Chapter 43: Club Sandwich With a Side of DEATH, and Coleslaw
As Jimmy Iovine listened to my demo tape, a coke-fueled grimace crossed his face. Eventually, he slammed his headphones down in coke-fueled disgust.
“What the fuck is this shit?!” he bellowed. “This autotune crap is over! It’s not even cool ironically anymore! I won’t even ask if you’re bullshitting me, because it’s played-out even as a punchline!”
“Exactly,” I replied, cool-as-fuckly. “It’s so far past being contemporary that I’m not even following trends anymore; I’m anticipating their next go-round. It’ll be a good 15-20 years until that shit is commercially viable again. That’s just how far ahead of the curve I am.”
“HOT CUNT!” Iovine screamed at his subordinates, hurling his coffee mug at them for emphasis. “This man is clearly a visionary genius! Sign him to an 8-ringtone deal immediately!”
Just then, I got a phone call. It was from my faithful manservant, Thunk-Thunk.
“Jimmy, I’ve gotta take this,” I said. “You go ahead and do some blow while your flunkies handle the paperwork. I look forward to your money.”
“Thunk-Thunk! What news, steadfast companion?” I inquired.
“Mister Doc, robot monkeys break-em into house!” Thunk-Thunk replied. “Me whack-em on head with club, THUNK! THUNK! but there too many! Some get-em away with fancy shrink gun!”
“Egads!” I anachronistically exclaimed. “This can only be the work of my hated arch-nemesis, Senator Manly! Hold down the fort, Thunk-Thunk. I’ll get there as fast as my rocket car and Jimmy Iovine’s cocaine can take me!”
When I arrived at stately Awesomeballs Manor, I was greeted by a gruesome scene. My priceless collection of nude statuary was in shambles, and the freezer door was wide open, leaving my priceless collection of fudgesicles liquefied. I silently wept.
“Thunk-Thunk, are you hurt?” I asked, before quickly adding, “Shut up, you moron, there’s an extra-dimensional vortex opening!”
Just then, the spectral form of Amy Winehouse appeared, beckoning me into the portal. “Doc, you must come with me…”
“Amy Winehouse? Noooo! It’s too soon!” I protested. “This is in really poor taste!”
“Don’t be a bitch,” she insisted. “Embrace the void and know immortality!”
“OK, fuck it.”
Continued in Chapter 44: “How the Hell Did I End Up In Reno, and Where’s My Other Kidney?” or “Fool Me Once, Scott Bakula…”