"Shut up, yous retard!" Skwisgaar yelled across the table.
"No, you shut up! I'm tired of you taking credit for creating all of my bass lines," Murderface folded his arms; a mist of saliva projecting itself with his lisp.
"I do creates all of yous bass lines."
"Yeah, but you don't have to tell people that. You asshole!"
"Enough!" Charles finally intervened. His voice rang around the conference room. He looked tired. "This morning's radio session was the sorriest excuse of an interview you've done in a long time. This constant bickering between the five of you is ruining all of our publicity leads. How are we supposed to promote the new album when all you do is scream about how much you wanna kill each other? Not to mention how long it took Knubbler to prepare it in the first place because of your stupid little fights. Consider this a warning. No more throwing beer bottles at each other, fucking with each others instruments or threatening to walk out on the band unless you get solo time on the next album. Enough with the bullshit!"
"Well, tells that to Murderface," Skwisgaar replied. "He's the one who starts it alls the time."
"Am not!"
"Are too," Pickles nodded.
"Yeah, I'd have to agree," Nathan's gruff voice chimed in. "You've been a real dick lately. Like way more than normal. It's driving the rest of us crazy."
Charles lifted an eyebrow.
"Alright, William, so what's bothering you?" he asked with a sigh. He didn't really want to know, but if knowing helped the band in any way then, he needed to.
"Gee, I dunno. Maybe it's that I'm fat and ugly and nobody likes me. I can't even hold a girlfriend for more than a day, because eventually they all sober up and run away screaming…" William trailed off.
"And yous feet smells," Toki added.
"Yeah, and my feet smell! Oh, god I'm such a loser!" Murderface closed his eyes, slamming a chubby fist against the table.
"Well," their manger began, feeling uncomfortable at the sight of a grown man on the verge of tears. "I can't make you attractive to women and I don't know anyone who can. But maybe I can arrange for one of those celebrity matchmakers to take you on as a client or something. I'll call Maddie Strangler."
"She can make me a woman? Like with tits and everything?" Murderface perked up. "She won't look like Chef Jean-Pierre, will she? Nevermind, I'm not picky. I'll take her."
"No, that's not what matchmaker means. I said Maddie Strangler, not Mary Shelley," Charles rolled his eyes. "A matchmaker is someone who tries to pair you up with a woman who might like you…or at least be able to tolerate you for some reasonable amount of time," he explained, trying not to sneer at his client's grotesque appearance. "Anyway, meeting's over. William, I'll get back to you later."
"It is time," Orlaag announced. "We've waited for this moment for so long; an opportunity to exploit Dethklok's biggest weakness," he addressed the tribunal, a claw-like finger pointing upward with conviction. "William Murderface!"
"That oaf?" replied General Cozier. "What about Nath—"
"No! Don't you see that William is the answer? He's the most pathetic member of Dethklok and his erratic behavior is causing dysfunction within the band. Charles Offendsen has arranged for a matchmaker to find him a woman, someone to settle his anger before it ruins them. But we shall encourage this anger."
"What do you have planned?" asked another member of the tribunal.
"I thought you'd never ask," Orlaag smirked. "We shall send him a match of our own. Someone with nothing to lose, who will do anything for the right reward; someone who already possesses knowledge of the Mordhaus layout in case the need for added infiltration arises. Rocksanne!" the elderly man clapped twice.
Out of the darkness, stepped what appeared to be a hairy woman with lopsided breasts in a tight dress. Every member of the tribunal turned away in disgust, but without the ability to completely take their eyes off of the train wreck in front of them.
"Please, pull your dress down!" Orlaag demanded while shielding his face with one hand. "The plan begins tonight."
Murderface sat on the couch, peacefully tuning his bass. Tonight, it didn't matter that he could hear Skwisgaar's headboard slamming against a nearby wall or that Nathan and Pickles were likely to screw that handful of groupies who had been invited to Mordhaus. Nor did it matter that Toki had probably squeezed more tits than he himself had ever collectively seen. His jealousy had already improved three-fold since his first meeting with the matchmaker that week. Tonight, she would send his match to the house and he'd finally get some action of his own.
But outside, Evelyn Michaels, the brunette who had been matched up with Murderface was struggling against her captors as they pulled her body into the back of a black van. In her place, Rocksanne stomped her way up to the house in a pair of neon pink heels. She rang the doorbell obnoxiously before a klokateer finally opened up. Assuming that she was Evelyn, he moved out of the threshold and escorted her to the living room.
"My Lord," the klokateer announced their presence. "Your date is here."
"Hey, b-b-b-baby!" the woman greeted. "Let's go," she tried to rush things.
Murderface cocked an eyebrow.
"Wait. What is this, some kinda joke?" he squinted his eyes; suspicion in his gaze. "There's no way a girl like you would wanna date a guy like me, would you?" his voice softened.
"Uh, sure," Rocksanne gave half a shrug before rubbing at her nose. "We should leave now!"
Just then, the slew of groupies from earlier began trailing out of the hallway; hair mussed, make-up smudged. Nathan and Pickles were walking just behind them. After receiving a nod from Nathan, the klokateer ushered the women outside of Mordhaus.
"Whoa, whose this?" asked Pickles once his view of Rocksanne became clearer.
"Back off! This one's mine!" Murderface stood up from the couch, stretching his arms out protectively.
"Trust me, I'm not interested. There's something…odd about all this."
"Yeah," Nathan continued. "She smells like pee and menthols."
"You guys are just jealous!" the bassist insisted; spit flying this way and that. "Don't listen to them, babe," he said, wrapping an arm around his date. He gave her a sniff and decided to ignore Nathan's truthful assessment of her unusual odor. "Toki," he called out after seeing the other man walk by. "Come here a minute. What do you think of my date?"
"I think yous reminds me of someones…" Toki explained while stroking his chin. "Someones loud and always is talkings…"
Rocksanne felt sweat beading around her forehead.
"Really? Heh-heh," she giggled nervously.
"Yeah, someones who spent a lot of times around here durings Christmas. Someones like… Grandmas Murderface!" the guitarist nodded.
"Hey, maybe Toki's on to something," Pickles grinned. "Kinda like that psychological crap where people like to marry other people who remind them of their parents."
"Hey, I didn't pick her, the matchmaker did!" Murderface defended himself. "No offense, babe. Anyway, we're outta here. We've got reservations at Chez Etienne," he said smugly. "C'mon sweetheart."
The three remaining bandmates watched as their bassist guided his date out of their home and into his Lincoln Continental.
"I hate yous guys," Toki said all of a sudden.
"What, why?" Nathan asked.
"Because! Yous lets Murderface go on a date with Dr. Rockzo, but yous wont's even let me be's his friend. Geez, what a hippogriffs!" Toki stormed off.
The room remained silent for few moments.
"Uh…Dr. Rockzo," Nathan began thoughtfully. "I…uh—"
"Yeah, I know..." Pickles interrupted. "Brutal."
"Wanna go fuck up his bass?"
"Okay."