...but for drummers it's nearly impossible
And now, a fanmix with a twist ... one drabble for each song, rather than excerpt lyrics. I've only got three more drabbles to go, but I got things up to where I wanted them to be, for now.
TITLE: Nearly Impossible
FANDOM: Metalocalypse
CHARACTER/PAIRING: PIIICKLLLLLLLES!! Also his parents, Seth, Sammy "Candynose" Twinskins, Snizzy "Snazz" Bullets, Antonio "Tony" DeMarco-Thunderbottom, Murderface, Nathan, Charles, Skwisgaar, and Toki. And a few random douchebags.
WORD COUNT: So far: 2,147 (113; 445; 120; 119; 213; 228; 83; 173; 179; 96; 237; 141).
RATING/WARNINGS: R for language, sex, drugs, rock n' roll, and METAL.
SUMMARY: The quote from Guitar Hero 2 that inspired this whole thing: "Life may be hard for musicians, but for drummers, it's nearly impossible."
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I gave myself a challenge - I had as long as the song itself played to write the drabble. And if I thought I was done, and the song was still going, I had to go back and add. So far, I'm really pleased with them.
(If you want any of these songs, just comment...)
1. Cheap Trick - Surrender
Between his father's CEO status at the plant, and his mother's trust fund, there was more than enough money to go around. And every single one of their stupid parties found him standing in the corner wearing something itchy. Usually, he'd get swept off to bed before things really kicked in, but one night he snuck downstairs, and his mother was on the dining room table hugging the vice president of Dad's company.
Mom got stitches. Dad got split knuckles. They both got counseling. And Ethan and Seth got two hours a night alone... during which, Seth showed his brother where they kept the booze.
2. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - The Good Son
"Hey. Hey, Ethan. Come here a second. C'mere. You gotta hear about this. I got the best idea ever."
He was starting to think they weren't the best ideas ever, anymore. Not since the police had caught him coming out of the back of the package store. Or putting up the mail-order flyers. Or the other four times. The shine on Seth's ideas was starting to wear thin.
"I don't give a crap. I got school tomorrow. An' lessons..." He picked at the strings of the Fender he'd pulled out of the attic.
"Hey, dickface," Seth's best friend spat, "we don't give a fuck. Come over here."
"I ain't no dickface."
The crony - one he'd remember with particular hate, years later, at Seth's wedding, wiped the cocaine remnants from the bottom of his nose, and leered at him. "You're gonna be. C'mere. Remember the coke? How fun that was? Last time?"
The truth was, he didn't remember much of anything. He remembered the room spinning, falling to sit hard on the floor. Hands in his hair. He'd blocked out most of it. But he remembered waking up on the bathroom floor, curled around the base of the toilet, the taste still in the back of his throat. Remembered Seth denying everything.
"I don't wanna be in on your shit, anymore, OKAY?" Ethan shoved his chair aside as he got up, and made to leave. Seth blocked his way, smiling in that patient way that always, always meant trouble.
"Ethan? You can't leave 'til you help one of us. Either me, or him. ... What's it gonna be."
Ethan managed not to look at the guy's shorts, and looked the other way, at the french doors. At the balcony. ".... Okay, Seth. Pitch it to me out here. C'mon."
"Now, that's more like it." Seth smiled, and looped his arm around his brother's shoulders. "You're a good kid, Eth. You're the good guy. That's why nobody's gonna expect ---"
"This." He dug his heels into the balcony, grabbed his older brother by the shoulder, and kneed him in the groin. As Seth recoiled, Ethan twisted, pulled, and heaved him over the edge of the balcony. It would be a soft enough landing - the deep end of the family pool wasn't far below. Before Coke-nose in the corner could even react, he was off running, grabbing his backpack and booking for the door.
Enough was enough.
3. Aerosmith - Just Push Play
The first time the lights came up, he didn't even care that the place smelled like cheap cigarettes, bad beer, and vomit. He didn't even care that there were all of ten people in the audience at that little dive bar.
All he cared about was that hours earlier, Twin-Skins had handed him a new pack of picks. Tony had tied the bandana around his head. And Snizzy, in his own inimitable way, had thwacked him on the shoulder and deadpanned, "Just don't fuck it up, kid."
In the beginning, there was dark. And Sammy counted them in. And there were lights. And he made the music.
And the music was good.
4. Aerosmith - Sweet Emotion
The afterparties were always the best. After the first few, the tour turned into one long, slow slide that went down like a cold glass of beer. The blood in his veins turned to smoke - weed, fog machines, and pyrotechnics, with a dash of bus exhaust - and he heard nothing but the music. He heard it when he wasn't even playing - it lived in him, moved through him, every moment of every day. Even when he wasn't singing, the lyrics dripped from his lips at night, before he passed out, tangled up in groupies.
Every gig, every town, they all felt the same. And it was the best thing ever.
5. Guns n' Roses - Mama Kin (live Aerosmith cover)
Snakes n' Barrels hit LA like a tornado kicked out of a hurricane that the devil blew out of hell in the smoke from his own bong. They were that badass. And they knew it. There wasn't anything they didn't do, any scene they couldn't be found at. In the middle of it all, Pickles vaguely remembered getting some kind of letter, via their manager, from his parents. His brother, in jail. Busted for conning some cheap street hooker, and selling fake drugs to a cop.
And for the first time in three years, he wrote back.
Hi, Ma. So, Seth's in jail, huh? Bummer. Too bad. Me? I'm in Los Angeles. I can see the ocean from where I'm sitting. The sun's going down. I could buy this hotel I'm sitting in, if I wanted, but right now I think I'm gonna write his name on a hundred-dollar bill, roll up some weed in it, and smoke it. And then I'll put your name on one. And Dad's. Maybe I'll go through the whole damn family.
That's how good I am, Ma. Tell Seth I said to go fuck himself.
Lots of love,
Pickles
6. Joe Walsh - Life's Been Good
At the end of the tour, the lights came up, and the place smelled like a new car. The seats were shiny and new, but you couldn't tell, because they were packed. The bars on all sides of the venue sold Jack and Bud and cocktails. Fucking cocktails.
Twin-Skins had managed to stagger out of the bathroom and wipe the puke off his face just in time to stagger on stage. Tony stole his top-hat back from Pickles and bitched at him about not stealing his "fucking signature". And Snizzy, in his own inimitable way, had leaned in and whispered, "You think you're better than us, don't you, you piece of shit."
And then Sammy counted them in. Thank god, there was still the music.
The afterparty was an afterparty. Only, the hookers looked more like groupies and the groupies looked more like hookers, the smoke in his veins had turned stale, and burned him. After they'd all passed out, he sat there and blithered to himself, lyrics and musings that made no sense. He thought about calling room service. He thought some more about calling room service. He called room service.
And right before he passed out, he realized that every gig, every town, all felt the same. And it was the worst thing ever.
7. Queens of the Stone Age - Feel-Good Hit of the Summer
"Pickles. Pickles, wake the fuck up. NOW."
He snorted. "Arthur, wha?"
Their manager glared at him. "We have to go. Now. What the hell did you let Antonio do last night?"
"Uh. Coke. Lotsa coke. And some white thing, somethin' new..."
"Did he have anything to drink?"
"Uhhhhh. Jack, beer, Walker Red..."
"Fuck. Why didn't you watch him?"
"DO I LOOK LIKE HIS MOTHER?"
"Right now, if we don't move, you look more like his executioner! MOVE!"
"..... well, fuck."
8. Eminem - My Band
"Maybe we should add synth to the new album. Synth's pretty hot."
"Synth fucking sucks, Sniz."
"Fuck you, Pickles."
"Fuck YOU. Who writes the damn songs? Me. You didn't have a goddamn song worth PUBLIC radio till I came along."
"You think you're better than all of us, don't you."
"No. ... I know I am."
"YOU FUCKING COCKSU-- OW. FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK."
"You call me that again and I will break your fucking face, Snizzy. ... Again. You know. Like I just did."
"What the fuck are you on?"
"I'll tell you what I'm on. I'm on a fucking TEAR. Cowbells? SYNTH? This is NOT rock! What the fuck are you thinking? It's got no edge anymore."
"We've got as much edge as we ever did. You're getting fucking dull. ... What the fuck are you doing?"
"Leaving. Have fun with the fucking synth. It'll turn out like shit. Can't play with our goddamn bass player in rehab anyway."
9. The Living End - Carry Me Home
He got to the bar at about 4 in the afternoon, and asked for the Walker Black. He drank until they were out of that, and then slurred for the Walker Red. When they tried to cut him off, he whined "DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM", and they just let him keep going, until he slid gracelessly off the stool with a caterwaul, and passed out on the floor.
When he woke up, the band was setting up. Some piece of shit act called The World's Worst Garage Band. And they really, really were. From what he could make out, the bassist wasn't too bad, but that was about it. And there was a hint of something that made him listen. Something heavier than rock. Something that made him feel like he had smoke in his veins, again.
"HEY. UHHHH. FLOOR DUDE. SCUSE ME."
As the guy stepped over him, Pickles barely registered the motorcycle boots, the long black hair. He was too busy listening.
10. System of a Down - Innervision
"The thing is," he slurred to the bartender, "I had it too fuckin' easy. I want to know what it's like t' have it fuckin' rough, you know? Otherwise I'll never be worthy of the REAL music. That stuff.... from the bar. The metal."
She nodded. "Uh huh. You wanna suffer for the music, is that it? That's ... totally Buddhist."
"I wanna be like, the most sufferin' musician EVER. Like, on a brutal scale." He stared down into his beer. ".... I'm gonna be a fucking drummer."
11. Beatallica - Hey Dude
Truth be told, Pickles wasn't even paying attention to the movie. Whatever the stylist had put on, he didn't really care. All he knew was that Marlon Brando looked like shit, and had a fucking cool cat. Also, the first joint was tasting really, really good.
He tugged the sweatbands onto his wrists, then winced. "Ow, fuck. Are you gonna like, take my hair RIGHT OFF my head, fix it, an' put it back on?"
"Keep smoking," the stylist drawled, dragging the little metal comb over his hair. "This is just the first one. We've got at least thirty to go before we get there. You're lucky you're losing your hair, or you'd have forty."
"Shut up and just do it, dood." He gritted his teeth and took another hit off the joint. "This is just step one, y'know."
"Giant leap. Yeah, I totally hear you. When I get done with this, you're gonna feel fucking reborn, man. You want a book? Or like, the paper?"
"Gimme the paper."
He didn't really read it, at first. The movie actually got interesting, once people started getting shot, and dropping dead. But as the credits rolled, and the stylist backcombed the last of his dreadlocks, Pickles thumbed through to the classifieds.
The ad he found, emblazoned with gears, may as well have been printed in blood.
12. KoRn - Twisted Transistor
He didn't know any of them from Adam - except maybe the bassist. And the lead. They'd been at the audition, as had the creepy square with the glasses. The two weirdos with the horrendous English spent most of the time yelling at each other in Swedish. The bassist wouldn't shut up about how much his life sucked. But when the lead screamed at them:
"ALL OF YOU JUST SHUT UP AND LET'S PLAY SOME FUCKING MUSIC, OKAY? NOOOOOOWWWW!"
They shut up.
"COOL. HEY. NEW GUY. GHERKINS."
"Pickles."
"What kinds of dildoes name is thats?"
"Heehee. Pickle. Hee."
"SHUT UP GUYS. YEAH. YOU. PICKLES. .... COUNT US IN."
And he did. And the lights on the sound board went up. And there was the music. And the music was everything.
13. Tool - Vicarious
14. Bad Religion - Infected
15. Guns n' Roses - November Rain
TITLE: Nearly Impossible
FANDOM: Metalocalypse
CHARACTER/PAIRING: PIIICKLLLLLLLES!! Also his parents, Seth, Sammy "Candynose" Twinskins, Snizzy "Snazz" Bullets, Antonio "Tony" DeMarco-Thunderbottom, Murderface, Nathan, Charles, Skwisgaar, and Toki. And a few random douchebags.
WORD COUNT: So far: 2,147 (113; 445; 120; 119; 213; 228; 83; 173; 179; 96; 237; 141).
RATING/WARNINGS: R for language, sex, drugs, rock n' roll, and METAL.
SUMMARY: The quote from Guitar Hero 2 that inspired this whole thing: "Life may be hard for musicians, but for drummers, it's nearly impossible."
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I gave myself a challenge - I had as long as the song itself played to write the drabble. And if I thought I was done, and the song was still going, I had to go back and add. So far, I'm really pleased with them.
(If you want any of these songs, just comment...)
1. Cheap Trick - Surrender
Between his father's CEO status at the plant, and his mother's trust fund, there was more than enough money to go around. And every single one of their stupid parties found him standing in the corner wearing something itchy. Usually, he'd get swept off to bed before things really kicked in, but one night he snuck downstairs, and his mother was on the dining room table hugging the vice president of Dad's company.
Mom got stitches. Dad got split knuckles. They both got counseling. And Ethan and Seth got two hours a night alone... during which, Seth showed his brother where they kept the booze.
2. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - The Good Son
"Hey. Hey, Ethan. Come here a second. C'mere. You gotta hear about this. I got the best idea ever."
He was starting to think they weren't the best ideas ever, anymore. Not since the police had caught him coming out of the back of the package store. Or putting up the mail-order flyers. Or the other four times. The shine on Seth's ideas was starting to wear thin.
"I don't give a crap. I got school tomorrow. An' lessons..." He picked at the strings of the Fender he'd pulled out of the attic.
"Hey, dickface," Seth's best friend spat, "we don't give a fuck. Come over here."
"I ain't no dickface."
The crony - one he'd remember with particular hate, years later, at Seth's wedding, wiped the cocaine remnants from the bottom of his nose, and leered at him. "You're gonna be. C'mere. Remember the coke? How fun that was? Last time?"
The truth was, he didn't remember much of anything. He remembered the room spinning, falling to sit hard on the floor. Hands in his hair. He'd blocked out most of it. But he remembered waking up on the bathroom floor, curled around the base of the toilet, the taste still in the back of his throat. Remembered Seth denying everything.
"I don't wanna be in on your shit, anymore, OKAY?" Ethan shoved his chair aside as he got up, and made to leave. Seth blocked his way, smiling in that patient way that always, always meant trouble.
"Ethan? You can't leave 'til you help one of us. Either me, or him. ... What's it gonna be."
Ethan managed not to look at the guy's shorts, and looked the other way, at the french doors. At the balcony. ".... Okay, Seth. Pitch it to me out here. C'mon."
"Now, that's more like it." Seth smiled, and looped his arm around his brother's shoulders. "You're a good kid, Eth. You're the good guy. That's why nobody's gonna expect ---"
"This." He dug his heels into the balcony, grabbed his older brother by the shoulder, and kneed him in the groin. As Seth recoiled, Ethan twisted, pulled, and heaved him over the edge of the balcony. It would be a soft enough landing - the deep end of the family pool wasn't far below. Before Coke-nose in the corner could even react, he was off running, grabbing his backpack and booking for the door.
Enough was enough.
3. Aerosmith - Just Push Play
The first time the lights came up, he didn't even care that the place smelled like cheap cigarettes, bad beer, and vomit. He didn't even care that there were all of ten people in the audience at that little dive bar.
All he cared about was that hours earlier, Twin-Skins had handed him a new pack of picks. Tony had tied the bandana around his head. And Snizzy, in his own inimitable way, had thwacked him on the shoulder and deadpanned, "Just don't fuck it up, kid."
In the beginning, there was dark. And Sammy counted them in. And there were lights. And he made the music.
And the music was good.
4. Aerosmith - Sweet Emotion
The afterparties were always the best. After the first few, the tour turned into one long, slow slide that went down like a cold glass of beer. The blood in his veins turned to smoke - weed, fog machines, and pyrotechnics, with a dash of bus exhaust - and he heard nothing but the music. He heard it when he wasn't even playing - it lived in him, moved through him, every moment of every day. Even when he wasn't singing, the lyrics dripped from his lips at night, before he passed out, tangled up in groupies.
Every gig, every town, they all felt the same. And it was the best thing ever.
5. Guns n' Roses - Mama Kin (live Aerosmith cover)
Snakes n' Barrels hit LA like a tornado kicked out of a hurricane that the devil blew out of hell in the smoke from his own bong. They were that badass. And they knew it. There wasn't anything they didn't do, any scene they couldn't be found at. In the middle of it all, Pickles vaguely remembered getting some kind of letter, via their manager, from his parents. His brother, in jail. Busted for conning some cheap street hooker, and selling fake drugs to a cop.
And for the first time in three years, he wrote back.
Hi, Ma. So, Seth's in jail, huh? Bummer. Too bad. Me? I'm in Los Angeles. I can see the ocean from where I'm sitting. The sun's going down. I could buy this hotel I'm sitting in, if I wanted, but right now I think I'm gonna write his name on a hundred-dollar bill, roll up some weed in it, and smoke it. And then I'll put your name on one. And Dad's. Maybe I'll go through the whole damn family.
That's how good I am, Ma. Tell Seth I said to go fuck himself.
Lots of love,
Pickles
6. Joe Walsh - Life's Been Good
At the end of the tour, the lights came up, and the place smelled like a new car. The seats were shiny and new, but you couldn't tell, because they were packed. The bars on all sides of the venue sold Jack and Bud and cocktails. Fucking cocktails.
Twin-Skins had managed to stagger out of the bathroom and wipe the puke off his face just in time to stagger on stage. Tony stole his top-hat back from Pickles and bitched at him about not stealing his "fucking signature". And Snizzy, in his own inimitable way, had leaned in and whispered, "You think you're better than us, don't you, you piece of shit."
And then Sammy counted them in. Thank god, there was still the music.
The afterparty was an afterparty. Only, the hookers looked more like groupies and the groupies looked more like hookers, the smoke in his veins had turned stale, and burned him. After they'd all passed out, he sat there and blithered to himself, lyrics and musings that made no sense. He thought about calling room service. He thought some more about calling room service. He called room service.
And right before he passed out, he realized that every gig, every town, all felt the same. And it was the worst thing ever.
7. Queens of the Stone Age - Feel-Good Hit of the Summer
"Pickles. Pickles, wake the fuck up. NOW."
He snorted. "Arthur, wha?"
Their manager glared at him. "We have to go. Now. What the hell did you let Antonio do last night?"
"Uh. Coke. Lotsa coke. And some white thing, somethin' new..."
"Did he have anything to drink?"
"Uhhhhh. Jack, beer, Walker Red..."
"Fuck. Why didn't you watch him?"
"DO I LOOK LIKE HIS MOTHER?"
"Right now, if we don't move, you look more like his executioner! MOVE!"
"..... well, fuck."
8. Eminem - My Band
"Maybe we should add synth to the new album. Synth's pretty hot."
"Synth fucking sucks, Sniz."
"Fuck you, Pickles."
"Fuck YOU. Who writes the damn songs? Me. You didn't have a goddamn song worth PUBLIC radio till I came along."
"You think you're better than all of us, don't you."
"No. ... I know I am."
"YOU FUCKING COCKSU-- OW. FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK."
"You call me that again and I will break your fucking face, Snizzy. ... Again. You know. Like I just did."
"What the fuck are you on?"
"I'll tell you what I'm on. I'm on a fucking TEAR. Cowbells? SYNTH? This is NOT rock! What the fuck are you thinking? It's got no edge anymore."
"We've got as much edge as we ever did. You're getting fucking dull. ... What the fuck are you doing?"
"Leaving. Have fun with the fucking synth. It'll turn out like shit. Can't play with our goddamn bass player in rehab anyway."
9. The Living End - Carry Me Home
He got to the bar at about 4 in the afternoon, and asked for the Walker Black. He drank until they were out of that, and then slurred for the Walker Red. When they tried to cut him off, he whined "DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM", and they just let him keep going, until he slid gracelessly off the stool with a caterwaul, and passed out on the floor.
When he woke up, the band was setting up. Some piece of shit act called The World's Worst Garage Band. And they really, really were. From what he could make out, the bassist wasn't too bad, but that was about it. And there was a hint of something that made him listen. Something heavier than rock. Something that made him feel like he had smoke in his veins, again.
"HEY. UHHHH. FLOOR DUDE. SCUSE ME."
As the guy stepped over him, Pickles barely registered the motorcycle boots, the long black hair. He was too busy listening.
10. System of a Down - Innervision
"The thing is," he slurred to the bartender, "I had it too fuckin' easy. I want to know what it's like t' have it fuckin' rough, you know? Otherwise I'll never be worthy of the REAL music. That stuff.... from the bar. The metal."
She nodded. "Uh huh. You wanna suffer for the music, is that it? That's ... totally Buddhist."
"I wanna be like, the most sufferin' musician EVER. Like, on a brutal scale." He stared down into his beer. ".... I'm gonna be a fucking drummer."
11. Beatallica - Hey Dude
Truth be told, Pickles wasn't even paying attention to the movie. Whatever the stylist had put on, he didn't really care. All he knew was that Marlon Brando looked like shit, and had a fucking cool cat. Also, the first joint was tasting really, really good.
He tugged the sweatbands onto his wrists, then winced. "Ow, fuck. Are you gonna like, take my hair RIGHT OFF my head, fix it, an' put it back on?"
"Keep smoking," the stylist drawled, dragging the little metal comb over his hair. "This is just the first one. We've got at least thirty to go before we get there. You're lucky you're losing your hair, or you'd have forty."
"Shut up and just do it, dood." He gritted his teeth and took another hit off the joint. "This is just step one, y'know."
"Giant leap. Yeah, I totally hear you. When I get done with this, you're gonna feel fucking reborn, man. You want a book? Or like, the paper?"
"Gimme the paper."
He didn't really read it, at first. The movie actually got interesting, once people started getting shot, and dropping dead. But as the credits rolled, and the stylist backcombed the last of his dreadlocks, Pickles thumbed through to the classifieds.
The ad he found, emblazoned with gears, may as well have been printed in blood.
12. KoRn - Twisted Transistor
He didn't know any of them from Adam - except maybe the bassist. And the lead. They'd been at the audition, as had the creepy square with the glasses. The two weirdos with the horrendous English spent most of the time yelling at each other in Swedish. The bassist wouldn't shut up about how much his life sucked. But when the lead screamed at them:
"ALL OF YOU JUST SHUT UP AND LET'S PLAY SOME FUCKING MUSIC, OKAY? NOOOOOOWWWW!"
They shut up.
"COOL. HEY. NEW GUY. GHERKINS."
"Pickles."
"What kinds of dildoes name is thats?"
"Heehee. Pickle. Hee."
"SHUT UP GUYS. YEAH. YOU. PICKLES. .... COUNT US IN."
And he did. And the lights on the sound board went up. And there was the music. And the music was everything.
13. Tool - Vicarious
14. Bad Religion - Infected
15. Guns n' Roses - November Rain