Whatever Happened to the Brick Man Part 2: The Inconvenience of Existence. Dude, we really have to come up with better titles. That was embarrassing... I can't explain, you would not understand. This is not how I am... It's ok. Shhhh... There is no pain, you are receding...

Before Brick had a moment to react to the crowd of angry protesters that had gathered outside his home away from home in the middle of nowhere, they began to tear everything to pieces. Down went his mobile recording studio, as well as his brooding room, er... living room. Brick by brick the protesters tore apart the edifice until nothing was left but a hollow imprint in the ground, an empty cavity serving as the only piece of proof that there once was a Brick that lived there.

As the protesters began to disperse, the ever annoying mastermind G Mod emerged from behind the hemp covered masses. With rage in his heart and vengeance clenched in his tired fists, Brick charged at the record producer with all his might, but he failed to make even a dent. The megalomaniacal G Mod grabbed the frustrated guitarist's fist and used it to send Brick flying face first into the mud beneath his feet.

From beneath the Brick shaped indent in the brown dirt, Brick muttered, "Of course. Nothing's gone right for me thus far, why should I win now?"    

 G Mod, amused by Brick's insistence on self pity merely, laughed as he watched him rise to his feet and shake the grass from his face. "We've wasted enough time with this malarkey already, boy."

"Oh god, now he decides to be topical? Why don't you just leave me alone, old man."

"I can't do that anymore, Brick. You've been alone too long. Your mind is beginning to rot."

"Haha funny. Is this going to be another speech about how I'm sooo ignorant and how you know everything about the entirety of existence?"

"Sarcasm is an ugly shade of human communication; I was never a big fan."

"I'm sure. You never were a fan of anything I ever did."

"Brick, you've been trapped in your own cathedral of ideas for too long..."

"Wait a minute...Slate mentioned that in the very first webisode (Editor's note: *we had to fire our editor due to a Ponzi Scheme they had tried to start but failed miserably*), before everything became goofy and self-caricature."

"For all his bluster and faux rockstar posturing, Slate had a few moments of clarity, and that was one of them."

"What the hell do you mean by a cathedral of ideas?"

"You hide behind your so-called music, your novel... anything but face the rest of the world. You even went into seclusion for christsakes.  You've walled yourself off and no it's time for you to face what you've become. It's about time for you to put aside all of these unnecessary distractions and characters that you've held onto for so long..."

"What did you do?"

"What I had to..."

 "WHAT. DID. YOU. DO?!"

"I merely removed some unnecessary parts of the equation in order to balance things out again."

"Where's Tigerman?" Brick demanded as he tried to grab G Mod's collar but missed."

 "I showed him the error of his ways."

"You bastard!"

"He was a crutch! He made you weak with his own weakness."

"And Shadow?"

"You mean the ape responsible for me being able to keep tabs on you this whole time? He's gone along with the cowardly tiger and the Slate Man to meet Oz the Gweat and Tewwible."

"..."

"You're missing the point."

"Am I? Then what is it?"

"They were the unnecessary parts of you that you didn't need any more. It's time to leave your shelter, grow up and join the rest of the human race. This charade has lasted long enough. Let go of your childish dreams. We're going home "

With a swift flick between the eyes, G Mod disabled Brick and set into motion his end game. Brick fell slowly to the ground. As his body began to lose all feeling, he finally began to feel at peace, even as he knew that something terrible awaited him at the other end of this fall. There was no going back this time.

Whatever Happened to the Brick Man? Part 1: Me and the Devil Blues

As every structure begins with a single brick, so does our story. Well, technically first you have to make sure the ground is stable, build a foundation, and then... Yeah, yeah. Whatever! Mr. Architect over here. Mr. Architect? What is this some bad 90's stand-up comedy bit? What do you know about 90's stand-up comedy...you didn't even exist yet! Touché, sir.   Where was I? I believe you were starting the blog post with a bad metaphor. Oh yes, right.

We began this tale with Brick and we shall end it with Brick. It is, after all, his story, even if it doesn't always seem like that's the case. In case you didn't know, Brick was an aspiring musician with stars in his eyes and that one guitar. Foreigner jokes aside, it was that guitar that stood by him since the beginning... of the story.

Brick was a simple child, too simple. Level 1-1 simple. He was a decent student (when he wasn't challenging his teachers to music showdowns... long story). He spent half of his youth in a daydream and the other half wishing he was in a daydream. He was never a good looking fellow. He was so ugly, but that's okay, cause so are you. He always had problems with authority (which explains why he got kicked out of boot camp.)

It was Brick's avid desire to be creative that served him well throughout his life but it was also his greatest weakness. Oh jeez, we're talking about weaknesses. In fact his overactive imagination had been the source of 99% of Brick's problems. (See what we did there?)  If there were anything that could have saved Brick, it would been the ability to wake up and face what's in front of him, but that was never something he could do.

It was this condition that made Brick very susceptible to G Mod's offer of fame and fortune, despite the fact that G Mod's legendary music studio was just someone's basement in California. If he wasn't so trapped in a waking mix of dream and reality, Brick never would have signed his life away to pursue something as fleeting as fame, as petty as money.

As Brick stood on the porch of the MFUJ retreat, staring into the restless grimaces of the Occupy protesters that had come for him, he was finally facing the aftermath of following the relentlessly evil G Mod down a road of insatiable greed.

Brick had sold his soul and his friends, his delusions, had paid the ultimate price. And soon, soon it would be his turn to face the harsh light of day. For now it was just him, the devil and an angry mob out for his hide.