Never cheer before you know who's winning. So true, so true. Huh? Oh we're supposed to come up with a blog title? Oh no. I was not prepared... uhhh, what's in a name?

In yet another somewhat dramatic (or at least not primarily comedic) installment, we return to the MFUJ offices that have now become nigh unrecognizable after G Mod’s rapid and seemingly unnecessary remodeling job. That’s ok; the readers didn’t know how it looked like to begin with. You don’t exacty describe settings that well, genius. Argh…the interior became much more corporate and less grungy/cozy. Good enough? I’m trying to picture what you’re saying but it's way too vague… Imagine the snootiest modern office building you’ve been to but subtract the billion dollar budget. Does that help you picture it? Nope. You’re giving me nothing. Literally nothing. Are you going to be one of those people who overuses the word ‘literally’? And are you going to be one of those people who says ‘those people’? Hmmm? You just used it yourself. Well, I uh… Exactly. Just get to the conversation scene already. Fine.

Brick was sitting by himself having come back recently from a long road trip. Of course he was being all moody and contemplative as usual, especially after reading a poor review for the band’s cover of How Soon Is Now?  (originally by the Smiths.) “Is this Hell?” With wit like that, I’m surprised the person isn’t pitching a sitcom pilot to ABC rather than trolling youtube for obscure covers of Smiths songs.

Shadow emerges from the kitchenette after having consumed his second powdered protein shake of the evening. Seeing the distraught leader of the band, the drummer walked over and began conversing with him. Began conversing with him? Shhh. They’re talking.

“…you, Brick?”

“What? Oh, hey Shadow. I’m uh, I don’t know, I’m just thinking about stuff.”

“Really?” asked the sage ape percussionist (Not our words. That’s from his business card.)

“Time keeps on slipping…”

“Have you been listening to Tigerman’s Steve Miller albums again?”

“No… I just, I see all the people I knew when I was growing up and the kinds of lives they’re leading. Climbing the corporate ladder, travelling abroad to help educate the less fortunate, going out to clubs, getting married…What have I accomplished? There’s the band, but we’re awful. Have you listened to us?”

“Oh, this again…”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to complain. It’s just that I thought things were going so well for us these past two years. Most of the stuff we recorded for Dead Falcon Rising was some of our best material yet and the best part was that we didn’t have G Mod hanging on our necks like an albatross.”

“Yes, having G Mod return into our lives was most…unfortunate.”

“Can you believe that song he had Slate record the other day? Refined Sugar? Damn…”

Brick stands up, his feet still raw from running around the night before. He caught a brief glimpse of his gut and mug in one of the mirrored panels that G Mod had installed and winced at his reflection. Shadow, cautiously trying to avoid the subject of the much maligned (and rightfully so) manager of the band, shifted the conversation to something else.

“How about that book of yours? You finally finish it?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, I’d love to read it.”

“Yeah, right,” Brick sighed with a melancholic inflection.

“No really. I would. How many pages is it?”

“Over 500.”

“What?”

“Yeah…”

“Wow…that’s quite the feat…”

“I know.”

“Are you happy with how it turned out?”

“Actually, after two years of working on it I realized that, much like our music, my writing is not meant for a mass audience. I put all my effort into these lost causes and what happens? I end up nowhere while some lazy jackass with a six-pack becomes a star for some ridiculous reality show and gets a book deal for some lowly ghostwriter to work on for him. There’s really no reason for me to go on like this. You hear the news? G Mod is planning on making Slate the new bandleader. Even after that whole scandal with the packages and the tweetage. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother. I burned my book so no one will read it. Everything is getting so dark and distorted that’s it getting hard to make any effort at all…”

“It’s not that bad, Brick.”

“I can’t even freaking play! Four years and I still play like a robot on low power. It’s true what everyone’s been saying. I am an embarrassment. All hail Brick Man, King of Fools!”

He does a quick salute before recognizing the futility of his joke. He tears off his maroon falcon bandana.

“I’m a joke. Did you see that commercial for dairy queen? They stole my whole image and made it a punchline. I’d sue but they’d drain our bank account with all the legal fees.”

“Brick, you’ve just got to ease up. Things will work out. You can’t be so negative about things all of the time. No one ever got anywhere by being negative and sour. Clean yourself together, get a job and you’ll be back on the right track.”

Brick’s brow sinks from its heightened position into a relaxed low, brutally calm.

“I don’t even know if it’s worth it anymore. I just want to record that last song for the album and be done with it. There’s no point in keeping MFUJ around any longer. I’m no good at it and I guess I’m sick of pretending everything is alright. Slate can have the band. I just wish I knew how G Mod was able to get to us like he did.”

“Who knows” Shadow whispers, his arms folded behind him. Brick resigns back to his own quarters while Shadow breathes out a deep sigh. He could barely keep his hands from shaking the whole time. It is becoming more and more difficult to keep hiding his allegiance to G Mod from the other band members, especially Brick. He can see his friend spiraling down but he has to keep silent or risk massive retribution from the malicious band manager. He could only hope that Brick would not implode before the album was complete.