(side note: there is a list of songs that i thought pertained to certain chapters, and they will be listed in order of appearance at the beginning of each chapter. There are none for the first chapter, but you will see them beginning with ch. 2. please R&R, and enjoy!)

"Good morning guys," Charlie Ofdensen, world-popular death-metal band Dethklok's manager and lawyer addressed his clients as he entered the meeting room. He often dreaded speaking seriously to these so-called "gods of death metal" – getting them to listen and make smart decisions was like pulling teeth out of a tigress on the rag. But it had to be done nonetheless, despite the guys' random comments and damn-near stupidity. They had to be warned and advised about their decisions somehow. Unfortunately for Ofdensen, it was his job.

"Good mooorning, dude!" said Pickles, Dethklok's drummer. "Come on in here! Teak a seet!"

Nathan, the band's frontman, and Skwisgaar, the lead guitarist, bit their tongues and tried not to smile, while Toki, the rhythm guitarist and Murderface, the bassist tried to contain snickers.

"What's so funny?"asked Ofdensen.

"Uh . . . nothing," said Nathan, his voice like a car pulling up a gravel driveway.

"Nothing! We're just scho happy to schee your beautiful face thisch morning!" said Murderface.

Snickers and giggles commenced from the band.

Oh God, here we go, thought Ofdensen. "Ok . . .well anyways-"

"Well doon't just stand there! Come on, teak a load off!"

Toki's head hit the table and he dissolved into heaving laughter – he had trouble containing his feelings after consuming large amounts of alcohol or candy, or in this morning's case, both.

"You . . . you want me to sit down . . .?"

"Zis isn'ts U.S. Congress! Its justs us guys!" said Skwisgaar, flipping back his long, Swedish blonde hair.

Ofdensen was cautious – the band was known for their love of pranks. "I have some-"

"Dammit, just sit down!" rumbled Nathan. "We're trying to be gentlemen here."

"Well," Ofdensen rolled his eyes, exasperated. "If you insist."

As soon as Ofdensen pulled the chair back the smell hit him like a Mack truck. A pile of fresh vomit waited for him in the chair.

Once they realized that the emotionless look on Ofdensen's face was his reaction, the band burst into hysterics. The sound of knees being slapped, snorts, and madness filled the room, along with the scent of half-digested Swedish vodka and Reese's Pieces.

"Sweet Jesus," sighed Ofdensen, "whose is this?"

"Meeee . . . .!" giggled Toki, his long, light brown hair hanging over his pale blue eyes, bloodshot from being intoxicated. "I so sorries! Wake up call for yous!"

Ofdensen rubbed his temples. Lord, give me strength, he prayed silently. "Can I please get down to business?"

"We never saids you couldn't!" said Skwisgaar.

"Yeah dude! Sit oover there." Pickles gestured to an empty seat at the other end of the table, next to Toki.

"Alright."

Ofdensen made his way over to the vomit-free chair, but was further annoyed when Toki bowed his head and puked again into that very chair. "Shouldn't you go to the restroom? Seriously."

"I sorries!" Toki slumped down in his chair. "I feels much better now."

"Good," said Ofdensen pleasantly as he made his way to opposite side of the table and sat into a clean chair. "I have some rather distressing news about your stylist, Tessa Emondo."

"Who?" Nathan asked.

"Tessa Emondo, your stylist."

"Define 'stylist'."

"I think he meansh . . .you remember that girl who doesh our hair-schlash-make-up before each schow? I think he meansh her," said Murderface. "That'sh who you mean, right?"

"Yes, your hairstylist." confirmed Ofdensen.

"I still don't . . ."Nathan sighed. "Whatever. Go on."

"Well it appears that she's in the hospital due to a near-drug overdose."

"Noo way!" exclaimed Pickles. "What heppened?"

"Well, she was found backstage at your last concert, collapsed on the floor with a needle in her arm. Apparently, it was heroin . . . you guys didn't notice?"

"The girl on the floor with the needle in her - nope, didn't see her," scoffed Nathan.

"Oh, zat girl! My God, we thought she was sleepings!" said Skwisgaar.

"Yeah! Juscht . . . taking a catnap or schomething!" said Murderface.

"Dude, I take naps all the time when I do shit like that. It's one of my feevorite parts of getting high 'cause sometimes I have all these fucked-up dreams about ponies made of telephones and cars with live hornets for windshields," said Pickles.

"But how coulds you sees through the hornets? And wouldn'ts they stings you?" asked Toki in his post-puke stupor.

"No dude, I had like, X-ray vision or something. In my dream I could see right through them, and I needed to; I mean come on, I was on my wey to the corner store fer munchies and Diet Cooke. And they had little tiny flowers where their stingers would be, and you knoow how most bees are attracted to flowers, right? Soo they were just kind of going around in circles smelling their own asses. It was too magical for words," explained Pickles.

"Anyway, after Tessa gets out of the hospital she'll be in the rehab center there for quite some time," continued Ofdensen.

"But . . ." began Skwisgaar, pausing to reminisce about the crazy, off-the-wall sex that he and Tessa used to partake in. But it didn't matter too much to him – another day, another time, another whore. "Who's going to dos our hairs and make-ups and stuffs like dat?"

"That's what this meeting is about," said Ofdensen. "I hired a new stylist for you guys. She's the top alternative stylist and make-up artist on the Eastern seaboard of the United States, and her resume states that she, quote-on-quote, 'does a damn good manicure'. She's a very sweet girl, I think you'll like her."

"Is she hot?" asked Nathan. "Was that on her resume?"

"Yeah, ish sche pretty? 'Cause, I think I schpeak for all of ush here that we really don't want schome . . . fugly . . . dirtbag doing or hair and schit like that," Murderface pointed out.

"Yeah, noo fugly dertbags, please," said Pickles.

"Please no fugly dirtsbags!" said Skiwsgaar.

"Please no fugly dirtsbags!" said Toki.

"I just saids dat," said Skwisgaar, narrowing his eyes.

"I just saids dat!" echoed Toki.

"You're a dildo, you knows dat?"

"You're a dildo, you fucking knows dat?"

"You're not even copyings me right!"

"You're not even copyings me . . . uh . . ."

"Shut up!"

"Shut . . . shut up! Just shuts up everyone!"

The band and their manager/lawyer stared as their band mate flew into a screaming rampage. "Shut up! SHUTS UP!! Everyone's TOO LOUD!! SHUTS IT!!"

"What's his problem?" asked Nathan in amazement.

"Dude, he muscht have scho mucsh rage built up from ush riding hish assch all the time, and he mucsht be letting it all out right now! That's the only explanaschtion!"

Ofdensen thought it best to just continue, as Toki's screams and shrieks had dulled to just mindless babbling. "Anyhow, the stylist . . . she's definitely not a . . . 'fugly dirtbag' . . . she's quite lovely actually, a very pleasant person."

"Well lets asks you dis – would you taps that?" sneered Skwisgaar.

"Yeah, Mr. Manager Guy? Would you tear up the scheets with her?" asked Murderface.

" . . . I won't comment on that."

"Come on, Charlie! We trusts your opinion," whispered Toki.

"Well . . . in all honesty . . ."he began. The band was awaiting his answer, and he knew it. Time to fuck with them.

". . . In all honesty her name is Taylor Ravens and she's arriving here in about an hour."

Ofdensen gathered the feeling of victory and stood up from the table. All members of the band stared slack-jawed at the fact that they were just bamboozled by their straight-laced manager/lawyer, except for Toki, who was smiling at a little spider on the ceiling. "Just . . . make her feel at home. You guys usually do . . . for the most part . . . I guess." He swiftly left the room to do his victory dance out in the hall.

"Guys," said Pickles, "were we just . . . oowned?"