes ‘till show time.” Some ass feature said, while knocking on our door. We all threw on “the outfits” that Ryan got us, and we were ready to go.
As we were
walking down the hall to go on stage, I glanced up to the sky and started
laughing. “Hey”, I said.
“Remember when we told people to cruise down on their Tommy Lifts and
come watch a show? Well check it
out.” The rest of the Webster’s
then looked up. People were hovering
over the crowd like we used to do. I
saw people with Roger Lifts, I saw one Linda Lift and I saw a couple of cheesy
ass Johnny Lifts with “The Tommy Lift” sticker on it.
Because, there is only one Tommy Lift.
Only one, you fuckin’ cardboard curtains.
Although one Lift in particular stuck out among the crowd.
I believe it was a Bruce Lift. It
was as big as the Thomas but not as nice and not as fast. It
had a bunch of dudes in it and it just reminded me of us.
Fish looked to the sky in pure excitement and yelled as loud as he could.
“DON’T TOUCH THE THOMAS, THANKS FOR COMIN’, PAPER TITS ON A
The bartender walked out on stage and grabbed a mic. “Ladies and Gentlemen. Please welcome, the Thomas havin’ cruisers, give it up for Peter Flatworth and the Rebounds.” As the crowd cheered, we strutted on to the stage in “the outfits” thinking that we were the Asses PJ’s. “Peels!” Lonely said into a microphone, “everybody here tonight is kind of in a unique situation.” At this point, Ryan is grabbing Lonely by the shirt, trying to shut him up. “Dude, shut your fuckin’ mouth!” Ryan whispered in to Lonely’s ear. Lonely Child didn’t keep quiet and broke the news. “Like I said, it’s a unique situation for you peels because you can tell people that you were at Peter Flatworth and the Rebounds last show.” The whole crowd went (themeinits askel) Da Na, Na Na, na na, Na Na, Da Na, Na Na, na na, Na Na, Batso. People were yelling, fights broke out, it was straight chaos. “PEELS!” Lonely spoke again. “We’re still gonna be around. We just don’t want to play music anymore. But, we’re still staying in the business. We’re gonna start a record company named after ourselves. In fact, next week Mark and Oscar is hosting a battle-of-the-bands, and first place gets a record contract with us. So we will still LIVE ON, vicariously through the bands we promote.” At that moment, I looked up to see the Bruce Lift turn around and get the Mark outta here.
For our opening song, we busted out with an oldie but goodie from our first album. It was called “Muscle of the Dumb”. It’s about a midget who has one big bicep that he has to carry around in a wagon because it’s bigger than he is. That night we played most of our songs. We played a 27minute re-mix version of “caca-covered zinger”. The crowd seemed to like that the most. Our set lasted about 5 hours, but it was worth it since we wouldn’t ever be playing again. When we were done, Lonely spoke. “Thank you all. You know that without your support, we’d be nothing more than a garage band. You people are the ARMS. God Bless you all.” After that we all bowed to our fans and we exited stage wiener.
“YO, FLATWORTH!” The bartender yelled. “What the FUCK is going on? You’re quitting on me with no notice? And what’s this battle-of-the-bands shit? You think you own this bar now?” “I fuckin’ told you dude.” Walsh Pedro said, as he threw a chilidog at Dobbers fetce. “Look, the bartender, we’re just burnt out; and besides, look how much money we made you. Next week people will come because we’re still part of this whole music Ebaneiser, we’re just not playing anymore.” The bartender started shaking his head in the “yes” motion. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Ok then, I’ll set up banners, and hand out flyers. Battle-of-the-bands is on. I just have a question though. Are you guys band promoters, or own your own label yet?” Lonely Child smiles and says. “We will be before the end of the week.”
Back at All Branch’s, we had about 16 Damantha Unk’s of work to do. Our first step was turning All Branch’s the Tree House, Living in the Tree House in to All Branch’s the Tree Office, Working in the Tree Office. Our bedrooms became offices, our living room became a lobby and our 6-man armchair became a sofa for our clients, you fuckin’ zoois ma-No. I had to get the yontz out of the fish tank and set that up in the lobby, too. We also have to take the Tommy Lift out of the Arm Garage and let it hang all gravity toilet so we can elevate people in and out of here. Now our place looked like a business, but we still had to make it one.
“Rebounds, we got a lot of work to do. So what I’m gonna do is break everything up in to individual projects.” Lonely spoke. “What I’m gonna do is call Justin So-Taco from Armchair Records and buy our name back and get out of our contract. Thomas the Rebound, I need you to create a logo and put it on business letterhead and everything else that it applies to. Fish, set us up with an Email address and a web site. Walsh Pedro, write a standard record contract, nothing fancy, just understandable. Ryan and Dobbler, take the Thomas over to the Building Store and buy us a recording studio with all the gook louis in it. No, never mind, don’t do that. First I want you to go to the bank and change our checking account over to a business checking account. After you do that, then go to the Building Store and buy some shit.” Lonely said, all in charge of the magweet leg. “Now peels, it’s crucial that we do this, group.” Lonely said, as he spit on the overhead projector. Our plan was working out tits. We figured that in three days we would be completely converted. Instruments to pencils, you fuckin’ baby hole… Yeah.
“WAKE MY MONKEY UP TUESDAY, SENDING GERNOM WON’T CHANGE PETER.” Fish yelled to the sky as loud as he could. “What do you want?” Lonely asked. “He wasn’t talking to you, he was yelling at the sky.” Walsh Pedro said, as he threw a chilidog at Dobbers fetce. We all laughed hard and did the Business Matthew. “Ok, we got the recording studio; where do you want to put it?” Ryan asked. “I say we put it in the back of All Branch’s on Branch Knee.” Dobbler said, as he picked tulips from the answer of Mute. “Good idea Rebounds; Let’s set that up and pay a visit to the bartender at Mark and Oscar.
We all jumped on the Tommy Lift and headed back to Mark and Oscar. When we got there, we saw a line cruising out the door. There were banners everywhere promoting battle-of-the-bands. “What the Hell is this crap?” I said all shits teriyakied. “Don’t worry about it.” Ryan said, “we’ll just go in the back door.” We stroll in the back and fuckin’ chaos lives in your cousin’s front both sister. “Hey, the Bartender, is this the sign-ups for this weekend?” Lonely asks. “Hey, Rebounds, what’s up? Yeah, this is sign-ups. This place is gonna be a zoo.” The Bartender said, with shits and grins in his milk. “More like a ZOOIS.” I laughed out loud. Then we all laughed and did the Business Matthew. “How many bands are playing?” Lonely questioned. “Thirty bands, one song each. Oh, I forgot to mention; To keep it moving along, everybody’s using your instruments.” “What? No dude! BULLSHIT. Na-uh mother fucker. Chhh, yeah right. My ass.” We all simultaneously responded. “Bullshit!” The Bartender demanded, “this is your guys’ fault, and besides, we can’t have 30 different bands keep re-setting up after one song. It’s your guys’ instruments or it ain’t happening. Dig?” We all agreed we’d do it that way. I mean, what do we care, we’re not playing them anymore.
We had some time to kill, so we walked out among the crowd and started to greet some of the bands that would be participating in the battle. “Hey, hey, how ya doin? Alright, fuckin’ woooo.” We all must have said that about a thousand as we walked through the crowd and played “politician” and shook hands with the whole zip cooker. “Hey Rebounds, come check this out!” Lonely said. We walked over to these three dudes with your pimped up session on a Susan mustard, you fuckin’ pigs’ ass. “What’s up?” We greeted them. “Rebounds, I’d like you to meet Watermelon.” “Right on. What’s up guys? What song are you gonna do tomorrow?” I asked, as my name is Thomas the Rebound. “Actually we were thinking about covering one of your songs; Stomp Wiener, or maybe Cool Ass Squeeze Melon Magweet. “Yeah, That would be arms. You guys should.” I said. Well, good luck tomorrow and we’ll see you then. “I wanna see who else has signed up. I’m gonna look at the sign up sheet.” Dobbler said, as he kicked trashcans at the bus that goes. “Yeah, good idea.” We all thought.
We walked up to the sign up booth and asked to see the list. There were already 20 bands signed up. This list was cool. You sign up and then you pick when you want to play your song. The first band signed up on the list was a band called Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers. They chose to play last. We all looked at that name and thought the same thing. “I bet these guys jam.” Lonely said. “Hey sign up sheet lady; do you remember when this band was here?” Ryan asked. “Yeah, they were here early this morning when we opened. They came in, signed up and took off. All except for one guy the singer. He stayed to check out the competition. He’s over there somewhere.” She said, as she stood up and pointed. We all looked over to the back corner and saw one guy with mass chicks hanging around him. “That must be him; let’s go say hello.”
We get
over there and his whole following gets silent.
“Are you the lead singer for Rusty
Bankrupt and the Zim Domers?” Lonely
asked. “Yep, that’s me.
I’m Rusty Bankrupt, well at least I am in the band anyway.
My real name is Matt Hansmeier but my friends call me Fatts.”
The guy said. “Right on.
My real name is Tony Zotti; my friends call me Lonely Child and I’m
Peter Flatworth in the band. These
are the Rebounds. Where’s the Zim
Domers?” They went back to Heinous
Boots the Castle, We Came from… The
Castle.” The guy told us.
Once again we all looked at each other and tripped.
“You know”, Lonely said with a smile on his face.
“There are so many similarities between our bands, it’s crazy.
I wouldn’t be surprised if you guys had a Tommy Lift.”
“We do.” The guy said.
“Well, actually it’s not a Tommy Lift, it’s a Bruce Lift.
They’re pretty similar, but it’s not as nice or as fast.”
You were the guys we saw at our last show hovering above the stage,
right?” I asked.
“Yep, that was us.” The
guy said. “Well why didn’t you
guys stay for the show?” I asked
again. “Because.
As soon as you announced that the battle-of-the-bands was this week we
had to go and get ready for it. We
plan on getting this contract.” The
guy responded. “So what song do
you plan on singing?” Walsh Pedro
said, as he threw a chilidog at Dobber’s fetce.
“Wooah.” The guy laughed
and then said; “It’s a surprise.”
Later
that night back at All Branchs, the Tree House, Living in the Tree House we
decided to get some Beer-Ma-Oly and get straight Johned.
“Fish, you’ve been quiet all day.
Do you think we’ll have fun tomorrow?
And what do you think of Fatts? Lonely
asked with a 64oz
The next morning was upon us. It was time to get ready and head on out to Mark and Oscar. It was kind of a weird feeling today. This was the first time that it really hit me, the fact that we weren’t going to play music, but to promote somebody else for doing it. At that particular moment I was starting to miss playing the drums and being in a band. I shook it off as being a little nervous for one, and two we didn’t know anything else but playing music. Oh well, we were about to take a crash course in band promotion and there was no turning back.
Lonely Child called us in to the lobby for a short meeting before we left. “Rebounds, this is it, you fuckin’ shit twizzlers. This is business askel. How are you all feeling?” “Nervous dude.” Dobbler said, as he jumped over yonder with the Dali Lama. “Yeah I understand peels; but look what we accomplished. In less than a week, we turned our house in to an office and our band in to a legitimate business. The rest we’ll just fake it ‘till we make it. Today let’s just go to Mark and Oscar and be cool and look like we know what we’re doing.” Lonely’s words were encouraging. It did help out a lot and now we were ready to go. We had to get there early so we could set up our booth and make final preparations for the First Annual 30 Gig Ebaneiser Battle-of-the-Bands Contest. “Rebounds saddle up! It’s butts and knuckles now bitch fish… Yeah.” Replied Lonely.
Back at Mark and Oscar, it was a couple of hours ‘till Ebaneiser time. Bands and fans started filling the bar. The stage was set for it to be an arm of a party. “What’s up guys?” The bartender said. “Hey, the bartender, what’s happenin’?” We all kind of said in our own way. “I’m really excited about this whole battle-of-the-bands thing. It looks like tonight we will make just as much money as we do when you guys were playing.” Said the bartender. “Well good, I’m glad to hear it.” Replied Lonely. “If this goes over like I think it will, then I want our new band playing in here next Friday.” Lonely said again. “You got it.” Replied the bartender. “We’ll work out all the details after you sign somebody. Although, your presence every weekend will be required because half these people will come just because they’ll know that you’re here.” Said the bartender. “Fair enough.” We all said.
At
this point we were all anxious as a motherfucker.
We walked over to the sign-up sheet lady and requested a copy of all the
band names and their order of appearance. “DOOMIS
SANCTION THE BOSANOVA, CLIP, CLIP, CLIP ZAX-MA-NEET.”
Fish yelled to the sky as loud as he could.
“Here you go Fish; here’s the list you requested.”
Replied the sign-up sheet lady. We
all laughed hard-C and did the business Matthew.
The list looked good. It had
30 bands on it and the shit starts at
“Ladies and Gentleman… Can I have your attention please. Welcome to the First Annual 30 Gig Ebaneiser Battle-of-the-Bands Contest.” Said the bartender and the whole Jess snap went nuts. “Before we get started I would like to thank Peter Flatworth and the Rebounds for helping me set this up and making this a successful event.” Once again, the whole Jess snap went nuts. “For our first band tonight and first band ever to play in our battle-of-the-bands contest, please give a big round applause to The Butt White Pinkies.” The crowd went nuts, the curtains opened up and they started jammin’. “Hey, what’s this song called?” I whispered to Ryan. “It’s called, King Kongs’ A Homo.” Ryan whispered back. I really wanted to pay attention to the first up and last up. I figured that if you put your band there by choice like they did, then they probably have a lot of confidence in themselves and they know they’re good.
Their song was done. I was right they were good, really good. Being a drummer that I am, I paid a lot of attention to their drummer and he jammed. “Arm Lizard, dude.” I said. “So what did you guys think of them?” The guys all replied. “They rocked, fuckin’ wooo, fuckin’.” The crowd really seemed to like them, too. I put them on my list as possible clients.
As we sat around judging bands for the next couple of hours, it started taking its toll on me. Some bands were good, others sucked and our list of possible clients was as small as your Chinese half no-over. “I have a feeling that were Jasoned.” I said, as my name is Thomas the Rebound. “Well we do have some options.” Replied Lonely. “We’ll see what happens. They’re a couple of bands left, maybe we’ll find a gem. If not, then we’ll discuss whom we want to sign from our list.” Lonely was confident and that was a good thing. Me on the other hand, I had some doubts. Oh well, Fuck it.
“Alright, finally, here we go Rebounds, the last fuckin’ band. I wanna get out of here and go eat a fuckin’ chilidog.” Lonely said. “Me too.” Walsh Pedro said as he threw a chilidog at Dobblers fetce. The bartender came out on stage and grabbed the mic. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are down to our final band in the Battle-of-the-bands contest. Last but not by any means least, please welcome Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers. The crowd started cheering in excitement but nothing was happening. The crowd finally stopped cheering and there was complete silence. All of a sudden, BAM, the lights started flashing, and a loud rumble started filling the air. Everybody looked up with ankle donkey’s on their wax timber. Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers were on a slow descent towards the stage in their Bruce Lift. They had all their shit bolted to the Bruce Lift like we used to do and you could tell that they were ready to go.
“Fuck
Yeah.” We all started yelling.
“These guys haven’t even played yet but I like them already.”
Dobber said, as he wore plastic pants with his new friend Ernie.
Rusty Bankrupt spoke up:
“What’s up out there you fuckin’ mono-hole limpy dogs?”
The whole crowd went way crazy. It
was like being at one of our shows. Then
BAM, just like that they started jammin’ hard-C on the dot.
They did a song called Heinous Bicuspid.
It’s about a 4-foot tooth that runs around and tries to kill you with
an axe because he hates you. After
their song, the lights went out and they took off mach speed on their Bruce
Lift. (Because only the Tommy Lift
can go warp speed, you fuckin’ little bastard.)
After the lights came back on, the crowd was going wacko, Rusty
Bankrupt and the Zim Domers was gone and we fuckin’ knew EXACTLY who was
going to be the first band we sign.
We took the Tommy Lift back to All Branch’s the Tree Office, Working in
the Tree Office and went straight to work. “Those
guys fuckin’ ripped pre-set caca off a no-over.”
Replied Lonely with pure excitement in his tits.
”Yeah they did. They tore
the roof off of that dump.” Ryan
agreed. Lonely child headed towards
the phone. “I’m gonna call the
bartender right now and tell him that Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers will be
playing there next Weekend so be prepared.”
“La, la, La, la,
Early
next morning on our way to Heinous Boots, we stopped at Wienerschnitzel and
bought our chilidogs at the gravity-thru window.
“Damn I love these things.” Walsh
Pedro said as he threw a chilidog at Dobblers fetce.
“WUNDERG ON THE FOLLOW, YOU DON’T KNOW MY
We got to Mark and Oscar and punched a hole through a Zeekish No-Na, you fuckin’ Adam Gurney. “Hey, the bartender, let me sign that contract so I can get out of here.” Said Lonely Child. “We’re meeting Rusty Bankrupt back at All Branch’s.” Lonely said again. “O.k. here you go. So are you gonna start recording their album?” The bartender asked. “YES WE ARE.” Replied Fish. “Alright Rebounds, saddle up! Let’s get the John Wayne outta here.
We went west on a Tommy Lift and headed for home. Ryan started to groove on the Thomas and then started singing. (Themeinits askel) “Little man, big red wagon, Holy tit spank, look at what he’s draggin’. Shung, dung, dung. Muscle of the dumb. Shung, dung, dung. Muscle of the dumb.” At this point we all got in to it. We were all singing and grooving. That was one of our old songs. It took us back. Now we all were kind of missing playing music. I guess it was just hard to realize that we were now businessmen, not musicians. We finally rolled up on All Branch’s and it was back to business. We had beaten Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers back to the office so we had time to get the recording studio ready.
Everything
was prepared so we waited in the lobby for them and hung out.
“You know, it’s farther than I thought for them.
Tonight I’m gonna install a warp drive in their Bruce Lift because this
bullshit is arms in charge.” I
said as my name is Thomas the Rebound. “Don’t
worry, they’ll be here.” Walsh
Pedro said as he threw a chilidog at Dobblers fetce.
“Wai minute meaaa, gago take ccca-ccca.”
Walsh Pedro said again, but this time no chilidogs were thrown so we all
did the business Matthew. As we
looked out the window, we saw the Bruce Lift rolling up on All Branch’s.
“Ok peels, let’s get to work!”
Lonely demanded. “I heard
the gravity toilet bring up the band.” From
the next room you could hear all their voices talking at once as they scoped out
the lobby and the rest of All Branch’s. “What’s
up? Welcome to All Branch’s.”
Said Lonely Child. “Rock
& Roll dude, wheeeeew.” Shaggy
said, as he gave us the “metal” sign. “That’s
a long way from our house to here, so I bought us a twelver each.”
Explained Fatts. “Yeah,
I’m gonna install a warp drive on your Bruce Lift when you guys are in the
studio. Then you’ll get here in
like 10 seconds. If you guys want
one. “Tsssss, Hell yeah, we’ll
hall arms, score chicks, aeowwwww, dude fuck yeah dude.”
They all said, excited about a thousand.
“Well, let’s get started then. Fish
is our sound engineer, so he’ll mic all your shit.”
Explained Lonely. “We’ll
get down to the real deal; the music, then we’ll do all that paperwork
later.” Fatts looked at Lonely,
shaking his monster dome and said, “Right on.”
The instruments were in the studio, and everything was all mic’d up nice. As I looked around the room, I checked out who was playing what instrument. Up front we had Shag on lead guitar, Fatts on rhythm and vocals, Irate Gypsy on acoustic guitar and vocals, Alex Plus on bass, Pockets on saxophone, Big D on piano, Burt on bongos, and Hey Holmes on drums. These guys were ready to go. Fish was working the boards getting it set up to record the different tracks. "OK. KICK OUR SISTERS CHICKEN”. Fished yelled at the band as loud as he could. The Zim Domers all looked at each other with a peculiar look on their faces. “What Fish means is, Ok he’s ready when you are.” I said to the Zim Domers. “Oh, ok. You guy’s ready? 1-2-3-4”. Fatts said to his band, and then they started jammin’. These guys were so good that they were able to record their whole first album in that one afternoon.
“Damn.” Lonely said. “Why the hell weren’t you guys ever discovered before? I feel like we won the lottery.” Fatts looked at his band with an evil eye and then spoke. “We probably could have been signed plenty of times in the past, but since we’re all so close, it’s one for all and all for one.” “What do you mean by that?” I asked. “Well, straight up; Pockets has a drug problem, and Shag always wants to go solo. And without them, Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers ain’t happenin’.” Fatts replied. “I understand.” Lonely said. “If one of us were to ever break the chain, then it would be over. We wouldn’t hold auditions for a new member; fuck that bullshit.” We all said “cheers” to that and drank a beer.
“Ok, now let’s get this fellow-knock over with.” Said Lonely Child. “Here’s the deal. We sign you to a three album record contract. Included in this are three World-Tours and weekly shows at Mark and Oscar, when we’re not on tour. We will also produce and promote all your albums. How you play will determine where your records will be sold and how many will be sold. Minus expenses, we take a 10% cut and you guys get the rest. If you still want Corn Score Ma Jess to manage you as far as non-music money making, then you have to hire him and it is totally separate from our contract.” Lonely Child said, all business like. “So, do we have a deal?” The Zim Domers all looked at each other with smiles on their faces and said. “You bet.”
For
the next couple of hours we all hung out, got to know each other a little better
and got wasted. We talked about
music, chicks, fishing, sports, jerking off and everything.
We told stories about how we started as a band, then they told us about
the first time they saw us live. I
remembered that concert. Live at the Pinch-A-Booty on
“Ok,
I’m gonna grab the warp drive for your Bruce Lift.”
I said. “Ryan, do me a
favor and attach the warp drive holder to the bottom of their Lift!”
I asked. “Here, I’ll help
you.” Dobbler said, as he made
chocolate pudding with a blue dress on. After
Ryan and Dobber put the holder on, I came over and attached the warp drive.
“Ok, there you guys go. When
you guys leave here, you’ll make it back to Heinous Boots in about 10
seconds.” I informed the Zim
Domers. “Yeah, you’re god damn
right, now we can go to far places that have chicks and score, aeowwwwww.”
Shag said, as he stood there and wobbled back and forth.
“Ok. Thanks for everything
you guys. We’re gonna take off.”
Said Fatts. “We’ve got to
try out this warp drive. We want to
see some of these crazy places that you guys have seen.
I mean, who in the Hell goes fishing on Jupiter.
You know what I’m saying? We’ll
meet you guys back at Mark and Oscar on Friday morning before the
concert.” Fatts said again, all
excited. “Yeah, do that so we can
go over what you guys want to do. We’ll
have your first album cut and ready to be sold on Friday.
Whatever money you guys have right now; fuckin’ go spend it.
After next week you guys will have plenty of money just from one show and
your record sales.” Lonely
informed the Zim Domers. We’ll
have 20,000 copies made just for that night, and I bet we sell them all.”
At this point you could see in their eyes that they were walking hard-on’s.
They wanted to cruise the scene and check out some shit.
“So, what are you guys gonna go do for the next week?”
I asked, as my name is Thomas the Rebound.
“Fatts then looked at me and grinned, and said.
“We’re gonna go write our own story…”
Today, Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers hung out with Matthew Foremost. “He’s got gay teeth, and Elvis hair.” Fatts said. So they all kicked his ass and watched him do the Russell. “Get off our Bruce Lift, you fuckin’ queer!” Demanded Alex Plus, then they all did the Shaggy.
The Zim Domers were raging. They went Northwest on a Bruce Lift until they got to a place called The Canyon of the Zock Smoothie. “Hey dude.” Fatts said. “Fuckin’, those guys are weird, huh?” All the Zim Domers shook their heads. “Totally.” Said Pockets. “Dude, that one guys’ always throwin’ chilidogs at his buddy; and what did that one dude say to us when he was ready? It was something like “kick our sisters chicken? Wasn’t it?” At this point everybody was cracking up, but they had to talk some shit. “What about that other dude? He’s making pudding with a dress on, and wearing plastic pants with strangers. What’s up with that?” Alex Plus said. “You know what though; they’re good musicians and they’re gonna make us rich.” HEY HOLMES replied. They all agreed on that and they also agreed that it was time to party.
In the Canyon of the Zock Smoothie, there were a lot of bars and chicks. As they gravitied down Legs&Bagels Blvd looking for their spot, people were looking at them with excitement. “Hey, I think these people know who we are.” Fatts said. “I bet these people hang out at Mark and Oscar.” Shag sat up and spoke. “No, that’s bullshit. These people don’t know shit. They’re looking at us because they want me. Watch this.” Shag said to the Zim Domers. “Hey Baby, check me out, aeowwwww.” Everybody on the Bruce Lift started to laugh. “See, I think she likes me.” The truth was, everybody who was looking at them did actually hang out at Mark and Oscar and they knew exactly who they were.
Two blocks down the road they stopped the Bruce Lift. They had found their spot and it was time to party. It was a 19-story bar that was lit on fire and had chicks hanging out of the windows in lingerie. The bar was called Stink Finger Bruce’s Bar & Bitches, you fuckin’ shit stack. “Ok fellas, let’s go get wasted.” Fatts said. As they walked in to the bar, they were instantly welcomed by all. “Hey baby, aeowwwww.” Shag said, for the millionth time. “Dude, this is where it’s at.” Big D finally said. “Do you realize that we can do anything we want? Look around! Everybody in here likes us; next week we’ll have money; we scored.” Big D was all excited. “Speaking of scoring, I’m gonna go get some.” After Big D got up, so did the rest of the Zim Domers except for Irate Gypsy, and Fatts. “So what’s up macaroni?” Irate Gypsy asked of Fatts. “Nada Lotta” Replied Fatts. “Well then.” Said Irate Gypsy. “Let’s get drunk, you fuckin lizard pajamas.”
As they sat there for a little while longer, two hotties walked up with leather lingerie on and said to Fatts and Irate Gypsy. “We are your Leather Decipels.” Tsssss, need I say more?
The next
morning, Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers met back at the Bruce Lift, hoping to
take advantage of the warp drive and go somewhere else.
But their plans got changed. “Has
anybody seen Pockets or Shag.” Asked
Fatts. “Yeah, I saw them both last
night on the 18th floor. Shag
was in a room with 5 chicks and Pockets was in another one with this chick with
huge tits.” Answered Alex Plus.
“Ok, everybody get on the Bruce, we’ll climb 18-stories and look in
the windows.” Said Fatts.
As they gravitied around Stink Finger Bruce’s, 18-stories up,
they saw Shag still in a room with the 5 chicks, taking care of business.
They broke open the window, Shag grabbed his pirate costume and they all
did the Shaggy. As they continued
around the bar, they spotted Pockets. He
was snorting cocaine off this chick’s huge ass tits, with a finger in her ass.
Then they broke open that window, Pockets grabbed her titties and they
all did the Shaggy. “Holy Arms.”
Fatts yelled. “I know it
only seems like one night, but remember; we went warp speed.
We have to be at Mark and Oscar in 3 hours.
We got a show to do.”
Commercial Break
Back at Mark and Oscar, we were already there helping to prepare everything for tonight’s big event. The bartender did an arm of a job setting up the stage for their Bruce Lift to fit down there all comfortable, you fuckin’ pri…ck. Ryan was building a booth where we had T-shirts, CD’s, Tapes and autographed Band photos of Rusty Bankrupt. “Hold on Ryan, I’ll come and help you.” Dobbler said, as he took the Pepsi Challenge with his grandma’s best friend. Lonely, Walsh Pedro and I (Thomas the Rebound) were all sitting out on the patio, waiting for the next bus to stop, so we could watch it. Meanwhile, Fish was in the front of the bar with one of those fuckin’ things that you yell in to. I forgot what it’s called, but you put it up to your mouth, and pull that gay trigger, then you talk. Those things that director’s use when they say, “ACTION”. Anyway, Fish was out in front with that thing, yelling in it as loud as he could, trying to call out to Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers. “BASK MY ROTTLESS DONKEY OUTSIDE THE FENNER NICK THREE PIECES OF CHICKEN.” We heard that from the back patio, so we all did the business Matthew. “Guys, the Zim Domers are here.” Ryan explained. So we all went inside.
As we looked up, the bartender was coaching them down in their Bruce Lift. “Ok, now ease her down, slowly, slowly! Ok, to the left! Ok perfect, now straight down!” Instructed the bartender. “Hey.” Shouted Lonely Child. “I though you guys were gonna cruise down in your Bruce Lift and start jammin’?” “They are.” The bartender said. “But now the stage is built differently, so we have to get the perfect calculations so that when they gravity down, their Bruce Lift fits in their all perfect. It becomes part of the stage.” We all thought that was a pretty cool idea, you fuckin’ Ass-Eyes. We never did it like that, but then again, we’re not them.
We walked over to the Zim Domers and greeted them. “Hey what’s up guys?” Lonely asked. “How was your guys’ week away?” Fatts looked at Lonely and questioned. “You mean night?” Fatts then explained the situation. “We didn’t know how that whole warp thing worked. Dude, we went Rotten Ageless Bell in 2 seconds, but we still got Johned out of a week?” “Yep” I said. “It took me forever to figure out how to calculate time, because before we never needed it. We just cruised.” Lonely took over the conversation again. “So, was it a good night then?” All the Zim Domers agreed that it was. “So, do you guys have a set list all prepared?” “Yeah we do.” Fatts told Lonely Child. “We’re gonna start off with some hard-core shit.” “Are you guys gonna start off with Heinous Bicuspid?” Walsh Pedro asked, as he threw a chilidog at Dobblers fetce. “No, we’re gonna play that one in the middle of our set. We’re starting off with Wax Grappy. It’s about a pist off piece of plastic that’s stuck to this guy called the Arm-in-Law, and it wishes it was a burgundy suit. Shag wrote that song.” All the Zim Domers started yelling “aeowwwww, you’re god damn right”, and then they all did the Shaggy. “Cool, cool.” Lonely Child said. “So, do you guys have any ballad’s?” “Yeah, we’ve got 3 of them.” Fatts explained. “They’re spread out in our set. The first one we’re gonna play is like the fifth song. Its called Afrosaurus-Rex. It’s pretty similar to your guys’ ballad, Stomp Wiener.” Lonely Child clapped his hands and said. “Perfect. You guys are ready. Show starts in about 9 hours. I will expect to see your Bruce Lift at that time. Until then; go get drunk and have a good day.” The Zim Domers took off.
Commercial Break
9 hours had gone by and Mark and Oscar was packed. Domer groupies filled the joint, along with fans of Peter Flatworth and future Zim Domer fans. Ryan and Dobber were running the concert parafaniela booth. “We’re almost out of shit.” Ryan yelled over to us. “Good.” Lonely yelled back. “These guys haven’t even played yet and they’re already zoid-pigeons.” We had the best seats in the house. We had a luxury box in the back of the bar and you had to have a special key to take the gravity toilet up there. “Ok you guys, it’s done. We’re all sold out.” Ryan explained. “Well perfect timing.” Lonely Child said. “Grab a seat ‘cause it’s show time.” This was all exciting. Peter Flatworth and the Rebounds were about to watch a concert instead of performing in one. We all took our seats and Walsh Pedro even brought The Ass Mariah to the event. She watched the show from inside the knockitoff.
The bartender walked out on to the stage. “Ladies and Gentlemen, and Chicks with Dicks. Please welcome the newest kings of Rock & Roll. Discovered by Peter Flatworth and the Rebounds. The Bruce Havin' Cruisers:
RUSTY BANKRUPT AND THE ZIM DOMERS.
The place went crazy and cheered for 2 minutes. Then it got silent… Real silent for 2 more minutes. “Son of a bitch.” I said. “We better go grab 'the outfits' because somebody needs to play.” Then all of a sudden, the lights started flashing, and you could hear a rumble. “What’s up out there all you FUCKIN’ WORTHLESS PIECES OF SHIT?” A mysterious voice yelled out over the crowd. Then the crowd went crazy because they knew it was on. Then we all looked up to see the Bruce Lift on a slow decent towards the stage. At this point, the crowd seemed chaotic; jumping up and down and what not. The Bruce Lift met the stage, and they busted straight in to Wax Grappy. They went through the rest of their set, and took off warp speed on the Bruce Lift.
Everybody at that show was very happy. The show was a complete success, therefore so were we. Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers was “the new cut”, and that’s the way it was going to be. We were all very happy that we pulled it all off as a team, but it was a reality check after the show when we realized who we thought was the new king in town…
We went west on a Tommy Lift and headed back to All Branch’s. When we got there, the Zim Domers were waiting in the lobby. “Hey guys.” Lonely Child said. “That was the king of all concerts. Your first album will go platinum by the end of this week. We even sold out of all your guys’ parafaniela before you even started playing. Here’s your money from the sales, minus of course expenses and our 10%.” Lonely Child handed Fatts the money. “Well that’s what we came to talk to you about.” Fatts said to Lonely. “Is there someplace we can talk?” “Yeah, let’s go in to my office.” Lonely said. As Fatts and Lonely went to go talk, the rest of us hung out and drank beer, you fuckin’ sparkling bucks.
“So, what’s on your mind?” Lonely asked. Fatts leaned forward in his chair and started speaking his mind. “Bottom line is this. We tore shit up tonight and the whole world loves us. We got a bad ass album and mass more songs. We can go play anywhere and we’d sell the place out. I think 10% is too much. I want it to be 5%, or we walk.” Lonely Child sat there silent for a minute and just stared at Fatts. “5% or you walk, huh? WHAT THE HELL KIND OF DEMANDS ARE THOSE?” Lonely yelled. “You can’t just walk. We have a deal, remember? You signed a contract for three albums. And what do you mean 10% is too much? You only played one show. What, do you think that you guys are the Kings now?” Fatts gave out this little arrogant laugh and said. “We’re better than you guys have ever been.” Things were heating up on the South wing of All Branch’s. “So, is that a challenge?” Asked Lonely Child. “You’re god damn right.” Said Fatts. Lonely got up and walked around his desk to where Fatts was sitting. “Ok clown-dog, it’s on. Next Saturday at Mark and Oscar we’ll do a one-song playoff. We’ll each hover above the stage, side by side. The winner stays and finishes the concert. Here’s the rest of the deal. If we win, you guys finish out your contract at 10%, no questions asked. If you win, we’ll only take 5%, or cut you loose from your deal. It’s up to you. What do you think?” Fatts shook his monster dome, and said. “It’s on, you fuckin’ slut.” “Ok, good.” Lonely said. “Now get the fuck out of my tree house!”
Lonely Child walked out of his office all shits teriyakied. “Hey what the Hell was that all about? Why’d they leave all pist?” I asked. Lonely just kind of paced back and forth with a confused look on his face. “Ok.” Lonely finally said. “What happened in there is kind of a long story, but let me ask you this. How do you guys feel about bolting our instruments back on the Tommy Lift and playing a show on Saturday night at Mark and Oscar?” “I think it’s a smashing idea.” Dobbler said, as he ran real fast down the yellow brick road. “Wait a minute! I don’t get it.” Ryan said. Lonely threw up his arms and sighed. “I challenged them to a one-song playoff because they’re demanding more money and they think they’re a better band than us. If we win, it’s back to business as usual. What do you think?” Walsh Pedro threw a chilidog at Dobbers fetce and said. “It’s on mother fucker.” The rest of the Rebounds (including myself, Thomas the Rebound) thought it was a good idea as well.
Commercial Break
Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers II
Death Reigns in the Zock
Next to the poster of a girl in a bikini, in the back of the Bruce Lift, stood a character like-the-one. His name was Matthew Foremost. After hanging out, the Zim Domers punched him in his Pop-Grum and he tried to Henry. “You’re so cancelled, you don’t even understand the question.” Said Rusty Bankrupt. Then Matthew pulled out his Foremost and gave each Zim Domer a broken ankle. With his first win under his belt, Matthew Foremost jumped off the Bruce Lift, never to be seen again.
The Zim Domers took their warp-having Bruce Lift back to The Canyon of the Zock Smoothie. “Dude, fuck Peter Assworth and the Shitbounds.” Fatts said all shits-pist. “So wait a minute!” Alex Plus asked. “So next weekend we’re playing a one song playoff against those guys? Then what happens? Do we get paid?” Now there was concern amongst the Zim Domers. “That’s fuckin bullshit.” Shaggy yelled. “What did you get us into Fatts? I’ll go solo, BAM just like that.” Fatts looked around the Bruce Lift and assured everybody. “Relax! We’re getting paid regardless. If we win the playoff then we’re getting paid even more. Let’s just leave it at that for now and go get straight Jasoned.” Now everybody was happy, so they went walking down the street to a bar called The Tirdcutter Tavern.
As soon as these guys walked in the tavern, they got mauled by fans like no other. These guys were the hottest thing since hotdogs and corn on a large pizza. “Hey babies, aeowwwww.” Shag said to the crowd of women. This time it worked. About 10 ladies grabbed him and dragged him upstairs to The Room of the Johninit’s Askel Where it Happens. Pockets liked what he saw and yelled out, “Hey Shag, wait for me!” Pockets then led a train of women up the stairs. Everybody was holding hands like little kids on a field trip in a museum. It looked like it was gonna be the king of all John Sessions. The rest of the Zim Domers fought through the crowd, signed autographs and made their way to a booth.
“I would like to propose a toast.” HEY HOLMES said. “Here’s to us, Fatts, Irate Gypsy, Alex Plus, Burt, Big D, and Shag and Pockets, wherever you guys are. Here’s to all of us making it big; writing king music, being famous and having mass money.” “Here here, cheers, yeah baby yeah.” They all said after the toast. The Zim Domers sat around together for the next couples of hours. They were having a lot of fun and they were as happy as four-rot tunxel on a shame-leg fatty. “Well guys, I’ve had enough fun for one night.” Big D said to the group. “Now it’s time to get my hump on.” Everybody else was feeling the same way, so they all left the table and went their separate ways.
Meanwhile, upstairs in The Room of the Johninit’s Askel Where it Happens,
Shag and Pockets were having the party of their lives.
Everybody in the room was butt naked and covered with booze.
Pockets started sniffling and wiping his nose 8 million times.
“SoYeahBabyShag. Sniff,
sniff. We’reGonnaFuckAllTheseChicksRight?Right.
Sniff, sniff. “Why are you
talking all fast you stupid drug fuck?” Shag
asked of Pockets? “You’re
stuuupid.” “C’mon,Let’sTagTheseBitch’sBaby.Fuck’em
InTheAss,FingerThatShitTooRight?RightBabyRight?”
Said Pockets. Shag looked at
Pockets and yelled at him. “Dude,
Shut---Up. You ain’t fuckin’
shit. ‘Cause that’s bullshit.
I’ll fuck all these bitches and you won’t get shit.
Na, fuck that bullshit! Let’s
take these chicks and mad hump ‘em. BAM,
BAM.” Then Shag and Pockets high-fived
each other, glanced at the chicks and they both did the Shaggy.
Commercial Break
The next morning, Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers all met back at the Bruce Lift. “Hey everybody. Did we all have fun last night?” Asked Fatts. “Yep, the king, we humped baby, yeah.” They all answered. “Where’s Shag and Pockets?” Fatts asked again? “They’re probably still up in that room.” Irate Gypsy said. “FUCK. We’ll let’s go get ‘em.” Fatts said. “We gotta go practice.” The Zim Domers walked back in to the bar and marched upstairs. When they got in to the room they noticed that everybody was sleeping. “HEY, HEY, WAKE UP!” Fatts yelled at them. Shag sat up and looked at the Zim Domers. “What’s up? Dude, we fuckin’ partied.” Now everybody in the room started waking up around them. Shag looked over at Pockets and started yelling at him. “HEY, STUPID. WAKE UP!” Pockets didn’t budge. Shag then threw a shoe at him. “HEY! WAKE YOUR FAT ASS UP!” Again Pockets didn’t budge at all; either did four other women laying next to him. As Shag stood up and walked over to him, The Zim Domers followed him. Fatts bent down and started shaking him. Fatts then came back up real slow, with a ghost-white face. They all just somehow knew… Pockets was dead.
Commercial Break
Back at All Branch’s the Tree Office, Working in the Tree Office we were throwing penny’s out the window of our school bus and chipping the paint on this guys’ van when the phone rang.” We didn’t do it.” Said the young children. “It was that kid; Phil.” Lonely Child then came in to the lobby. “Guy’s, I just got off the phone with Rusty Bankrupt. Their saxophone player, Pockets died last night of a cocaine overdose.” We were all stunned, you fuckin’ Talk-Charlie. “His funeral is tomorrow” Said Lonely. As we sat there silent and butt-white with zits on our children, I (Thomas the Rebound) thought that it would be a good idea if we joined them in a “Tribute to Pockets” album.
The
next day we went that way and then that way on a Tommy Lift to Heinous Boots the
Castle, We Came From… The Castle.
Behind their house is where the funeral was.
After it was over, we all made up and agreed that a “Tribute to
Pockets” album would be the cat’s elbow.
“Ok, I have an idea.” Lonely
said. We’ll go to Mark and Oscar and tell The Bartender the bad news.
You guy’s go to All Branch’s and set your shit up.
When we get there, then we’ll work on some crazy-ass-shit.”
“What about a saxophone player?”
Asked Fatts. “How can we do
a “Tribute Album” without the sax.?” Lonely
looked at Fatts and told him. “I
know the best saxophone player in the City of
We rolled up to Mark and Oscar and took 15 sweaters from an Irish crap cooker. “Hey, the Bartender.” Lonely Child said. “We have to talk. Last night one of the Zim Domers died of a drug overdose.” The Bartender was so shocked that he started sticking pins and needles in his Yankee. “Hey, relax the Bartender!” Lonely said to him. “This weekend, both the Rebounds and the Zim Domers are going to play a “Tribute to Pockets” Ebaneiser. When we get up on stage Saturday night, I will explain to the crowd what’s going to happen come the future.” “Well, what is going to happen come the future?” Asked the Bartender in a concerned voice. Lonely Child looked at him and shook his head. “I don’t know yet.”
On the way back to All Branch’s, we stopped by Butt-Cheeks’ house. “Hey Butt-Cheeks, how’s it going man?” Lonely asked. “Peter Flatworth and the Rebounds. What brings you cats here?” Said Butt-Cheeks. “We want you to sit in on saxophone this weekend for a gig Ebaneiser at Mark and Oscar. We also want you to play on an album that we’re gonna record. You know that band, Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers that we signed?” Butt-Cheeks shook his head up and down. “Yeah, a damn good band. Their sax player can blow too.” “Yeah, well.” Lonely said in a soft voice. “He died last night of a cocaine overdose. We’re doing a “Tribute to Pockets” album. Do you want to play saxophone on the tribute album?” Butt-Cheeks looked at us with a sad face and said. “Yeah man, I’ll do it. Let me get my shit.”
Back at All Branch’s, the Zim Domers were all waiting in the lobby. We took a couple of minutes to try to make sense of the situation. Then we went straight to work. We packed the recording studio full of instruments and we jammed for a good 20 hours. Butt-Cheeks did a great job filling in for Pockets. Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers were pretty impressed. We mostly played their songs and with that many people playing, it sounded armslength. We also made some songs up together, but not too many. It was predominately their poop. Although one of the songs we did together was the one that was dedicated to Pockets. It was called, If You Ever Touch My Saxophone, I’ll Punch Your Big Toe. Butt-Cheeks played a 9-hour sax solo on that song.
After
we were done recording, we had a barbecue and cooked chilidogs.
“Hey, eat up you fuckin’ purple bitches!
Don’t let them go to waste!” Walsh
Pedro said, as he threw a chilidog at Dobbler’s fetce.
“Ok, let’s get down to business.”
Demanded Lonely. “I told
the Bartender what happened and I told him what we’re gonna do this weekend.
Now that the newspapers know about this, Mark and Oscar is gonna
have peels oozing out it’s Four-Tux-Jacob.”
“After the show, what are your guys’ future music plans?”
Lonely asked. “Like I told
you before. It’s over.
Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers will be no more.
Maybe I’ll get into the music promotion business.”
Replied Fatts. “Well then,
maybe you should.” Said Shag.
“I’ll be your first client. I’m
going solo.” “We’ll be your
clients too.” Said Lonely Child.
“How? I don’t get it.”
Replied a confused Fatts. “Lonely
smiled, and said. “I’ll tell you
Saturday.”
Commercial Break
Back at Mark and Oscar, on the night of the show, I (Thomas the Rebound) looked out to see a crowd of peels about the size of a fuckin’ scar belly. The Bartender had renovated the joint and made it twice as big; so both Rebounds fans and Zim Domers fans could come to see the greatest entertainers to ever gravity the stage. “Hey, you guys need to print more “Tribute” albums.” Said the Bartender. I sold all one million copies already.” “Ok.” Said Lonely. “I’ll tell the crowd that we’re gonna.” During this time we were hooking both of our Lifts together to create a Sir Thomas the Bruce Lift. “20 minutes ‘til show time.” That one ass feature said as he knocked on our door. “Alright guys. Let’s put on our “Pockets outfits!”” Fatts said. These outfits were the grenzel dig. All they were was these big giant Converse tennis shoes that you climb in to and they had holes to stick your arms and legs through.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. WELCOME TO THE GIG OF ALL EBANEISERS.” Yelled the Bartender. “TONIGHT’S A SPECIAL NIGHT, IN MEMORY OF POCKETS, BABY YEAH.” The whole crowd cried, and cheered, and cried some more. “AND NOW, WITHOUT FURTHER ADIEU. THE TWO BANDS THAT NEED NO INTRODUCTION… SO HERE YOU GO.” The whole crowd went, (themeinit’s askel) she’s a maniac, maniac, on the floor. Then, the lights started flickering and the sound of the Sir Thomas the Bruce Lift started rumbling like a firecracker under the popcorn machine. “Are you faggots ready to rock?” Irate Gypsy said in his best metal voice. The crowd wen bats Tina. “I - can’t – hear – you.” Then they went like 3 bats Tina. And then, “wong, wong, wong, wong, wong.” Dobbler said, as he redecorated the Tommy Lift, and hung up curtains on the bosanova. Lonely Child grabbed the mic out of Dobblers hand and spoke to the crowd. “Peels. Before we start, there’s something I have to tell you. This is the last time you are ever gonna see Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers perform live.” The fuckin’ crowd started crying again. “They’re breaking up and they’re gonna do their own thing. Although, on the other hand, starting next week Peter Flatworth and the Rebounds will be performing once again right here at Mark and Oscar. Then the crowd went absolutely stenner-crazy. They cheered and gave high-fives and wouldn’t shut up. “JIMOTHY NINE!” Fish yelled at the crowd as loud as he could. Then they all got silent. “Thanks Fish.” Lonely said. “Not only are we gonna play here every week again, but Rusty Bankrupt is gonna promote us instead of Armchair Records. He and some of the Zim Domers are taking over where we left off.” The crowd was glad to hear that because they really grew fond of Rusty Bankrupt and the Zim Domers. They also liked the fact that they would still be around, too and that people would be able to meet them at Mark and Oscar. “Enough Talk.” Lonely yelled. “Let’s Rock.” The lights started flickering again and we jammed some shit for 6 hours. Butt-Cheeks did a Hell-of-a-job sitting in for Pockets. He even played one of his horn solo’s. When we were done, we gravitied up on our Sir Thomas the Bruce Lift and went warp speed outta there. We were pretty tired after that, you fuckin’ Slap-Justin.
The next day we took all of our record company stuff over to Heinous Boots the Castle, We Came From… The Castle. We set up the recording studio right next to the gravesite of Pockets. We signed over all contracts to Rusty Bankrupt and made it official. Rusty Bankrupt Records, Inc. was now the new cut. “So, do you want to sign us now or later?” Asked Lonely Child. “We’re gonna have to do it later.” Said Fatts. “Shags’ out buying instruments with some of his new band members. When they get back we’re gonna start recording his first record.” “What’s the name of his band?” Asked Lonely. “It’s called The Shag Band.” Replied Fatts. “And the name of his first album is called Shut The Fuck Up!.” “That’s cool.” Replied Lonely. “So you’re signing Shag, huh? Now you’ll have 2 bands right off the bat.” “Yeah.” Explained Fatts. “I also set up another battle-of-the-bands at Mark and Oscar. I want to sign more bands.” “Ok then. We’re gonna take off.” Said Lonely. “We’ll come back by and make it official before we play next week at Mark and Oscar.” We then went West on a Tommy Lift.
We did make it official and everything was back to normal. All Branch’s became a tree house again and we went from instruments to pencils, back to instruments again, you fuckin’ no-back ass feature. We are a BAND, DAMNIT, and that’s the way it had to be.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, can I have your attention please. Please welcome the Thomas havin' cruisers. LADIES AND GENTLEMAN…
PETER FLATWORTH AND THE REBOUNDS.
As the Bartender sat there and smiled, with a bandage wrapped around his
Yankee, you could see it in his face. He
was very happy. And as we made a
slow decent towards the stage, we looked out to the crowd only to see the same
thing. These people were happy.
These were our fans, the people who’d come watch us play every week,
the ones who truly appreciated our work. And
for that, we thanked them by becoming a band once again.
Do you have something to say about it, you fuckin’ Scott-Hole?
I didn’t think so. So, like
I told you before, grab your friends, grab a Tommy Lift and come on down to Mark
and Oscar. We’ll be playing
there every week. And do you wan to
know why? Because we are…
Peter Flatworth and the Rebounds Baby, YEAH!!!