It came as naturally as breathing to me. Twirling the sticks in my hand or crashing down on the tom tom was second nature to me. Even the base was like the beat of my heart. I came alive with ever hit, bang, and tap.
Too bad I had no idea what I was doing and it was 2:00 in the morning! Maybe that's why my fat, loud, and angry neighbor was pounding on my door in his underwear.
While I was coming alive playing the drums, my neighbor, The Baron Harkonnen, as I called him, was trying to break down the door, intent on my death. As I always do, I just tuned everything out and played: rut-tut-tut-tut!!
"I'll kill you, you f****** retard!" screamed my fat, angry neighbor. I played on anyway: rut-tat-tut-tat.
"You are less than a human being, worse than Hitler, the lowest form of life! I will strangle you with my bare hands!"
I played on, shaking with fear, but intent on my goal to feel alive, playing the drums: tut-tat-tut-tut-tat-tut-tut-tat!
"When I get inside there, I will knock every tooth out of your face, stick my fingers in your eye sockets and stir and then sit on your head and pass gas after you're dead, you son of a bi***!"
I played louder still, trying to drown out his angry bellowing. I closed my eyes and imagined that I was a drum major in a parade. Then I imagined that I was in a rock band! Yeah! all the chicks would want me then! I smiled and played out my fantasy in my mind. A short time later, I heard more pounding on the door.. louder this time. I tried to imagine that it was all a part of my own beat.. it didn’t really have any rhythm either, but it kinda worked. But then I heard a loud crash.. it didn’t really go very well with what I was trying to do.. but I could improvise.. I continued pounding on my drums with my eyes shut to reality; basking in the applause of my imaginary audience and the hot groupie chicks who'd come to see me play. Then I felt hands on me.. I imagined it was my groupies.. dang those are strong groupies... but then I realized it wasn't groupies at all, but the police! Bummer.. police aren't hot groupies.. and their pants make their butts look flat, and most of em are jerks. You'd think their breath would smell like donuts, but the fat, ugly cop who was yelling in my face had breath like he'd been chewing on dirty socks. Clearly these guys had no appreciation for the art of percussion. "Do you have any idea what time it is?!" Sock Breath bellowed in my face.. that seemed to be the modus operandi tonight. I checked my watch. “It is…. Two-twenty-six and nine seconds.. ten seconds.. eleven seconds..” ‘What are you, retarded?’ the second cop asked.. He wasn’t a groupie either, but he was a lot hotter than the fat, ugly guy. ‘No… I am not retarded…. And the PC term, I believe, is developmentally delayed.. and I am not’ ‘Oh, a smart ass, huh?” said Ugly. “You’re going for a ride down town.” ‘Ooh! Can we get donuts?’ I asked. I love donuts! Then the hot guy whispered something to Ugly. They both looked at me for a few seconds. I think maybe they could see my star quality. Maybe they’d want my autograph! ‘Alright, listen.’ Said the hot cop. ‘You’re gonna have to stop makin all that noise or we’ll have to arrest you for disturbing the peace. Do you understand?” ‘What noise?’ I’d hardly made a sound since they broke down my front door. Then I corrected myself and whispered very quietly.. ‘oh, sorry... I understand… hey, wanna hear me play another drum solo?’
Just then, my ugly neighbor's crack smoking wife broke into the house and rushed toward me with a sledge hammer. I rushed to write this down, before she could kill me... AAAAAAAAAAAARGH! I'm not dead yet. If I were dead, I couldn't have written that. I'm lying here dying, though. O.K. I think I'm about dea
Hey, I'm the "ugly neighbor's crack smoking wife." I just killed the author of this story. I enjoyed it. He was worse than Hitler, literally.
Suddenly I found myself gasping which confused me because I thought the afterlife would be more pleasant. But it wasn't. I was gasping for air as something in my body began to bulge my dead sternum. The bulging became frantic and in a massive fit of pain and ecstasy a set of evil drumsticks popped out of my chest. I grabbed the slimy blood stained wooden sticks and began to violently hit my head banging out the drum part of Metallica's Enter Sandman. I was in heaven as I could feel the protrusions of my face being bashed into my head. My dead energy faded out again and my corpse went limp again. I gulped my last swallow of air before I faded into a twice dead soul.
'that was weird' I thought. I was waiting for the mythical tunnel of light, but it didnt come. 'Bummer' I thought; but then I opened my eyes and realized I was still alive... I must have been hallucinating, as there was no gaping hole from which any drumsticks might have protruded. I tried to get to my feet. My head was pounding and blood was caked over my face. I found my notebook and saw that my ugly neighbor's wife had written on it.. hey! I am nothing like Hitler! I wondered where those cops had gone while my neighbor's crack-head wife was beating me with a sledge-hammer. Then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the sliding glass door and saw that my brain was bulging out of my broken skull. 'Dang, that's gonna leave a mark.' I thought as I stuffed my bulging brain back into my skull. Then I found my drumsticks.. one of them was broken.. must have been the stupid crack-head.. I found a wooden spoon in the kitchen. ‘That oughta work’ I thought, proud of my resourcefulness. Then I went back to playing my drum solo. I sounded better than ever with a gaping head-wound! Every drummer should get a gaping head-wound to help them play better! Just as I was getting to the good part, the ugly cop with the sock breath came through the door. He looked really weird… you know that same expression your dad gets when you accidentally walk in on him when he’s sitting on the crapper.. only less embarrassed. Then the hot cop (no homo.. by this I just mean he’s less ugly and fat than the fat, ugly cop.. just to clarify.. so I’ll just call him non-ugly cop from here on out) okay.. so anyway.. then the non-ugly cop walked in and had the same startled expression as ugly cop. I could tell that they were really impressed by my drum solo. Non-ugly cop had what looked like a plastic sleeping bag. I guess he thought he’d have to camp out to wait for tickets to my concert.
Ugly cop and non-ugly cop looked at each other, then at me. "Zombieeeeeeee!" They cried. Then, simultaneously, as though choreographed, each pulled a 9mm semi-automatic pistol from his holster and emptied their 15 clip magazines into my head. Dang.. I hate when that happens.
I'm quite sure ugly copy was not only out of shape and ugly but he was also a poor shot. His shots mostly missed me head except for one that hit me in the shoulder. The shot to the shoulder only handicapped me, so i thought. Only later did I discover that drumming with one good arm actually improves drumming speed and skill, this explains why the drummer from Def Leopard was so bitchin!
The non-ugly cop didn't miss. He fired two rounds. The first was a bullet resting in the ejector of the firearm, waiting to be set in motion by a simple pull of a trigger. The hammer cocked and released in a single action, exploding the bullets gunpowder causing a whip and a crack. Tightly coiled springs guided the bullet through it's short journey into the slide and chamber. Traveling at supersonic speeds through the stale air the first bullet pierced my skin and skull a few inches above my right eye.
The small hot slug ripped through my frontal lobe, burrowed its way through the soft tissue of my cerebrum and exited my brain out the Parietal Lobe. Electrical sparks fluttered and the gaping hole left from the first bullet set off a slew of memories and emotions playing in my head like a film reel. Like the time I…
set Okland on fire to roast marshmallows for my s'mores... that was so awesome... and then I found some hot dogs in an abandoned house! also awesome! I made some sublime inferno dogs that day. When I finally got out of the mental institution, I opened a restaurant that served nothing but inferno quizine. The furnace cost a fortune, but it was so worth it... so awesome.
Or the time I started an Ad-libs blog that was ruled by a legendary writer named Quadrudo and the very real Anonymous. There was wonderful stories of stinky underwear and red heads with big buttockses. One night I was chased by an obsessive fan of my blog who began stalking me. I used a variety of martial arts all mixed together to subdue him. I then torched my Ad-Libs blog too. Also awesome.
Too bad I had no idea what I was doing and it was 2:00 in the morning! Maybe that's why my fat, loud, and angry neighbor was pounding on my door in his underwear.
ReplyDeleteWhile I was coming alive playing the drums, my neighbor, The Baron Harkonnen, as I called him, was trying to break down the door, intent on my death. As I always do, I just tuned everything out and played: rut-tut-tut-tut!!
ReplyDelete"I'll kill you, you f****** retard!" screamed my fat, angry neighbor. I played on anyway: rut-tat-tut-tat.
"You are less than a human being, worse than Hitler, the lowest form of life! I will strangle you with my bare hands!"
I played on, shaking with fear, but intent on my goal to feel alive, playing the drums: tut-tat-tut-tut-tat-tut-tut-tat!
"When I get inside there, I will knock every tooth out of your face, stick my fingers in your eye sockets and stir and then sit on your head and pass gas after you're dead, you son of a bi***!"
I played on...
I played louder still, trying to drown out his angry bellowing. I closed my eyes and imagined that I was a drum major in a parade. Then I imagined that I was in a rock band! Yeah! all the chicks would want me then! I smiled and played out my fantasy in my mind. A short time later, I heard more pounding on the door.. louder this time. I tried to imagine that it was all a part of my own beat.. it didn’t really have any rhythm either, but it kinda worked. But then I heard a loud crash.. it didn’t really go very well with what I was trying to do.. but I could improvise.. I continued pounding on my drums with my eyes shut to reality; basking in the applause of my imaginary audience and the hot groupie chicks who'd come to see me play. Then I felt hands on me.. I imagined it was my groupies.. dang those are strong groupies... but then I realized it wasn't groupies at all, but the police! Bummer.. police aren't hot groupies.. and their pants make their butts look flat, and most of em are jerks. You'd think their breath would smell like donuts, but the fat, ugly cop who was yelling in my face had breath like he'd been chewing on dirty socks. Clearly these guys had no appreciation for the art of percussion.
ReplyDelete"Do you have any idea what time it is?!" Sock Breath bellowed in my face.. that seemed to be the modus operandi tonight.
I checked my watch. “It is…. Two-twenty-six and nine seconds.. ten seconds.. eleven seconds..”
‘What are you, retarded?’ the second cop asked.. He wasn’t a groupie either, but he was a lot hotter than the fat, ugly guy.
‘No… I am not retarded…. And the PC term, I believe, is developmentally delayed.. and I am not’
‘Oh, a smart ass, huh?” said Ugly. “You’re going for a ride down town.”
‘Ooh! Can we get donuts?’ I asked. I love donuts!
Then the hot guy whispered something to Ugly. They both looked at me for a few seconds. I think maybe they could see my star quality. Maybe they’d want my autograph!
‘Alright, listen.’ Said the hot cop. ‘You’re gonna have to stop makin all that noise or we’ll have to arrest you for disturbing the peace. Do you understand?”
‘What noise?’ I’d hardly made a sound since they broke down my front door. Then I corrected myself and whispered very quietly.. ‘oh, sorry... I understand… hey, wanna hear me play another drum solo?’
Then I started to wonder, "Where's my fat, ugly, angry neighbor in his underwear? And why do I think this cop is hot? I'm a guy."
ReplyDeleteJust then the drumstick broke.
ReplyDeleteJust then, my ugly neighbor's crack smoking wife broke into the house and rushed toward me with a sledge hammer. I rushed to write this down, before she could kill me... AAAAAAAAAAAARGH! I'm not dead yet. If I were dead, I couldn't have written that. I'm lying here dying, though. O.K. I think I'm about dea
ReplyDeleteHey, I'm the "ugly neighbor's crack smoking wife." I just killed the author of this story. I enjoyed it. He was worse than Hitler, literally.
This is suppose to be a PG rating people. Some kids comment on this blog. Let's keep it clean.
ReplyDeleteYeah...GOSH!
ReplyDeleteoops sorry
ReplyDeleteNow back to our story…
ReplyDeleteSuddenly I found myself gasping which confused me because I thought the afterlife would be more pleasant. But it wasn't. I was gasping for air as something in my body began to bulge my dead sternum. The bulging became frantic and in a massive fit of pain and ecstasy a set of evil drumsticks popped out of my chest. I grabbed the slimy blood stained wooden sticks and began to violently hit my head banging out the drum part of Metallica's Enter Sandman. I was in heaven as I could feel the protrusions of my face being bashed into my head. My dead energy faded out again and my corpse went limp again. I gulped my last swallow of air before I faded into a twice dead soul.
'that was weird' I thought. I was waiting for the mythical tunnel of light, but it didnt come. 'Bummer' I thought; but then I opened my eyes and realized I was still alive... I must have been hallucinating, as there was no gaping hole from which any drumsticks might have protruded. I tried to get to my feet. My head was pounding and blood was caked over my face. I found my notebook and saw that my ugly neighbor's wife had written on it.. hey! I am nothing like Hitler! I wondered where those cops had gone while my neighbor's crack-head wife was beating me with a sledge-hammer. Then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the sliding glass door and saw that my brain was bulging out of my broken skull. 'Dang, that's gonna leave a mark.' I thought as I stuffed my bulging brain back into my skull. Then I found my drumsticks.. one of them was broken.. must have been the stupid crack-head.. I found a wooden spoon in the kitchen. ‘That oughta work’ I thought, proud of my resourcefulness. Then I went back to playing my drum solo. I sounded better than ever with a gaping head-wound! Every drummer should get a gaping head-wound to help them play better! Just as I was getting to the good part, the ugly cop with the sock breath came through the door. He looked really weird… you know that same expression your dad gets when you accidentally walk in on him when he’s sitting on the crapper.. only less embarrassed. Then the hot cop (no homo.. by this I just mean he’s less ugly and fat than the fat, ugly cop.. just to clarify.. so I’ll just call him non-ugly cop from here on out) okay.. so anyway.. then the non-ugly cop walked in and had the same startled expression as ugly cop. I could tell that they were really impressed by my drum solo. Non-ugly cop had what looked like a plastic sleeping bag. I guess he thought he’d have to camp out to wait for tickets to my concert.
ReplyDeleteThen I remembered the donuts. "Oh, hey! did you guys bring donuts? I LOVE donuts!"
ReplyDeleteUgly cop and non-ugly cop looked at each other, then at me. "Zombieeeeeeee!" They cried. Then, simultaneously, as though choreographed, each pulled a 9mm semi-automatic pistol from his holster and emptied their 15 clip magazines into my head. Dang.. I hate when that happens.
ReplyDeleteI'm quite sure ugly copy was not only out of shape and ugly but he was also a poor shot. His shots mostly missed me head except for one that hit me in the shoulder. The shot to the shoulder only handicapped me, so i thought. Only later did I discover that drumming with one good arm actually improves drumming speed and skill, this explains why the drummer from Def Leopard was so bitchin!
ReplyDeleteThe non-ugly cop didn't miss. He fired two rounds. The first was a bullet resting in the ejector of the firearm, waiting to be set in motion by a simple pull of a trigger. The hammer cocked and released in a single action, exploding the bullets gunpowder causing a whip and a crack. Tightly coiled springs guided the bullet through it's short journey into the slide and chamber. Traveling at supersonic speeds through the stale air the first bullet pierced my skin and skull a few inches above my right eye.
ReplyDeleteThe small hot slug ripped through my frontal lobe, burrowed its way through the soft tissue of my cerebrum and exited my brain out the Parietal Lobe. Electrical sparks fluttered and the gaping hole left from the first bullet set off a slew of memories and emotions playing in my head like a film reel. Like the time I…
set Okland on fire to roast marshmallows for my s'mores... that was so awesome... and then I found some hot dogs in an abandoned house! also awesome! I made some sublime inferno dogs that day.
ReplyDeleteWhen I finally got out of the mental institution, I opened a restaurant that served nothing but inferno quizine. The furnace cost a fortune, but it was so worth it... so awesome.
Or the time I started an Ad-libs blog that was ruled by a legendary writer named Quadrudo and the very real Anonymous. There was wonderful stories of stinky underwear and red heads with big buttockses. One night I was chased by an obsessive fan of my blog who began stalking me. I used a variety of martial arts all mixed together to subdue him. I then torched my Ad-Libs blog too. Also awesome.
ReplyDeleteI sat on the floor next to the ashes and cried.
ReplyDelete