NOTE: I own none of these characters, nor did I invent most of them. Yay
for Msrs. Elton and Mayall!
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*****
Ch. 1: The Balowski Five
(though there are indeed only four of them)
***** Rick examined the Fender guitar he held in his hands. "How extraordinary! Finding this in the gutter outside!"
"It's not bloody extraordinary!" exclaimed Vyvyan, walking through the kitchen. "It's mine. I was warm last night, so I chucked it through the window."
"And now I've found it, so it's mine. Finders keepers, losers weepers!" Rick caressed the guitar, which, upon further examination, did indeed say in large black lettering on the back: VYVYANS TOUCH AND RICK DIES. Seeing this, he quickly flipped it over. "Look at me! I'm Cliff Richards!" He strummed, resulting in a muted humming.
"Give my guitar back, you poof! It's bloody mine! I stole your piggy bank, and I bought it last week." Vyvyan grabbed the guitar back from Rick, and raised it to smash it over his head, but stopped just before it made contact. "See! I wouldn't smash my own guitar. If it was yours, I'd smash your face in with it!"
"He's right, Rick. It is his. We've got our own little band going." Mike said nonchalantly, examining his nails. "Everyone knows that singers get chicks. I thought it would do Vyv some good. I certainly don't need it." He winked at Rick, who, though thoroughly flabbergasted at this new information, was also seething with anger.
"You started a band without me?" The spotty lower lip started to tremble. "Not that I need help getting girls either, but I like rock and roll as much as the next student! Didn't you think that I might want to be involved?"
"Well, yah, we did, Rick, honest we did. But Neil said you probably wouldn't want to join, and-" Mike was cut off by a livid Rick.
"Neil is in the band and I'm not? That's it!" He picked up SPG, who squealed in protest.
"Let me down, Laddy!"
"Let me join, or." he thought for a moment. "Or I give your disgusting rat to Neil to cook for supper tonight!"
"It'll certainly be better than lentils." Vyv said calmly, before lighting a fag, and putting it to the back of Rick's hand.
"OOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWW!" Rick put his burn to his mouth. "Fine! See if I even want to be in your stupid band. I bet you just play some kind of stupid 'punk rock' music. I wouldn't join if you paid me, actually."
A musty smell wafted down the stairs, closely followed by Neil. "Hey, Rick. I've been trying to find you all morning. I was wondering if you might want to join a little band me and Vyvyan and Mike have going. It's going to be totally cool."
Rick grinned. "Haha, he does want me to be in it!" Mike put his head in his hands.
"Neil."
"Oops, sorry, Mike. Was I not supposed to invite Rick to join?" Neil asked, puzzled. "It's just that I'm never, like, let in on any decisions you guys make, right, and it's kind of bringing me down." He walked over to the stove, and looked in the pot. "Vyv, do you know that SPG is in the pot? I could cook him for you guys, but, you know, I'm a vegetarian, right, so I still need something to eat."
"You are not cooking SPG, you hippie!" yelled Vyvyan. He strode over to fetch his pet, but Rick stopped him.
"Then will you let me join your band?" he said, reaching for the gas on the stove.
"Fine. You can play bloody drums," grunted Vyvyan.
"Great idea, Vyv, except there's one problem." Mike pointed out. "Rick, do you know how to play the skins?"
Rick squirmed. "Well, not play, per say, but I can just kind of stand there and look like an anarchist!" He waved his hips in a vain attempt at a sexy dance, and waved his hands in the air, making a peace sign. Vyvyan gave him the two-finger salute back.
"No, no, Vyvyan. This is peace, not a two-finger salute! This," he said, turning it around, "is a bloody salute!" Seeing this, Vyvyan grabbed the pot that still contained his hamster, and biffed Rick on the head with it.
"Well, if you must be in it, Rick, we've got rehearsal today in the garden," Mike said, still not looking up from his paper.
"No, no, Mike, I'm meeting my friend Neil today, we can't have rehearsal!" Neil protested, but Mike held up a firm hand.
"Neil, I said we've got rehearsal today in the garden, so when do we have rehearsal?"
"Today in the garden, Mike, but, like, I really don't think it's fair, right, to have it on the only day I, like, have any sort of plans at all."
"Well, that's a bit too bad, isn't it Neil. Because if we don't rehearse, we're going to sound bloody awful tomorrow!" Vyvyan looked around at the bare table. "And where the hell is my tea?"
"I haven't made it yet, actually, because we're out of tea! If you really want your tea, Vyv, maybe you should go down to the shops yourself some time!"
"I could, and I do, when I'm out of vodka. But as I am currently very well stocked on vodka, and not as well on tea, I want you to go to the shops and get tea, you bastard!" he yelled. All this talk of vodka had apparently made him very thirsty, for he opened up the fridge, and took a swig of the only thing in it, an almost full bottle of cheap vodka.
"Yes, Neil, the only thing in this house is Vyvyan's disgusting alcohol. Did you ever think that the rest of us might want to eat, too?" spat Rick.
"Look, chaps, tell you what. Mike Thecoolperson will treat you all to fish and chips after the gig tomorrow."
Rick's face lit up. "A gig! Tomorrow? What're we playing."
"Well, I'm playing guitar, Mike's playing bass, Neil's playing guitar, and you said you'd play the fekkin' drums, Rick. And-"
"No, Vyvyan, I meant what songs are we playing?"
"Well, we've some awful piece of dung by Alexei Balowski, requests of his uncle Jerzei, an original piece I made up called 'Rick's an Ugly Bastard', and some hippie song that Neil's got."
"It's called Hurdy Gurdy Mushroom Man!" Neil put in, pouring some vodka into the tea kettle.
"Whatever. We're playing at the Kebab and Calculator tomorrow at five, courtesy of our manager," completed Mike.
"And I suppose our manager is Thatcher, the way this band is being run," Rick snorted.
"No, actually, its-" but Neil was cut off by an explosion outside.
"Boys! Oh boys!" a voice came from outside.
"Oh, hello Jerzei," Mike looked up (finally!) from his newspaper to greet their landlord. "Was there a particular reason you had to blow off the door?"
Vyvyan giggled. "No, no, Michael, you see, that was me! I fixed it so that whenever someone rang the door bell, the door would explode! Pretty clever, eh?"
"No, Vyvyan, it wasn't clever, it was stupid. Now we have to buy a new door every time someone rings the bloody doorbell!"
"Ya, well, I don't see you doing anything to stop me!" screamed Vyvyan.
"Because I didn't know it was going on, you stupid. oh never mind!" Rick clammed up, seeing the livid expression on Vyvyan's face. "Well, who is our manager?"
Balowski waved at him, and Rick made a terrible face. "Our landlord is our manager?"
"It's the only way we could get him to let us practice in the house, you see." Mike explained.
"Yes, my favorite Balowski Five!" exclaimed the landlord.
"But Jerzei, there's only four of us!"
Balowski stared pointedly at Mike. "Yes, well, that's what's so funny about it! Hahahahaha!"
"Mad as a kipper," Rick whispered in Neil's ear.
"Right, well, goodbye Mr. Balowski, and we'll see you tomorrow at the gig, alrite?" Mike asked, ushering him out of the house.
"Look, Mike, I'm going down to the shops, I guess. I'll be back in time for rehearsal today, alright?" Neil said sullenly, following the chuckling landlord out the void where the door had once been.
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*****
Ch. 1: The Balowski Five
(though there are indeed only four of them)
***** Rick examined the Fender guitar he held in his hands. "How extraordinary! Finding this in the gutter outside!"
"It's not bloody extraordinary!" exclaimed Vyvyan, walking through the kitchen. "It's mine. I was warm last night, so I chucked it through the window."
"And now I've found it, so it's mine. Finders keepers, losers weepers!" Rick caressed the guitar, which, upon further examination, did indeed say in large black lettering on the back: VYVYANS TOUCH AND RICK DIES. Seeing this, he quickly flipped it over. "Look at me! I'm Cliff Richards!" He strummed, resulting in a muted humming.
"Give my guitar back, you poof! It's bloody mine! I stole your piggy bank, and I bought it last week." Vyvyan grabbed the guitar back from Rick, and raised it to smash it over his head, but stopped just before it made contact. "See! I wouldn't smash my own guitar. If it was yours, I'd smash your face in with it!"
"He's right, Rick. It is his. We've got our own little band going." Mike said nonchalantly, examining his nails. "Everyone knows that singers get chicks. I thought it would do Vyv some good. I certainly don't need it." He winked at Rick, who, though thoroughly flabbergasted at this new information, was also seething with anger.
"You started a band without me?" The spotty lower lip started to tremble. "Not that I need help getting girls either, but I like rock and roll as much as the next student! Didn't you think that I might want to be involved?"
"Well, yah, we did, Rick, honest we did. But Neil said you probably wouldn't want to join, and-" Mike was cut off by a livid Rick.
"Neil is in the band and I'm not? That's it!" He picked up SPG, who squealed in protest.
"Let me down, Laddy!"
"Let me join, or." he thought for a moment. "Or I give your disgusting rat to Neil to cook for supper tonight!"
"It'll certainly be better than lentils." Vyv said calmly, before lighting a fag, and putting it to the back of Rick's hand.
"OOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWW!" Rick put his burn to his mouth. "Fine! See if I even want to be in your stupid band. I bet you just play some kind of stupid 'punk rock' music. I wouldn't join if you paid me, actually."
A musty smell wafted down the stairs, closely followed by Neil. "Hey, Rick. I've been trying to find you all morning. I was wondering if you might want to join a little band me and Vyvyan and Mike have going. It's going to be totally cool."
Rick grinned. "Haha, he does want me to be in it!" Mike put his head in his hands.
"Neil."
"Oops, sorry, Mike. Was I not supposed to invite Rick to join?" Neil asked, puzzled. "It's just that I'm never, like, let in on any decisions you guys make, right, and it's kind of bringing me down." He walked over to the stove, and looked in the pot. "Vyv, do you know that SPG is in the pot? I could cook him for you guys, but, you know, I'm a vegetarian, right, so I still need something to eat."
"You are not cooking SPG, you hippie!" yelled Vyvyan. He strode over to fetch his pet, but Rick stopped him.
"Then will you let me join your band?" he said, reaching for the gas on the stove.
"Fine. You can play bloody drums," grunted Vyvyan.
"Great idea, Vyv, except there's one problem." Mike pointed out. "Rick, do you know how to play the skins?"
Rick squirmed. "Well, not play, per say, but I can just kind of stand there and look like an anarchist!" He waved his hips in a vain attempt at a sexy dance, and waved his hands in the air, making a peace sign. Vyvyan gave him the two-finger salute back.
"No, no, Vyvyan. This is peace, not a two-finger salute! This," he said, turning it around, "is a bloody salute!" Seeing this, Vyvyan grabbed the pot that still contained his hamster, and biffed Rick on the head with it.
"Well, if you must be in it, Rick, we've got rehearsal today in the garden," Mike said, still not looking up from his paper.
"No, no, Mike, I'm meeting my friend Neil today, we can't have rehearsal!" Neil protested, but Mike held up a firm hand.
"Neil, I said we've got rehearsal today in the garden, so when do we have rehearsal?"
"Today in the garden, Mike, but, like, I really don't think it's fair, right, to have it on the only day I, like, have any sort of plans at all."
"Well, that's a bit too bad, isn't it Neil. Because if we don't rehearse, we're going to sound bloody awful tomorrow!" Vyvyan looked around at the bare table. "And where the hell is my tea?"
"I haven't made it yet, actually, because we're out of tea! If you really want your tea, Vyv, maybe you should go down to the shops yourself some time!"
"I could, and I do, when I'm out of vodka. But as I am currently very well stocked on vodka, and not as well on tea, I want you to go to the shops and get tea, you bastard!" he yelled. All this talk of vodka had apparently made him very thirsty, for he opened up the fridge, and took a swig of the only thing in it, an almost full bottle of cheap vodka.
"Yes, Neil, the only thing in this house is Vyvyan's disgusting alcohol. Did you ever think that the rest of us might want to eat, too?" spat Rick.
"Look, chaps, tell you what. Mike Thecoolperson will treat you all to fish and chips after the gig tomorrow."
Rick's face lit up. "A gig! Tomorrow? What're we playing."
"Well, I'm playing guitar, Mike's playing bass, Neil's playing guitar, and you said you'd play the fekkin' drums, Rick. And-"
"No, Vyvyan, I meant what songs are we playing?"
"Well, we've some awful piece of dung by Alexei Balowski, requests of his uncle Jerzei, an original piece I made up called 'Rick's an Ugly Bastard', and some hippie song that Neil's got."
"It's called Hurdy Gurdy Mushroom Man!" Neil put in, pouring some vodka into the tea kettle.
"Whatever. We're playing at the Kebab and Calculator tomorrow at five, courtesy of our manager," completed Mike.
"And I suppose our manager is Thatcher, the way this band is being run," Rick snorted.
"No, actually, its-" but Neil was cut off by an explosion outside.
"Boys! Oh boys!" a voice came from outside.
"Oh, hello Jerzei," Mike looked up (finally!) from his newspaper to greet their landlord. "Was there a particular reason you had to blow off the door?"
Vyvyan giggled. "No, no, Michael, you see, that was me! I fixed it so that whenever someone rang the door bell, the door would explode! Pretty clever, eh?"
"No, Vyvyan, it wasn't clever, it was stupid. Now we have to buy a new door every time someone rings the bloody doorbell!"
"Ya, well, I don't see you doing anything to stop me!" screamed Vyvyan.
"Because I didn't know it was going on, you stupid. oh never mind!" Rick clammed up, seeing the livid expression on Vyvyan's face. "Well, who is our manager?"
Balowski waved at him, and Rick made a terrible face. "Our landlord is our manager?"
"It's the only way we could get him to let us practice in the house, you see." Mike explained.
"Yes, my favorite Balowski Five!" exclaimed the landlord.
"But Jerzei, there's only four of us!"
Balowski stared pointedly at Mike. "Yes, well, that's what's so funny about it! Hahahahaha!"
"Mad as a kipper," Rick whispered in Neil's ear.
"Right, well, goodbye Mr. Balowski, and we'll see you tomorrow at the gig, alrite?" Mike asked, ushering him out of the house.
"Look, Mike, I'm going down to the shops, I guess. I'll be back in time for rehearsal today, alright?" Neil said sullenly, following the chuckling landlord out the void where the door had once been.