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Whither Evel Karaoke?

The Story of a Mock 'n' Roll Band

The story continues...

Chapter 3: Potty Like It's 1999--The Birth of EK

Fast-forward many years, to so-called "Real Life." Submitted for your approval: A man trapped in a 9-to-5 world that he never made, a world where time and space are one and the same, and no one can unclench their teeth...a twisted nightmare of a funhouse-mirror landscape where the sound of endless top 40 drivel is virtually inescapable. Hour after hour, day after day, week upon week upon month upon month...cruel and unusual employment, to say the least. And a man—even a mutant—even a superior mutant—can take only so much...

Came the fateful day when the limit was breached, and all safeties failed. Who knows which hopelessly lame-ass pop tart finally pushed him over the edge? In the end, it doesn't matter how it happened—only that it happened. Something inside him snapped, and a tidal wave of pre-natal memory washed over him. In the blink of an eye, he relived the traumatic "Night of the Elevator Music" and was shaken to his very core.

Under such circumstances, the choice is simple: Get postal, or get a microphone. Fortunately for society, he already had a microphone—and a pretty fair notion of how he was gonna use it. Picking up pen and paper, he began the blueprints for his revenge...

...and then...what? He had the means and the motive; he'd played his way through a dozen-odd bands since his school days and was ready to turn his talents to the subversion of the classic hits status quo. But, in the immortal words of Regis Philbin: "I'm only one man!"And one man is merely dismissed as a crank, a crackpot (because there are no visionaries anymore).

But what if the lone nut has...a follower? Yes, what if there are two of them?

One stick in the spokes is a fluke.

Two is a trend. ("Two men make a movement; that's their tough shit." —Karl Marx)

He needed a partner. A comrade. A right-hand man. A mouthpiece. Someone to bluff his way through the vocals, so he wouldn't have to sing the reams of words he'd written while playing the guitar and and the keyboard...

...and he knew just the man for the job.

Previous chapter *** Next chapter--Chapter 4

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