the call came in from headquarters at around 4:30 in the pee em. the golden amp cackled and sparked to life. saturdays tend to be busy, but we were having a down day. the call was the first of the day. with the volume knob turned up to eleven, charlie's voice rang clear and true. the sidekick and i listened closely, the growing urgency apparent on our faces.
shit mo, did you hear what he just said.
pretty heavy shit, the sidekick. you up for it?
shit man, lets fucking do this shit man.
we took the orders from hq and got ready. the sidekick loaded up the grungemobile, our very own 1980's chevy conversion van, with three marshall amps and a few stratocasters.
and both les pauls. just in case.
the sidekick hoped behind the wheel and drove us off in a frenzied hurry. ran a few stop lights and scared a few old people on the way.
and when we pulled up to the mall, no one moved. no one made a sound. the vermin saw me and they knew who i was and they were scared shitless.
teenyboppers. everywhere. at least two dozen. maybe more. they all stared right at me. made no attempt to hide it. there were whispers from the food court and hushed nods from the gap.
fuck, there he goes. fuck, thats him. fuck, thats the one they talk about.
thats the daysleeper.
i brushed my hair out of my face and lit a cigarette. the guitar stuck out a bit from underneath my jacket. the braver ones gathered all around me, some crouched, some snarling and some with their claws out. the sunlight glinted off the instrument of rock and they hissed at the sight.
the first one lunged at me from behind, blaring lindsey lohan out of an iShit mini. it was wielding two ryan cabrera cds and swung both of them at me like knives. in an instant, i turned and threw my jacket aside, gripped my six stringed weapon and swung for the fences. the teenybopper screeched at the force of the blow and exploded in mid air, falling to the ground in a pile of smoldering ashes.
at that very moment, all hell broke loose.
the teenyboppers jumped over tables and threw chairs aside to get to me. they came from every direction. lunging leaping lashing, i judo chopped and samurai hi yaahed all over their punk asses. swinging and slashing away as one by one each beast fell, most of them with a ashlee simpson you make me wanna lala scream. with the six stringed wonder in my hands, i was unstoppable. the enemy was laid to waste in a matter of minutes.
pink shirts with flipped up collars and big bugg eyed sunglasses were scattered about among the ashes. the hordes and hordes of demonized mtv youth that invaded the mall were reduced to little more than cat litter. the last one ran off with a whimper into the haze of smoke hanging around the food court. i took one long last drag from the cig, threw it down in the ashes and stomped it out. with a clenched face i cracked a dry smile, proud of my handywork's mayhem. the survivor would go tell all its friends, no doubt. the battle may be over, but the war was just beginning.
welcome to the jungle, bitches.
