"Um, what exactly are you planning on doing with these two dudes tied up in the back of your RV?" Ratchet asked the creature.
"Well I know what you're gonna do with 'em Ratchet! Move 'em into my lair! snarf snarf." replied Red "and do it quickly! I don't have all day, I think that those korean ladies I ate at the nail salon are pushin' through if you know what I mean! snarf snarf."
Ratchet had been running errands for the beast all day with no appreciation from the leprechaun, it was in fact because of him that the creature had been released earlier that day. Ratchet was obsessed with perfectly book matched maple top guitars and after being told a thousand times that there will never be a "perfect" book match, he unwisely set into motion a series of events that led to the re-animation of the ginger menace.
"When are you gonna teach me how to do a re-top on this Rosewood ltd. Red? I think it's a great guitar but it could look better... if those dudes weren't so lazy at the PRS factory! I mean how hard can it be?!"
"Snarf snarf. I told you Ratchet! Yous gets what yous wants when I gets what I needs! snarf snarf" Red hissed.
While Ratchet dragged the bodies of Rango and Sergio out of the RV and into Red's lair, he thought to himself; "What am I doing? How did I let things get so bad? who the hell is gonna clean up this place, and why does this troll keep saying "snarf snarf" all the time? I mean he does kinda look like that weird dog/gnome creature from the "Thundercats" cartoon, but what the F#$k is wrong with this dude?"
Sergio awakened to find himself and Rango tied up in in the lair. Both men were bound to a middle seat from a 1989 Dodge Caravan that was repurposed as furniture in a space that looked like an episode of "Hoarders" had collided with the left over inventory of a thousand NAMM shows. There were piles of unfinished Schon guitars, stacks of Trans-trems, and general musical instrument parts hanging off of shelves like icicles from gutters. In the corner was a stack of old apple II C CRT monitors hooked up to a CCTV system that had live feeds from every TJ Maxx dressing room in the Las Vegas area, if Segio wasn't creeped out enough already, the dull sobbing from Rango would get him there.
"What is happening to us!?" Rango said, "Why are we wearing Snuggies? and what kind of psychopath braids his own hair into rope? Please God! Turn off the TV's!!!"
Sergio could not blame Rango for his temporary break-down, he had once rolled up into a fetal position and cried himself to sleep after going to Ikea one Christmas season, he knew the pain Rango was feeling, and after seeing the unidentified stains on his Snuggie, he could fight back the tears no more... The men cried, but it was a manly kind of crying. The kind of crying that men only do alone in the shower when nobody is looking, but there would be no steam to combat the puffiness of their eyes.
"I'm glad we didn't get facial's" Rango said, "It would've been a waste of money."
Buck Dharma drove his Honda Element across town to his favorite park at about ten thirty PM later that night. Buck loved his Element for the same reason every dude that owns one tells you at party's... "You can hose it out Bro!" He backed into his favorite parking space, turned on his fog lights while turning off the main headlights as is custom, and sat and waited.
Buck noticed a blue BMW circling the lot slowly. The car would come up to Buck's Element, stop, and then peel out. On the third go round, after an especially impressive neutral-drop (if you go in for that sort of thing) the BMW backed into the spot next to him and parked.
Buck knew the deal. Tonight was his night. He did what he always does for these occasions and started the hour long BOC playlist on his iPhone and sprayed some Jovan "Sex Appeal for men" to set the mood.
The BMW window rolls down to expose what at first glance appeared to be SRV, but younger, and less dead. "Hey bro! whasup?"
"You know whasup!" Buck said, "Nice car, what'll I call you?"
"My name is Johnny, Johnny Turbo" the man in the BMW said, "What's your name?"
To which Buck replied; "My name is Buck, and I came to"...............
Originally Posted by alantig
"What a mission!" Sergio thought to himself.
Using the infamous LOG_CANOE Universe accelerator-decelerator, Sergio decided to manipulate the space-time continuum. Sergio went back into the late '60's and successfully diverted Eric Clapton's attention during a critical phase of recording.....while the band was taking a break, Sergio began to explain how to "pack a guitar like a tank" using the C. Sterling Wolfe method of speaking very fast, gesturing wildly, and not making any sense. Eric became so agitated, he bolted from the recording studio, ran straight home, and began taking lessons as to how to become a manicurist instead of a musician.
Sergio was pleased. He believed he had completed his task. Grabbing the Beano comic book from the recording studio, left behind by the mumbling and nearly incoherent Clapton, he stepped back into the "universe accelerator-decelerator" and returned back to 2013 and the scene of his initial departure. In his hands, he had the prized comic...
Upon returning, he found nothing the same.....
"Damn it" yelled Paul...."WRONG BEANO! Look what you've done!! Just look at me!!"
Sergio gasped....in place of the former ringer for Dr. Drew Pinsky, he now beheld...
Having totally distorted the space-time continuum by preventing John Mayall and his Bluesbreakers from recording a classic album, Paul never developed a flair for rock music or playing guitar....as a result, he unfortunately never developed his staggering auditory skills.
In this universe, he was merely a diminutive Cereal Pitch man.
"Gotta have my Lucky Charms" he kept shouting, while running around with a little green hat, and clutching a pipe.
Sergio realized his mistake....going back in time, he quickly rectified his error.
Impersonating Esteban, he held an impromptu spiritual meeting with a then-17 year old Eric Clapton. "Grasshopper....let me teach you how to play "House of the Rising Sun" using only your fingernails" he imparted to the young and impressionable Clapton.
All was restored...Sergio returned having repaired the hole in the space-time continuum.
He also had a can of....
As he reunited with Paul, all he could think of was that, while briefly back in 1966, he was CERTAIN that he saw a 795 year old commercial music producer holding a bag of diapers and playing an accordion at the Bluesbreaker's studio.
"Nah", he said to himself..."couldn't be."
Shawn Nutzall glanced down at his shopping list.
Paua Sugar Pops
Mammoth Ivory Soap
Tequila Sunrise Glow Coctail
Santana Oil (SPF 39)
Grainger Bass (filleted)
and the newest entry
"Here I am the titular head of the Special Forces Unit and I'm stuck with the shopping." In spite of himself, he smiled. The word 'titular' always tickled his funny bone. Besides, everyone at the factory took a turn at the shopping.
Please see the edit in the OP.
Cast in order of appearance:
Glambin Turkkel - studio owner (deceased)
Bennett Oppraman aka Mr. Hyde aka Ned the Destroyer
Frank Bello - lead guitarist in the pub group "Hendrixonators"
Paul Reed Smith - U.S. liaison to Mi6 "P"
Paul Rodgers - sometime BadCo singer
Ell Chefman - aging studio owner
Hands Mantic - walletless enforcer and sword smith
Mike Three - Armed Special Forces
Mike Deeley - PRS Sales Rep.
the mole - Rodgers' roadie (deceased)
Woodfan - guitarist and enabler of Oppraman
Larry Thomas - CEO of Fender Musical Instruments
David Gilmour - Agent 009
Davey Knowles - leprechaun infiltrator agent 0011
Sergio - Rapper Extraordinaire
Rango - Guitarist
Red Ramen aka Red Not Ramen Noodles - immortal evil leprechaun
Linda - racist Polish manicurist (deceased)
Doc Bill Ruger - small studio owner and beginning guitarist
Ratchet - Red Ramen's moron henchman (deceased)
Shawn Nutzall - head of the PRS Special Forces Unit
unnamed Abbey Road Studio engineer (deceased)
unnamed Abbey Road Studio assistant engineer (deceased)
Inspector Sky Fall - Scotland Yard (wife of Gilmour) agent 007½
Les the dog - telepathic dog of Doc Bill Ruger named after and a gift from Ell Chefman
Autumn Sky - warrier girlfriend of Davy Knowles agent 006½
M - Mi6 director
The Girl with the Dragon Guitar
Marco Polo Knopfler - agent 0010
Buck Dharma - lead guitarist for the BOC
Johnny Turbo - (deceased)
Ty Coon - Wall St whizz kid (deceased)
Yngwoo Malmsteen - owner of the Yngwoo Irish Leprechaun Pub
Lena Berzanskis aka Elena aka Lenochka
Q - Mi6 special weapons
Bodashka - informant
Skitchy - PTC
Lindsay Lohan - skank
Paul Miles - Private Stock Team
various lesser leprechauns
In a Central Park apartment (probably one of the ones below)
The young Wall St Wizz Kid called Ty Coon could smell something burning. "What the hell?" he thought. He noticed a little smoke coming out from underneath the bathroom door. Quick as a flash he grabbed the fire extinguisher and headed for the bathroom.
He pulled open the door and was met with a site that can only be described as biblical. Great orange and red flames bellowed before him like giant sheets in a storm. His wife's bush was burning.
The plant was now reduced to a pile of ash, though thankfully the flames hadn't reched anything else. As the smoke cleared he saw what he thought was a green hat and maybe some sparkling gold.
"Sweetheart, what on earth have you been doing in here?" There was no answer. "Sweetheart?" He asked again with a touch of concern. It would be the last thing he ever said.
The leprechaun opened the safe and grabbed what it had come for.
Meanwhile, at the PRS factory a can of Spotted Dick started to shake....
Frank Bello was more than a little worried. His half brother Sergio and his best friend Rango were not on the flight from Las Vegas. Frank had received a nonsense text from Sergio just before he went to bed, but it was classic Sergio. It was filled with the rapper's rather unique way of talking, even while texting. After a long night fronting his band "The Hendrixonators" at the Irish pub, Bello was just in no mood to try to decipher Sergio's prose.
Now Sergio and Rango were missing. Frank called the bar where he and the rest of The Hendrixonators were scheduled to play all week.
"Yngwoo's Irish Leprechaun"
"Yngwoo, this is Frank Bello - I have to cancel The Hendrixonators for a couple of nights. Something has come up."
"Damnit, Bello. I just got 18 color glossy fliers printed up promoting your little tribute band."
Bello bristled. "Look Yngwoo. If it weren't for my band, you couldn't afford to pay your own Jameson bill, much less stock the bar. We've been playing there for three weeks straight and you still haven't paid us. Get your brother to fill in for us."
"Yngwie's playing is too complicated for my audience," complained Yngwoo. And he was right of course. Yngwie Malmsteen had been thrilling audiences for the first five minutes of his concerts for years. But his constant zippy techno-speedy playing was just too much for the average Joe to listen to. After just a song or two, Yngwie could empty a stadium. Yngwoo typically booked his brother as the last act on very busy nights like St Patrick's Day, Cinco de Mayo, and Frank Zappa's birthday when he wanted to clear the bar at closing time.
"OK, I'll call Yngwie," said Yngwoo dejectedly.
"Good. Call you when I get back." and Bello hung up the phone.
Yngwoo didn't call Yngwie right away. He first put on "Don't Fear the Reaper" and danced a little leprechaun jig while banging a cowbell...
Chefman's trip from Lida to Minsk by helicopter was uneventful, and as the taxi drove down Storozhevskaya Ulitsa to the Hotel Belarus, his eyes scanned the city for landmarks he might recognize from his time there 200 years before. There appeared to be few. In 1813, the population of the city had been only 11,000. The French POWs had been ten times that number, although not in this hospital where he'd worked as a doctor/prisoner, and they had been billeted elsewhere.
Now, as the capital of the country of Belarus, it has nearly two million residents. The changes in the city were almost incomprehensible to Chefman. He began to lose heart as to the likelihood of finding the grave site. He'd been at the Battle of Berezina, where French troops had been decimated trying to cross the river and escape the Russian army; it was only the bravery of the allied Dutch engineers and Swiss contingent who'd made the crossing possible. This is where he and many other French and allied prisoners had been captured; the POWs had been from every nation in Europe; contrary to popular belief, only half of Napoleon's Grand Armee of 600,000 men had been French. The largest contingent were Poles who sought to free their country from Russian occupation, but there were thousands of Lithuanians, Germans, Prussians, Italians, etc.
In fact, there were eerie parallels to the Nazi invasion of Russia 130 years later, as the Axis contingent were made up of Germans, Italians, Hungarians, Rumanians, Finns, and also many French SS volunteers, among others. The difference in WWII was that the numbers of troops involved were staggeringly higher, nearly two million men on the Axis side, and probably 3-4 million on the Russian.
Chefman learned from his driver that the Minsk city center had been destroyed by fire in 1835. Between that, WWII, and the postwar reconstruction boom, there had been almost nothing left of the old city. His only hope was that the burials had taken place far enough from the city, near the original battlefield by the river, to have been preserved.
When the car reached the hotel, Chefman paid and tipped the driver, pulled out his backpack and gig bag, and checked into the hotel. Typical of Belarusian hotels, the rate was less than $40 a night. He left his bags in the room, and decided to take a stroll to the city center. While walking through the lobby, he was startled to see a familiar face. It was the woman from the bookstore.
"Pryjemna bačyć vas i niečakanasciu," Chefman said in Belorusian.
"Nice to see you, too, and you shouldn't be surprised," the woman said in English. "I followed you."
"Because I recognized you," she said. "I know who you are, and what you are. And you need help. I didn't believe you were a tourist from the first moment in the bookstore. You see, I am like you. I lived in Vilnius, where you lived, in 1814. You were a professor of history at the university. Everyone knew you. And suddenly, you disappeared in about 1840. But you never aged. I began to suspect, because you see, I was born in Moscow in 1568. I had to disappear from time to time myself. I was in Vilnius on one of my own escapades. Do you see now why I followed you?"
"I thought I was the only one," Chefman said. "But I don't remember you."
"I had assumed the identity of a Jewish woman," she replied. "We wore wigs to conceal our hair, and stayed out of the way of the Gentiles. But you I knew of because you visited the Shul to discuss history with the rebbe, and walked the streets of our neighborhood with him. It was so unusual that the memory stuck with me. People would point you out, and say, 'That is the man who is interested in our culture'. My name is Elena, by the way. People call me Lena."
She offered her hand. Chefman shook it and said, "Ell Chefman."
"And what does your wife call you, Ell?"
"What wife?" he replied. "My ex wife calls me unmentionable names. What does your husband call you?"
"He called me Lenochka, but he's been dead for 70 years. I like being single. Let's take a walk and get something to eat."
Sky Fall's normally immaculate desk at Scotland Yard was a mess. She had been gone for a month with her husband David, accompanying him to Pompeii to film the rockumentary Gilmour On an Island at Pompeii. She had actually written the lyrics on her husbands best selling solo album to date and he wanted her along.
The scene was remarkably reminiscent of Pink Floyd Live at Pompeii and it was no accident. Gilmour still got meager royalties from the film he did with his ex-bandmates in 1972, over 40 years ago. The production company had set up a large stage, similar to the stage Gilmour had used in Gdańsk in 2008. He had Nick Mason with him and Guy Pratt, but his long time friend Richard Wright was sorely missed. Although Gilmour had actually played sax for the cut "Red Sky at Night", a bruised tongue from a heated night with Sky forced Gilmour to call in the gregarious, long blonde haired Scott Page. Gilmour's chief backing vocalists David Crosby and Graham Nash were there too, though the heat caused Crosby to remain in a bathtub full of chilled vodka, or so he claimed.
Sky thought about how Crosby who Still with Nash sounded Young for being so old and wrinkled. Somewhere across the busy Scotland Yard office, "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes" was playing softly.
But her desk really was a mess. While she had been away, her co-workers had taken to using it as an overflow area for their countless boxes for delivery orders of fish and chips. With one great swoop, she managed to clear away enough detritus to get to the ringing telephone.
All she could remember now were the words "Find The One" and then a muffled scream. Sky was flying down the stairs towards the front door of the building, the fashionable slits in her skirt and four inch heels seeming not to impede her at all. Behind her, the CD player started playing "Find the Cost of Freedom."
Across town in the small soundproof telephone booth adjacent to Studio 3 at Abbey Road, the assistant engineer bled from his nose as he slumped to the floor and died with the telephone still in his hand.
In his basement work shop, Bennett slowly pulled the knitting needle out of the voodoo doll's left nostril.
Doc Bill Ruger sweated as he dug. Almost the entire 2 acres of his West Virginia farm was covered with 6 foot deep holes. It just had to still be here somewhere. But he had lost the map, or more precisely he had loaned the map to Scott Page and he had lost the map.
Ruger met Page in the 90's in Boston. Ruger was attending yet another MacWorld Expo and had come across Page unexpectedly in one of the tiny 10 by 10 curtained exposition booths. There, Page and an unknown bass player were jamming hard while a new recording software for the mac took it all in. Ruger watched Page appreciatively as Page wrung incredible notes out of his sax.
Sweating, Page and the bass player took a break to light applause from other Expo attendees. Ruger introduced himself.
"Hi, I'm Bill," he said as he shook Page's sweaty hand.
"Hi, I'm Scott," came the reply.
"I know, I recognized you from the Delicate Sound of Thunder video. It must have been a blast to be on that tour."
"It really was. I had such a great time playing with those guys."
"What kind of guy is Gilmour?"
"He's actually a great guy and very approachable."
"I really liked the video," said Ruger. "It was mixed so well and the camera angles were great. I really enjoyed watching that one backup singer closest to Dave sing. She was hot."
"Yeah, that was Rachel Fury. And you're right, she really was a hottie," grinned Page.
"There is something I always wanted to know. You had a mic stuffed into the bell of your sax and during the song Money, you yelled something into it. What did you say?"
Page was rocked with laughter, so much so that he had to sit down.
"What is it? Did I say something wrong?" asked Ruger, concerned that he might have insulted Page.
"No, not at all! I yelled 'Yo Buford!'"
"He was the sound guy. I was just messing with him. I still can't believe they left it in for both the CD and the video."
"That is so cool. But why are you laughing so hard?"
"Because after all this time, you are the first person to ask me that."
The exchange had cemented Page's and Ruger's friendship. That is how Page had come to gain access to Ruger's secret acreage and the map.
Frustrated as he was with Page for losing the map, Ruger still smiled to himself as he started another hole.
(note - the conversation above actually took place in Boston between myself and Page - he was really fun to talk with. Listen for Scott needling engineer Buford Jones at 2:55 on the track)
"My name is Buck, and I came to........take a look at that green PRS you are selling Johnny Turbo." Buck had the unsavory habit of selling and trading his endorser guitars to people on Cragslist.
He always did the routine where he would play his BOC mix waiting for someone to say "I really like this band" or "God, I wish music nowadays was this awesome", but nobody ever did, and this was why he sprayed the Jovan cologne all over his bare chest. He thought that if he could transport people's senses back in time to the seventies, he might get recognized. It had only worked once in New Jersey on a therapist, but that is another story.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours" Johnny Turbo said.
"Well, alright, here it is!" Buck whipped out a Steinberger that he had received free and was trying to swap it for Johnny's guitar.
"Are you sure this is real graphite?" Johnny asked, "I am sick of expensive guitars that have finish fading issues. I figure real graphite will never fade, and that will mean I will never have to worry about not liking it!"
"Sure is real graphite but there is one thing, I'm missing the tremelo bar for the Trans Trem." Buck was always playing this game on people from Craigslist. Talk on the phone and the guitar is "mint", get to the deal and something is "missing" but only "costs a few bucks at Guitar Center", total crap. He has a pile of them at home and just wants to get the best of random people because he is angry with the world over the fact that nobody likes his crap band anymore.
But Johnny was too smart; "I'm not falling for any Gimmetry, here Buck! You said it was MINT on the phone!?"
"Well it smells like mint!" Buck replied, "Don't you know who I am? I was in BOC! This now means that this is a celebrity-owned guitar! That means it's worth at least ten times as much as a regular version of the same guitar!"
"That's a load!" Johnny replied, " I mean I guess I could see it if you were somebody like Clapton or Page, but just some random dude from a band long forgotten? I don't think so! Sweeten the deal a little bit."
"How about this, I will take you to the place that bought all the left over stock from Steinberger and you can pick out a brand new trem arm, I'll even let you pay me for gas and pose for a picture with you." Buck said.
"Total crap!" Johnny replied; "I'll follow you to the place, you buy me the trem arm, and I will fake recognize you at two Starbucks of your choice after we do the trade."
The prospect of getting recognition for his "fame" in public was too much for Buck; "Deal! but will you still pay for gas?"
"Hell no! but I will give you a ride if you like?" Johnny asked.
Buck looked at Johnny's blue BMW and said; "Nah, I'll just have you follow me, I won't be seen around town in a friggin Nazi sled, I was in BOC!"
"Sergio, wake up! Somebody is coming!" Rango had been trying to awaken his fellow captive for hours; "What the heck were you dreaming about?! You kept saying weird stuff about time travel and Beano, when we get out of here I have this spiritual healer that you must go see! Your chakras are a mess."
"Sorry Rango, I always get nightmares when I eat mexican food." said Sergio.
"Well that explains why you were talking about Beano in your sleep, by the way you fart in your sleep a lot... and I do mean a lot."
Just then Ratchet walked into the room with a toilet brush. He was green in the face from cleaning up after Red in the bathroom, not because he was Red's minion, but because he really needed go to the bathroom. "Oh GOD! What's that smell?! Ratchet gagged and threw up a little in his mouth; "First I had to clean some red-braided ginger curlies of the toilet seat, and now is smells like somebody laid a chimichanga in their speedos!" Rango motioned towards Sergio with pleading eyes.
"Great! all I wanted to do was replace my inferior maple top on this guitar, and now I'm trapped in this dump with you guys and a troll that eats people. I'm going to Starbucks up the street, at least their bathrooms get cleaned once a week." Ratchet proclaimed.
"Could you bring me a soy chai, no water?" Rango asked.
"Ppfftt!" was all Ratchet could muster as he slammed the door.
"What's all this noise?!! snarf snarf, Where is that no good minion of mine? We have company! snarf, snarf" Red walked into the room followed by Johnny Turbo and Buck. Red showed Johnny the huge box of Trans Trem bars while Buck stood over the two captive men.
"So do you two want my autograph? Ten dollars." Buck was always trying to make a buck, in fact he kept repeating that line at every party he went to until the other party guests left or punched themselves in the face. "Hey Red, what do you want for these two guys? I figure I could take them home, I have always wanted a captive audience."
"Well I don't know Buck, how's about you sign fifty autographed guitars for me and you can have them!?" Red shot back.
"I don't know, this one smells kinda funny. Can you take these Snuggies off and let me see them walk around? I just want to make sure they aren't missing any parts." replied Buck.
"I told you on the phone that they were in mint condition" said Red.
"They don't smell mint Red!" Buck retorted, Johnny Turbo shook his head while looking for a suitable trem arm.
Red walked over and ate his way through the ginger-haired ropes that bound the two men, "Get up and Dance for the man!" Red instructed the two prisoners; "Snarf, snarf"
As the two men were released, Ratchet returned from Starbucks sans Rango's soy-chai no water latte; "Who the heck are these two guys Red!? You trying to double cross me!?" The thought of cleaning up and assisting Red for another hour infuriated Ratchet. He pulled out what could only be described as the smallest "girly gun" anyone has ever seen and shot Buck right between the eyes. He then jammed two Trans Trem bars into Johnny Turbos neck killing him instantly, as he turned towards Red ready to fire another shot, the leprechaun pounced on him and wrestled him to the floor.
Rango and Sergio looked at each other and decided it was time to make a break for it. They ran through the door Ratchet had left open and dashed into the alley.
"Sweet! somebody left the keys in this BMW, let's get out of here!" Rango said.
"Oh hell no" Sergio replied.
"What? We have to get out of here!" Rango was frantic; "Why not?" to which Sergio said
"Well first off; it's BLUE! I hate blue! Second; I'm not being seen driving around town in a BMW, it's a Nazi sled!"
"Who cares?! We are running for our lives here! Besides, I think that with the two of us having painted toe nails, it might be a little to "fay" for us to be seen in a Honda Element. My god! it even has dolphin stickers on the bumper!" Rango blurted.
While the two of them argued about the relative merits of how what kind of car you drive relates to how you represent yourself to the world, inside Red got the better of Ratchet and took one big bite devouring Ratchet's whole head!
Red turned to Buck who was surprisingly not dead and said; "Look at what you did Buck! The deal is still on, you let them get away and now you owe me one hundred autographed guitars!"
"Okay Red, give me a sharpie and I'll do it! I would never let my fans down." Buck signed the first guitar and showed it to the angry troll; "You idiot! You just ruined a guitar! Who wants anything with your signature on it? Red fumed.
"But I thought that was the deal? I'll sign the guitars for you and you can sell them."
"No you halfwit! I need to sell autographed guitars that people WANT!" Red spat in bucks face; "Now sign 'em like this: E-R-I-C (space) C-L-A-P-T-O-N"
Buck was in a hell designed specifically for him.
Ratchet's .22 short was a gift from a male stripper he had been friendly with at Circus Circus. Not only was it small, it fired .22 shorts, subsonic ones at that.
Still, Dharma had taken one right between the eyes. It was fortunate that Buck had been wearing his 80s rock star sunglasses with the heavy metal bridge. The .22 had dented the glasses square in the middle of the bridge and just ever so lightly cut Dharmas skin between his eyebrows. This severe ouchie was now just barely dripping small drops of blood on the guitars as he signed "E-R-I-K (space) K-L-A-P-T-O-N."
The can of Spotted Dick slowly came to rest. "CUT!" yelled Nutzhall. "Alright, now the rest of you get in there and let's finish our 'Harlem Shake' video. It'll be the only one out there featuring a can of Spotted Dick."
From the corner a voice called out, "Are you sure I can't shake my butt in this video?"
Nutzall put his hand on his forehead in frustration. "For the last time, Spalted Dick, no. Where's the frigging joke in that?"
Twenty miles west of Toronto, a beard twitched. The flamed maple phone rang. The Beard picked up the hot line. "I heard that" was all the caller said before hanging up.
IF this is ever about to contain a certain hat-wearing foreigner, I DON'T wish to be referred to as "Prince Albert". Thanks in advance.
"What?" asked Sergio.
"I said dibs." the muffled sound of Rango's voice said from the backseat of Buck Dharma's Honda Element complete with dolphin stickers; "there's a Siggy in this car!"
"Color?" said Sergio
"Kind of a yellowy-green." Rango replied.
"Keep it. Remember what that chick Linda said at the nail salon? About "the one" guitar that could send Red back to where he came from, I wonder who would know where to find that guitar?" asked Sergio
Rango pulled the remaining red hairs out of his iPhone and started clicking away; " Yes, I'm wondering if anybody there speaks english? You do? Alright, this may seem like an odd question but.... does there happen to be an elderly american man eating there that ordered an angelfish sandwich with lettuce on toast? There is ? May I please speak to him? Thanks."
Sergio took time out of plucking his eyebrows in the rear view mirror to ask; "Who are you talking to?"
"Some diner in Minsk. I googled the closest one to the oldest library in town, I'm trying to reach Ell Chefman but he has gone missing again. Every time he does this his wife emails me saying Ell is having another one of his "Episodes". He usually believes he is a vampire, werewolf, secret agent or some combination of the three, his wife says she never new dementia could be so expensive! She just emailed explaining that Ell has spent $8900 on a helicopter ride to Minsk, oh wait.... Hello? Ell? What'cha doing buddy? Oh, I'm sorry... Well I didn't realize secret agent vampires ate angelfish...... No, I wasn't aware of that...... Oh, really?...... How interesting. Let me ask you a question Ell... Ahh, French Revolution you say?..... No I did not know that the Egyptians have a Stargate to alternate dimensions...
Rango had learned that when conversing with Ell... it's best to just let him run his course. While Ell became tried and took a few bites of his angelfish sandwich to regain his oratory prowess Rango asked of the korean myth of "the one" guitar. After twenty minutes Rango said; " Well thanks a lot Ell, be sure to not call your wife... she's pissed at you."
"Well what did he say?" Sergio asked.
" I can't say really, but I believe it was a mixture of the movies "Kill Bill", "Indiana Jones and the temple of Doom", "Leprechaun 4 in space", and "Skyfall"... The only things that he repeated several times was the phrase; Hattori Hanzo and Squirt.... I wonder what that means?" Rango relied.
"It means we are going to Colorado." Sergio said.
"Colorado? What's in Colorado?" asked Rango.
"Hattori Hansomatic is in Colorasta...... Look! a Two-Fer!!!"
The two men glanced at the strip mall and noticed a $40 mani-pedi advertisement; good today only with complimentary beverages.
In unison they cheered: "Appletini's!!!!!!!!"
In his secret laboratory, Bennett continued to work feverishly. Having grown tired of voodoo dolls and the like, he was now working on the "metrosexual ray". As he dialed the various knobs and set the parameters, he was locked in on both Sergio and Rango.
The ray emitted it's ultraviolet and infrared beams.....they found their target.
Thousand of miles away, Sergio and Rango stopped discussing the pros and cons of 45 caliber vs. 357. They halted their conversation about the best ales and which whiskey was made according to the best standards of brewing.
Suddenly, they dove into the glove compartment. Sergio began plucking his eyebrows, and Rango was focused on ordering an "appletini".
"My, your nose hairs look lovely" Rango commented.
"Thanks" said Sergio...."You chest hairs are shaved to perfection"
Back in the lab, Bennett grinned a malevolent grin. Voodoo dolls??? Blech. this was MUCH more fun.
His joy was interupted by a voice from upstairs....
"Bennett....What the hell are you doing down there again? Playing with yourself??"
"Ginger...I'll be upstairs soon...I'm almost done"
"Get your ass up here now! There is some crazy man on the phone who insists on talking to you."
"Are you kidding? I told those Indian Pharmacies NEVER to call the house!"
"No...it's some nut named Ell Chefman...he is insisting he needs to speak to you. Something about turning to dust, and being very old. And something about Pampers".
"I don't know the guy....hang up on him!"
With that, Bennett turned off his hearing aid, shut off the world around him, and went back to his diabolical schemes.
He began to set the dials to hone in on his next target in Colorado. Ginger's screams from upstairs were muffled by Bennett's deafness, and the Airedale began to howl with a wail that was reminiscent of a California Lawyer attempting to measure the tolerances of his guitar's volume and tone knobs.
Over 2,500 miles away, in Colorado, the infamous "Hattori Hansomatic" was bored. Having singlehandedly overcome all the laws outlawing a certain weed in his home state, while wearing shorts, he was looking for a new challange.
Suddenly, his "Hattori 7th sense" began to tingle....."Who is this Rango....and Sergio...I feel the force closing in....we are destined to have an apocalyptic meeting shortly" he said to himself, only outloud startling his wife and daughter who looked up, only to see his fleet form racing down into his secret Hattori Cave.
Deep inside, he knew that the next few days would be life-changing. He went into his closet to rummage for his costume...he knew he'd be needing it soon.
"Who were you talking to?"
"Well the first call was from Rango. He may yet prove useful if I can get him out of the nail salons." Chefman said between bites of his sandwich. He was a little disappointed in the fare at the cafe in Minsk. They didn't really have a proper angelfish sandwich. His delicate palate had identified the operative layer of the sandwich in his hand as Azov Tadpole Goby, a native Russian species that lived in the Sea of Azov in the near-estuary zone of the Kuban River. It was passable as a sandwich meat, but it certainly wasn't angelfish.
Lena furrowed her eyebrows at Chefman. Firstly because he was making funny faces at his sandwich and secondly because of her appetizer. On Chefman's recommendation, she had swallower two Siamese fighting fish whole, alive and in short order. "It's the only way to enjoy Betas," he had told her. Now, somewhere near her gall bladder, she could feel the two fish duking it out and she slowly digested them to death. She gulped her vodka-fizz in an effort to either speed their demise or inebriate them at the very least.
"The other call was to Oppraman," said Chefman. "I needed to take his temperature on this whole thing. He usually takes my calls if only to argue with me, but he didn't take it this time. I fear he may be up to a bit more than his usual shenanigans." Just then Chefman remembered seeing a 'Hail to the Leprechaun' poster in Bennett's workshop the one time he had visited so long ago. The bite of 'angelfish' sandwich nearly caught in his throat.
"Why are we just waiting around here any way? What's next?"
"We are waiting for a package from Maryland. I can't eat any more of this goby, let's head for the post office."
Paul set the wormy mahogany guitar on the desk of the new hire. Inside, hidden in the control cavity was a small jaw trap Paul had fashioned from stainless steel. Each jaw had razor sharp teeth that interlocked upon closing. He had designed the mechanism on a swivel to pop out whenever an E# was played. Not an F, mind you, but an E# - pay attention to the key signature!
He was almost late getting the device to the mole's desk because of the other special project he had whipped up on short notice. Earlier in the day, he had received a call from Ell Chefman. It was not a pleasant call, but Paul agreed that it was important enough. He had spent most of the morning modifying a Starla to work as a metal detector. If you held a Cb chord at the 9th fret, the mechanism inside changed to the metal detection mode and you could hear the output easily through headphones plugged into the output jack. The fingering is the same as a B maj chord at the 9th fret, but you had to be thinking in the key of Cb. Again, the key signature is everything.
Paul knew that only accomplished studio musicians like Chefman could even think in Cb, so there was very little danger of the Starla being used in this capacity by anyone else. That fingering would yield a run of the mill B maj for anyone else. Paul had boxed up the guitar and overnighted it to Chefman care of general delivery, Minsk. He had included an old pair of Sennheiser headphones vintage 1980. To Chefman, they would appear positively modern.