May 31, 19A2
You wake.
Rub some crust out of your eye.
Head down to the nearest Circle K™ for a Yoo-Hoo™ to abate your hangover.
The weather is nice, still spring-ish.
You notice this flyer, calling for musicians for a roving cover band.
Such a curious flyer.
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I can go
with the flow
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But don’t say it doesn’t matter
anymore
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Ed Harris?
Marlon Brando?
Paul Newman?
Cop movie based on the badge poking out from the rightmost part of the image… hmmmm.
D’oh! Shoulda guessed that!
One, two, one, two, one, two, one, two.
One, two, one, two, one… two.
Ok, I’m ready. Let’s go!
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The try-out date from the flyer looms closer.
You keep wondering:
Have I been practicing enough?
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Does this flyer have a date that I can make out with my bleary rock-hazed bloodshot eyes?
I got Double Vision, y’know.
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You search your memory.
What was the date? You ask yourself if you were so plumb excited about the opportunity to try-out that you forgot.
You’ve gone back to the Circle K several times since you first saw it, but the flyer has since disappeared.
Rumor around town is that Elliott El Camino took the flyer, and has it posted on his bathroom mirror for maximum motivation.
Elliot El Camino, named after the old chevy that’s been sitting on blocks in his parents yard since he was a sophomore, that he keeps bragging about how bitchen` it will be when he finishes the sanding and repaints it.
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Oho! Now we are in my wheelhouse! Did you ever chance to see this brief little cinematic gem?
No? Oh, you must. Beware of relentlessly offensive language, though.
And yes, that’s my Cougar. And my wrist twisting the ignition during the title sequence.
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Can I be the same character in both BBS games?
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You feel as if the summer is almost gone.
“That’s because it is,” chides Elliott.
Still no sight of this roving band.
Your cousin a couple of counties over said over the phone that an old bus broke down on the highway and had to be towed into Springfield Auto. Rumor is: some hellions were painting the town red while it gets repaired.
You’d go see the scene yourself, except you’ve got no wheels. Neither does Elliott.
So much for summer. So much for your big break.
Leaving the crossroads, you decide to swing by the newsstand. A new issue of Deep Delvers has arrived. #23!
At least you’ve got that going for you.
Probably for the best. We don’t want a load of minstrels hanging around with their bloody lutes.
Although I am looking forward to @donald_Petersen’s Dinosaur Jr tribute act.
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Deep Space.
The furthest frontiers of the Charybdis system.
On its maiden patrol, the I.C.U.P.'s newest flagship, the five-hulled Nielsen-class frigate Hung Fury heaves to just off the second-class service causeway of the defunct party barge Inflatable Pub. The Fury throbs with power, its sexa-hexatonic resonance arrays positively thrumming with raw power. Inside the bridge:
“Well, now, Number Two. Any indicationsss as to what all the fussss was about?”
“Not yet, thir. Thenthorth indicate no tranthmission thourthe for the dithtrethth thignal…”
“Then why wasss I awakened at half-passst the third watch to dissscover our shakedown cruise wass being rerouted to the arssse-end of…”
BRRRRAAAAHHHHMMMM!!!
“Sssstatussss report!”
“Thir, we theem to have been theized in the grip of thome monthtrouth titanic entity. It threatenth to…”
“To what, Number Two?”
“… to rock our cloacas off.”
“But what doesss it want?”
“Thir, it jutht wantth… it needth… to ROCK.”
“Dear Godssss!! How do we ssssatiate thisss beassst?!”
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That is truly outrageous.
