The Secret of the Tigerman: Well, People are Crazy and Times are Strange... I used to care, but things have changed

"Is this not what you expected to see?" asked the sinister G Mod as Tigerman, the former MFUJ bassist, looked in to the mirror to discover that he was not in fact a six foot tiger creature but just a man in a cheap tiger costume.

"What the...?" pondered the perplexed former feline.

"You didn't really think that a six foot tall anthropomorphic tiger creature could come into existence just like that, did you?"

"I..."

"ugh..." sighed the exhausted record producer as he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "It's not that complicated. You had a very strong connection to brick... it's no surprise that underneath the mask, you look just like him."

"but..."

"You are him... a part of him at least. You are his optimism, his innocence, his hope. Is it any wonder that you manifested as his favorite animal, something majestic yet ferocious that could hold back the negativity..."  

"Brick split..."

"Into several pieces. I've already taken care of his baser instincts when I banished that loudmouthed attention hog, Slate, to a distant flashback."

"And now you're going to get rid of me?" asked the ex-tiger as he looked at the harsh manipulator extraordinaire.

In a rare twist, G Mod responded by simply stating, "No," before sprinting behind the silent Shadow, the drummer (who we haven't forgotten about.)

"You see, you and Tattoo boy aren't the only fragments of Brick. There's also monkey man here. You see, he's Brick's conscience, the part of him that can tell the difference between right and wrong. When Brick came to me, he was far from whole. He had no moral compass. It had been reborn as this ball of fur. And how this creature has ended up betraying him over and over again without his knowledge... is oh so sweet."

G Mod removed Shadow's hood and gorilla face to reveal yet another brick Doppelganger. G Mod then grabbed the drummer's throat and clenched it. "I've put a lot of work in over the years to get to this point. The fun and games stage is officially over." With a quick action, G Mod crushed Shadow's windpipe before hurling the drummer out the window and towards the mysterious tower outside.

"Shadow..." mumbled the bassist formerly known as Tigerman as he watched his old friend dissolve into the giant metaphor.

"That felt refreshing...." G Mod remarked as if a part of his own soul were cleansed.

"The Id is gone. So is the Super Ego. And now, it's your time to go, Ego."

"I thought that you said that I was innocence..."

"What I meant was that you are a faulty ego. You weren't able to keep Slate and Shadow in balance with one another. They both turned their backs on Brick."

"But you made them do all those things," retorted the frustrated.

G Mod smirked. "The decisions were theirs to make. Slate was allowed to thrust the band in his direction and shadow confined you within my grasp, as you would put it. You failed at your job to keep them tied to... I gave you a job here in order to snap you out of the realm of imagination and back to..."

G Mod pointed at the tower.

"The tower?" asked Tigerman.

"Reality..." said G Mod as he leaped in for the finish. Tigerman was broken and tossed onto the tower with an indifferent expression on his once vividly animated face.

"That just leaves one thing to take care of," G Mod said as he wiped his hands and headed for the exit from the office building (which was slowly fading out of existence).

 

 

 

 

Sometimes the worst betrayal is the one you never saw coming. I put my trust...in the fact that this blog would not be so melodramatic. I'll try to not fade away.

And as former MFUJ front man, Slate Man, wandered around the sloppy coke-fueled masses amongst the CBGB's crowd (Don't fact check us, it's a little late in the game  for that, don't you think?), he noticed something strange happening. the louder and faster that Super Mario and the Koopa Troopas played, the more he felt his very being affected. He looked around the crowd once more and, to his horror, discovered that almost all of the members shared at least one part of his appearance. A tattoo here, a spiky hairdo there. In fact, one terrible certainty was becoming clear. Slate was a composite of everyone at this club on this forsaken night in the past.

Slate struggled to figure out what was going on as the band began playing a new tune, A Means to an End.

Slate tried to figure out what was going on but the more he attempted to think, the more he realized that he was incapable of going anywhere past surface levels emotions. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had delved into his own mind for anything, as if he had never had a mind of his own.

The frustration built up inside him as the crowd became more and more frantic in its movements until everything stopped and Slate was staring at a young G Mod eye to eye.

"Having difficulty thinking your way out of this, moron?"asked the pretentious future producer.

"What the hell is going on? I was always loyal to you... why?"

"You've served your purpose."

"But... how is all of this happening? I have no control and... how are you manipulating..."

"You were never meant to have an power of your own. You were always meant to be an extension of my will."

"Your will?"

"You have no thoughts of your own that I have not planted in you."

"What?"

"I knew you wouldn't understand. You're not a person. You're a pastiche, a collage, a joke. You're made up of such disparate impulses and influences that you could never exist as an actual person. Not a sane one. You're pure Id. There is no depth to you. And now, there's no need for you."

"But why here?"

"This is a memory. One that you'll never know."

Slate looked at his normally tattooed arms and noticed his features slowly being absorbed by the cliché punks from hence his existence was spawned. And as G mod smiled, the unenviable Slate Man was wiped clean from existence and faded away to the cavernous void in the mind where bad ideas disappear to.