It was one of those days at the MFUJSF offices. You know. One of those days. Brick was tuning his guitar while listening to 1977’s Animals on vinyl, Tigerman was in the kitchen making a dish of gazelle tartar, Shadow was composing another book of faux intellectual gibberish that he planned to sell for a tidy profit and Slate was, well, Slate was giggling as he was leafing through the latest issue of Maxim. No one was speaking to one another. The tension in the air was like butter: you could cut it with a knife and too much of it would make your thighs all fat and stuff. Brilliant writing, moron.
Brick was the first to break out of the silence. He turned off the record player, put his guitar down and called for a band meeting. Shadow put down his pen and paper, Tigerman put a plastic cover over his dish to keep it safe from the flies in the office and Slate…he kept on ogling the models in his magazine, I mean reading the fine articles by the amazing staff writers. Shadow slapped the magazine out of his hands and dragged him over to the meeting area by pulling his ear.
With his fellow band members all assembled, Brick began speaking in actual dialogue as opposed to implied dialogue.
“Guys, I know we’ve been going through a bit of a rough patch…”
“You could say that again” Slate interjects with a smirk.
“Really?” Shadow asks, his brow all furrowed and whatnot. “You wanna be that guy?”
“What guy?”
“Why must we always fight?” Tigerman ponders as he checks his OK Cupid profile on his smartphone and finds that no woman is interested in a six foot tall bass playing tiger.
“Enough!” Brick shouts, silencing everyone. “C’mon. We’re not enemies here. We’re a band!”
“Don’t see much of a difference…” Slate replies checking his nails for dirt.
“We have a few more songs left to record for this album and I think it’s our strongest work to date. We’ve all come through with our original compositions here. Shadow. Sugar in the Raw and E-String Requiem were awesome.”
“Thankee.”
“Tigerman. Overkill and Take the Elevator are amazing. I’m sure Tigerman’s Boogie/Shadow’s Waltz will be great when it’s finally recorded.”
Tigerman waves his tail happily. “I’m still trying to figure out a great arrangement for it in the studio.”
“I’m sure it will be just fantastic.”
“You’ve been great too, Brick.” Shadow says with reverence. “I Ain’t Dead Yet! was our biggest single ever. Nightmare Before the Dawn and Drag Me to My Grave were enjoyable as well.”
“Aw shucks…”
“What about me?” Slate asks.
“What about you?” Tigerman asks as he checks facebook for any new friend invites, only to discover that he had actually lost a friend but couldn’t for the life of him figure out who it was.
“What about my songs?”
“Well…I suppose I Don’t Need a Thing (‘Cuz I’m Numb to the World) was alright.”
“Cool. It was based on me. I’ve lost most of the feeling in my hands and feet.”
“Right…”
“And?”
“And what?”
“What about my other songs?”
“Hmmm…” Shadow ponders. “Love is a Riot was well…a riot, in the worst possible sense of the word. Critics hated it. They said it lacked structure and you made it too noisy.”
“Duh! Love is a messy force of nature. It’s not some saccharine feel good ballad on commercial radio. It’s sloppy and it can hurt and it can get very intense. I poured my heart into that song.”
“Maybe you should keep it to yourself next time. People thought we were on drugs because of you. I knew we shouldn’t have wasted our one free focus group on that rubbish.”
“Oh yeah? Like E-String Requiem was SO great! That was like three or four different songs in 4 minutes.”
“You imbecile! You have no appreciation for dynamic compositions.”
“Quit it you two! Hey, Tigerman. Could you help me out here?”
“I’m sorry, Brick. I was just checking to see if anyone started following me on twitter.”
“No one wants to follow a freaky cat creature,” Slate says with unapologetic harshness.
Tigerman switches off his phone, clasps his paws together and quietly weeps.
“What’d you have to do that for?” Brick asks as he pats Tigerman’s head.
“I’m sorry. I guess I couldn’t sit and listen to this compliment-fest you three were dishing out and no one could say one nice thing about any of my songs. I don’t even get any credit for Dead Falcon Rising. I came up with the arrangement and you just followed my lead, but of course you get all the credit, right Brick?”
“Slate…”
“No…” He declares as he stands up, his hands extended. “It’s always the same bullshit with you, isn’t it? I don’t even know why I stuck around for a fifth album with you guys. You don’t even like me.”
“That’s not true…” Shadow says with feigned sincerity.
“What are we even doing here? We’re a band! Why the hell are we blogging?”
“Because people like to read about our misadventures and rants?” Tigerman whispers with trepidation.
“This is all so stupid. Like Brick and his pointless ‘moonage daydream’ story. What the hell was that even about? Going through some random maze?”
“Hey…that was a real dream…”
“Who cares? You can go pyramid yourself for all I care! And you, Shadow, with your ridiculous haikus and don’t even get me started on lovesick kitty over here. You think any woman wants to feel that thick fur coat of yours up against their smooth skin? No way, pal.”
“Like your inane rants on trivial news related stories are that insightful…” Shadow counters.
“You know what, screw you all! I don’t care that G Mod’s coming here. He seemed to be the only one who ever believed in me anyway.”
Brick stands up and tries to reason with Slate. “You don’t mean that. G Mod is a manipulative SOB and doesn’t care about anything more than filling his own pockets.”
“I don’t care anymore. Let him come. This whole independent Sans Frontiers, or however you say it, was a mistake.”
“Slate…” Brick says as he grabs his brother’s shoulder. This only enrages Slate who punches Brick, knocking him down to the floor.
“Let me know when G Mod shows up” Slate says as he walks out of the building.
Tigerman and Shadow lift Brick off the floor and set him down on the sofa. Tigerman runs to the kitchen for an icepack as Shadow makes sure Brick is still conscious.
“He…never listens, does he?”
“No…”
“I think we’re in trouble.”
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