Pre-Show
“Get in the truck Dave. You’re driving.”
“You are way too drunk to be doing anything right now Gus. I thi-”
“I know I’m drunk, that’s why you’re driving Dave. Now c’mon. This is going to be awesome.”
---
It was Friday morning and it was cold as hell. A devilish combination that only hell could’ve predicted. Actually, calling it Friday Morning was a stretch, it was more like Thursday night, a cold Thursday night and the metallic Penske truck did nothing to help the situation.
Dave was pissed, a look of infinite anger on his face, and Gus, Gus continued to down beers in the back of the truck.
“I think we’re coming up on the beginning.” Ryan said, the lead singer of the band that was planning its’ weird and wild debut.
Dave could see the dying party coming up on his left, Police Cars parked in front of an apartment building as they escorted party-goers out. Ryan smiled as he picked up his telephone-mic, a weird contrapation that he invented, as their current drummer, but one who wouldn’t last long sat down. His name was Pete, and quite frankly he didn’t look like he wanted to be here.
Gus plugged his guitar into the amp in the back of the truck as Dave parked and looked down at the leaving party-goers and those being arrested. “Hey, what’s the deal?” He asked an officer who got close to the vehicle.
“Nothing much, just a party that got a bit out of control you should he-”
“GOOD MORNING BOSTON!” A loud voice could be made out as the back of the Penske truck peeled open, the trio known as
Zaludnïr looked amongst each other as they prepared to enter their first song as the truck began to speed down the road, the party-goers eagerly chasing after the new attraction.
The police officer could only look in awe before uttering, “Oh shit.”
---
The Show
---
“This song. This is one is about music today. It kinda blows.” Ryan spoke into his mic as Gus teared into the first guitar riff, angry and sad the riff was. It spoke more volumes than one would think words could as the distrayed drum-line opened up behind him. Then Ryan actually began to sing, or what would more accurately be called, shout.
I FUCKING HATE YOUR OPINION OF ME/ I FUCKING HATE WHO YOU THINK I AM
I’M NOT SUICIDAL AND I’M NOT SAD/ I’M JUST FUCKING ANGRY SO DON’T PATRONIZE ME
I’M JUST FUCKING CRAZY DON’T PATRONIZE ME/I’M JUST FUCKING LAZY
I DON’T CARE IF YOUR A BOY-BAND/IF YOUR MUSIC IS STILL CRAPPY
I DON’T CARE IF YOUR BLONDE WITH NICE TITS/IF YOUR MUSIC IS STILL CRAPPY
I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE BANGING THE FUCKING POPE/IF YOUR MUSIC IS STILL CRAPPY
I JUST WANT TO DRINK WITH ME FRIENDS/WITHOUT HEARING ABOUT YOU
I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR PUBLICITY STUNTS/DON’T PATRONIZE ME
JUST GO HOME YOU FUCKING LOSERS/DON’T PLAY ANOTHER SONG
ABOUT HOW YOUR RICH AND FAMOUS/I HATE YOU ALL
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Police woops and lights can be seen in the distance and Ryan gulps, “OK, looks like we’ll be finishing up.” He says from the back of the moving truck as the crowd of cars and walkers following them cheer out.
Another riff starts up, this one a light more heavy-metal influenced. “This one is written about my ex-girlfriend. Fuck her.” Ryan mentions off-handedly. “I hope she rots in fucking...
HEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL
YOU’RE A BITCH YOU’RE A BITCH YOU’RE A BITCH
GO HOME NO ONE FUCKING LIKES YOU/WHAT IS THIS YOUR FUCKING MY FRIENDS?
BIG SURPRISSSSSSSSSSSE
GET OUTTA HERE/YOU’RE JUST A WHORE AND THIS IS MY FUCKING PLACE
I DON’T KNOW WHO YOU ARE ANYMORE! I DON’T KN-
Ryan’s words are cut off as a piece of metal pelts him in the face. He falls to the ground holding his face and then looks down as gas begins to seep through the object, better known as a Tear-Gas grenade. He starts coughing as police begin to swarm the truck, and disperse the crowd.
Edited by user 02 March 2012 14:54:37(UTC)
| Reason: Not specified
