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.

And so continues the empty filler of the Once Mighty May Day saga. G Mod lectures Tigerman on not believing what he sees is real. Everything might just be a dream within a mind****. Isn't it always? And you? You came from out of nowhere.

G Mod paused, took out a stick of chewing gum from the desk he was sitting in at Tiger International's HQ in *insert city name here*. He was staring down the six foot tall tiger standing across from him. For years, that tiger was someone reluctantly had to accept as a member of the band because, let's face it, in most cases the bassist was expendable. If there was anything G Mod enjoyed more than robbing lead guitarist, Brick, of his future, it was tormenting the bipedal Siberian tiger.

 "So you really thought that life had finally started going your way?" G Mod asked with maximum acerbicity.

"I was starting to..."

"It was a convenient lie to embrace, wasn't it?"

"That people would accept me?"

"And with such open arms. Did it never occur to you that it might all be too good to be true?"

And yes, it did seem too good to be true. That an unaccomplished musician would be given a job interview out of the blue, that always seemed odd to Tigerman, even if he just wanted to blissfully go along for the ride without looking beneath the surface.

"I was hoping..."

"Hoping," the corrupt producer repeated with a churlish grin, "if hopes affected the worl, well, uh, it would be a lot different than the sinkhole it is now."

"You mean...."

"Yes, all the lovely women who seem to flirt with you one minute and then find you odd the next minute, the mentor of yours who is simultaneously proud of and frustrated with you and all that work that you allegedly d everyday... all of t was just a sham."

"But why go through all the trouble? This all seems so elaborate."

"Does it now? I certainly was simple during the planning stages. you know I had a PowerPoint presentation all set up but ol' banana brain over there couldn't plug the l' PC o the projector properly and we've already fired the last competent employee this company had in order to boost my yearly bonus."

"But how? How do you have this much influence in this company?"

"I own it. Won it in a high stakes game of Chutes and Ladders. I bet MFUJ. Good thing the schmuck doesn't listen to rock music or he would have realized the band was broke and awful."

"I still can't believe the last few months were all fake..."

"100% fictional like pro wrestling, justice and the female o..."

"Wrestling is fake?"

"Don't tell me you actually thought that a bunch of misfits got together and decided to settle their petty disagreements like some elaborate Greco-roman soap-opera for dudes?"

"Well, I never watched it, I just thought..."

"Well, you haven't been thinking well this whole time, have you? You actually believed that you were actually a tiger."

"What?!"  Tigerman exclaimed with primal betrayal in his voice.

"Things are about to get really complicated, really fast, tigerboy. You better watch as I show you the truth."

And with one gesture G Mod stripped Tigerman of his feline visage and the truth dawned on Tigerman from out of nowhere...

And as the end approached, there came an image of a wedding...and peroxide in one's hair. Maybe not, but it was a nice day to start again.

As we all know (if one were paying attention to the epic saga that has unfolded recently, that is), Slate had disappeared from the current continuity where G Mod was threatening Tigerman, and Brick was facing certain doom at the hands of an unwieldy group of Occupy protesters. He had instead appeared in NYC during the peak of the punk rock. "Why?" you might ask. Very simple.

It was at the infamous CBGB's club that Slate would make an interesting discovery. Beneath the velvety haze of cigarette smoke and spilled whiskey, there was a young group about to take the stage that would prove a momentous discovery. After a lukewarm introduction from the owner, a balding fifty year old with no business liking this kind of music (we only assume this, don't get on our backs about historical inaccuracies; if that kind of bull matters to you, you're in the wrong place), the young musicians took the stage. Among them were a lead footed drummer with fists of steel and a barrel gut, a slinky bass player whose body was 80% flowing hair and of course the lead guitarist and lead singer, a brash brunette with sunglasses on and a score to settle with the music industry.

"We are Super Mario and the Koopa-troopas!" declared the singer before the drummer began counting them in.

Slate watched in utter amazement, completely ignoring the totally cute Sheena standing next to him (she's a punk rocker, don't you know?)

As the crowd was confused by the band's name (the reference wouldn't make sense until a few years later when Shigeru Miyamoto ripped off the band in order to start a video game empire (Don't quote us on this. Seriously, don't), the band began their set by playing a mellow love song that would later be popularized by a British peroxide aficionado. Here is an idea of what that must have sounded like.

Slate was dumbstruck. He recognized the vocals as those of G Mod, though obviously a much younger version. 'How could this be?' he thought as the band was greeted by mild applause tainted by drunken booing. The band proceeded to switch musical directions as both the bassist and drummer succumbed to musical exhaustion (after just one song) leading to G Mod having to perform a solo guitar performance that would shake the club to its roots. Here's an approximation of what that would sound like.

Needless to say, Slate had a lot to figure out and not a lot of time as his tattoos began fading, Marty McFly style. He brushed Sheena aside, who merely mumbled "Call me, psycho killer..." (could we be more obvious with the band references? Perhaps)

And then....you'll just have to stay tuned for the next ish. (Ish? What's an ish? Issue. Issue? I thought we were describing these as episodes. Who do you think you are, 1960's Stan Lee?)

 Now enjoy a cover version of Super Mario and the Koopa-troopa's song White Wedding as performed by some bloke named Billy Idol.

To My Future Second Wife Part 2: Once upon a time, I could have loved you. Once, Once...

And now resident romantic, Tigerman, addresses his second bride-to-be, whoever she might be. Yes, we haven't hung ourselves yet.

Dear love of mine that seems so far away,

In case you still don't know who I am, I used to play bass guitar in a band called MFUJ, I currently work at a large television network (which I recently found out was just a front for a megalomaniacal record producer with a pocketful of deus ex machina, whatever that is) and I'm also your future husband, although I've been having my doubts.

Sure, there's the whole threat of imminent danger that I'm facing from G Mod and that mysterious tower being built. I'm not sure if that plotline will ever be resolved in a meaningful, non-convoluted mind****, but perhaps everyone's mind needs to be ****ed every now and again. My apologies.

I'm starting to lose hope that we will ever meet. Maybe a 6 foot tall tiger creature had no right to expect to find love not just once but twice. Perhaps it was hubris that has led me to this point. I was so blinded by my expectations for the future that I couldn't see that my present was being pulled away from beneath me. Isn't that just like life or fiction. You get swept up in the little everyday things that you miss the slowburn simmering in the background until you're on fire.

What does this have to do with us? Well, Everything seems so wrong. I haven't even met my first wife and already I have an evil plot looming over me with the possibility of ending my feline existence with a few typed paragraphs.

Is that all it takes to wipe away feelings and emotions and thoughts and ideas...?

Woman of unknown origin, I just want you to know that I would have loved you like the ocean loves the earth. If all I am is but a one-note joke that has gotten twisted up in some massive conspiracy that will most likely end in disappointment (Matrix Revolutions-style), then so be it. I've worked hard to get this far and I'm not about to give up now. And If you're not willing to give up either, then, maybe, you really are my future second wife. The one with whom I finally get it right with.

Love,

Tigerman

Your future husband?

Tigerman is a self-taught bass player as well as a six foot tall anthropomorphic tiger creature. He used to spend all of the time he wasn’t playing music talking about his future wives. Now, he spends every second trapped in a convoluted story arc waiting for release of some kind. No, not that kind of release. Perv.

Long Live rock n roll and convoluted plotlines on blogs that few people read. Well, at least the rock n roll part sounded good. Let's have some of that.

A large tower stood outside the window and just intimidated the hell out of Tigerman. How did he not see this monstrosity built using the best medieval construction equipment and methods earlier? We'll just leave that up to Tigerman's extreme laziness when it comes to exploring a neighborhood. You'd think he'd notice a huge stone tower reaching up to the proverbial heavens would catch his attention, but you know Tigerman. That cat is too focused on the pretty faces at the office to notice the conspicuously perpetual storm clouds hovering twenty yards away from his building or the ominous music that's playing non-stop outside by some overworked ethereal orchestra. Some cats are just too into the ladies'... Um, we've just been informed that next sentence was censored because it objectified women in an attempt to demonstrate that the character being described objectified women. We apologize for the near-fatal turn towards the chauvanistic. We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog, already in progress.

"And that's all I have to say about my plans and well everything you would want know," said the malevolent record producer as he... Wait a minute. We're missing a huge piece of plot, exposition and nudity. HMMM? No nudity? Ok. I'm bored. Rewind please.

"What is going on, G Mod?" asked Tigerman. "It seems like weeks have gone by and still you haven't told me why you're here."

"Kitty, kitty. You never were observant, were you? We put a few attractive pieces of ass in front of you and you lose all focus." Whoa, whoa, whoa. Now how did that get past the censors? Oh, they were looking at her with the ... and the... Whooo... If only I weren't a disembodied voice composed solely of italicized text.

"I've ended the band. I was never interested in the collective whining and musical cacophony that you produced. I was after something much more precious. The future."

"What?" the confused tiger asked as he tried to escape, only to be slammed back down into his seat by the powerful arm of a conflicted gorilla.

"My business is time. I deal with futures. Deal in them... Whatever."

"What does that...?"

"You don't get it? My goal this whole time was to ruin Brick's future."

"Why?"

"It's valuable to me. I had to prevent him from achieving any sort of success or happiness. I sabotaged every move he ever made. I brought back his darker half, Slate, out of captivity by using monkey brain over there. I made sure he got expelled from school, got dishonorably discharged from that military that he tried to join and I ruined his credit score beyond salvation. I gave him no option but to be in the band. The only wild card was you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you deaf cat. Slate would verbally abuse Brick and give him false hopes of the band meaning something before snatching them away and Shadow would undermine Brick's every attempt to be free of the confines of my grasp, but you? You  were the only positive influence he had in his life. He recruited you personally into the band because you reminded him of a simpler time. Before reality tv and self destruction entered his mind. I tried my best to isolate him from you, but you two were inseparable. until I got you this job where you could ogle the ladies all day long."

"You got me the job!"

"Yes, I know the owner...cause, as of now, I am the owner. You see, the former owner was a big believer in pre-twentieth century customs and when I challenged him to a duel, he accepted and I bested him."

"So that's why I haven't seen him..."

"Oh there's more. Like I told you, my business is time. I stole what time that douche had left and channeled it into the tower. You see that's the secret ingredient to my endgame. I profit at expense of others futures. It's a pretty standard business model and it's working for me."

"This all seem like you copied the plot of an episode of Angel."

"Oh! That's where I got the idea. That casino episode with Gunn... or was it Lorne? I had totally forgotten. Thanks for reminding me. You're not totally worthless after all."

"What are you going to do with me?"

"Nothing. you're future is worthless to me. I just needed to isolate you from him so that I could finally extract his future. It's the key to completing the tower. The final brick, if you will."

"Why him?"

"It always had to be him. He was the key to all of this. But he had to be defeated, literally and spiritually before I could achieve my goal. And now those foolish occuppy protesters will end up sacrificing someone who actually could have been their leader just because I told them to."

"No..." murmured Tigerman as the tower flashed a mighty shade of crimson as another person's future was absorbed into the giant metaphor... I mean tower.

    

     

G Mod: "World's worst solo cover artist releases his take on Dreamer Deceiver. I Issue a challenge to all you bored record companies. Try to make something like this sell. What? You chicken? Or Lazy? Yeah, with a capital L."

Before he was threatening Tigerman with the vaguest of threats while a Ronnie James Dio lyric came to life outside the Tiger International office building, G Mod was dismantling the MFUJ band name, one initial at a time. Well, it lost the J awhile ago. (Remember MFU+?) Things were going pretty badly for the band after they filmed the fourth and quite likely final MFUJSF webisode. While Tigerman had escaped the commotion by spending all his time at his new job, Brick was left with the humiliating task of watching his band publically humiliated by its own manager, who had seized control of the band away and tormented Brick with that fact ever since. You can just imagine what sort of graphic, edgy metaphor we could use to describe what it feels like to watch something you've loved and nurtured suddenly and perversely violated by someone while you watch helplessly... ok, we've just been informed that we're being sued by the makers of Law and Order for encroaching on their turf of socially acceptable deplrable programming.

With the sullen drummer, Shadow, standing behind him as a reluctant bodyguard, G Mod delivered a scathing press conference in which he denounced Brick as a "One-dimensional noise merchant who should have sold his soul in order to produce better music. His 'real' soul, not the metaphorical one that I got when he signed onto my record label."

He then pulled out a newly printed single, a rarely seen commodity in the digital era, which featured Brick's first attempt at a cover of Dreamer Deceiver. "Have you ever heard such rubbish in all your life? It's so bad that I've been reduced to using British slang to describe it. It's bloody awful, blood out of your ears...."

Although the cover was produced by Brick's solo band (literally solo), The Falcons, G Mod still controlled at least 99.9 % of all profits made by the band and all its spin-offs and side projects. "Effective immediately," he declared, "MFUJ is now officially dissolved. Anyone except upper management and the blog staff is prohibited from reproducing MFUJ without the prior consent of G Mod himself. As per the contract that Brick had unwittingly signed and lost all his privileges and rights as both a performer and a musician, what this would lead to, we'll delve into later."

For more of g Mod's thoughts, check us out on twitter. Don't you hate it when people beg you to follow them on twitter as a man would try to woo a woman.

"Go ahead and sell the song. I bet none of you record holders would take a chance by selling the song and not going into the red. pretty difficult. You're all just lazy"