Author's note: Ok I don't own these people. I don't own any people. Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Charles Foster Ofdensen had worked hard to get to where he was
Charles Foster Ofdensen had worked hard to get to where he was. Becoming the chief financial officer of the most influential band in history was no easy feat. Maintaining that prestigious title – alive – was even more impressive. It required all the skill, the cunning and quick wit, as well as the physical prowess, Ofdensen possessed. Yes, he had always been proud of the future he had forged for himself, but now a small blue envelope he clutched in his hand stirred doubt in the back of his mind. Reading the gold embossed lettering on the front, he let out an audible sigh.
"Welcome back, class of 1998!" read the paper with all the pseudo-enthusiasm that came with school spirit. Feeling a little aged, Ofdensen quickly pulled out his Blackberry and noted the day of his 10-year college reunion. Privately, he considered the necessity of bringing a date.
In their continually dank arena, the Tribunal met once again to discuss their melodic foe. A dozen glassy-eyed conspirators stared at Senator Stampingston, who felt their contempt boring into him like many drills. He was consistently the bearer of bad news. With a distinct feeling that none of these men would have any objections to shooting the messenger, and with waning confidence, he addressed the gathering.
"Gentlemen, it appears Dethklok's manager will be attending his 10-year college reunion at Yale University." Behind him, the massive screen projected an image of a stern looking man in wire-frame glasses. "This is a golden opportunity to ascertain some crucial background information on this man. Our resident managerial expert, Dr. Rupert Windermere."
The pale, shriveled face of Dr. Windermere let out a surprisingly high-pitched voice, that echoed effortlessly throughout the arena.
"Gentlemen this man is an enigma, a phantom. We have no records of his life before Dethklok, no personal information, no evidence that he even exists. If the bastard has fingerprints, we've yet to find proof of that. This event at Yale University could be the perfect opportunity to discover more about this, this seemingly untouchable man. It could also provide a means with which to destroy him once and for all."
General Crozier leaned forward in his chair. "What did you have in mind?"
Though it was never consciously planned, the members of Dethklok had a way of all showing up to the dining table at about the same time. Each of them would feign a slight disgust at the presence of one another, while inwardly feeling glad that they would have company for their meal. Ofdensen knew of this strange habit, and took mealtimes as opportunities to discuss important business matters with the band. This ritual, though well established by now, was a cause of unending complaint from Dethklok, who would often yell at the manager and sometimes throw food at him too, for good measure. So it was that at 9 o'clock in the evening, Toki pulled himself away from his toy models, Skwisgaar from his guitar practice, Nathan from the immense television and Murderface from whatever it is bass players do for fun, each seeking sustenance and joining an already seated (and very tipsy) Pickles at the dinner table.
As usual, Jean-Pierre took orders and set about busily whipping up whatever outrageous food the band desired. And as usual, Ofdensen showed up at the head of the table just as the meal was being served.
"Fuck, Ofdensen, do you have to do this every time?" asked Nathan angrily. "I'm just trying to eat my fucking bouillabaisse and you gotta come in and…stand there…."
"Ya, lets us haves our meals in peace!" Yelled Skwisgaar.
Ofdensen was used to this reaction. Calmly, he began, "Well, I –"
"Hey, hey business guy." Pickles was very drunk, and his words slurred together almost incoherently. "I got a business-type question fer ya."
"Yes?" Ofdensen replied patiently.
"How come, how come we gotta pay taxes?" Pickles slammed his fist down belatedly on the table. "I am so sick an' tired of wasting my money on like, schools and roads and shit. I don't even need that stuff, those fucking douche bags up on Capitol Hill, you know, with their…pork barrel spending and…NAFTA…"
A moment of silence followed Pickles' rant as everyone tried to decipher what the drummer had said.
"Well," Ofdensen cut the silence short in his usual clippy manner. "I see you've fallen asleep watching CNN again. I can tell you this though, the current administration has given you tremendous tax breaks, you of course being in the top 1 of wealth in the nation. I would not be complaining-"
"But, we still do pay taxes?" Asked Nathan.
"Well, yes."
"Da's dildos." Skwisgaar huffed. He didn't really have any desire to buy anything for himself, but he didn't want to pay the stupid Americans.
"Scho, how can we, you know, NOT pay taxsches?" Murderface stabbed his spaghetti dinner ineffectively, staring up at Ofdensen.
"Well, if you wanted to utilize a fraudulent method, you could, set up an off-shore bank account, falsify your receipts, create a fake charity…there are a number of ways to evade taxes illegally." The faces at the table lit up, only to be disappointed by Ofdensen's next comment. "However we're not going to do any of them. If you want to see your tax rates go down, you're going to have to vote for a president who is willing to give that to you."
"Okays, I's goings to do thats then," Announced Toki decidedly.
"Well Toki I'm afraid you can't."
Toki sneered at Ofdensen, a look that just barely managed to look threatening, but was still overwhelmingly adorable.
"Well you see," Ofdensen answered Toki's unasked question, "You are not a citizen of the United States, and thusly cannot participate in our electoral process. Now, I was really hoping we could discuss-"
"Dat stupids! I wants to votes for no tax for Toki!" Toki yelled. "Makes me city-suns mk Charlie? I wants to be ones nows, so makes it happens, mk."
Ofdensen closed his eyes for a brief moment before beginning. "Well Toki I'm afraid it's not that simple. If you want to become a citizen of the United States you have to take a citizenship test, proving your knowledge of US history, governmental affairs, as well as your patriotism. It…can prove to be quite difficult."
Skwisgaar harrumphed from the far end of the table. "Pah, what woulds you wants to be city-suns of dis dildos countries anyway Toki. Haves some shames please."
"Well, now that…taxes have been discussed, I have something very important I need to talk to you boys about." Ofdensen took a deep breath, "I need to ask a favor of you. My…Yale reunion is coming up and it's very important that I appear successful. I'd like you boys to come with me so that my peers can see what it is I do now."
"Yale? Jeezus you really are a suit aren't ya?" Pickles laughed, clapping Ofdensen on the back. "You need to prove to all the spoiled little legacy douches that yer a success story eh?"
"Well, frankly yes, that's what I was aiming for-"
"I'm in!" Pickles spilled drink on Ofdensen's shoes. "I love to scare the shit outta those stuck-up country club douche bags." He hiccupped and threw up a little onto the floor. Wiping his mouth he muttered, "Think they're so much better than us."
Nathan agreed, "Yeah ok we'll go to your gay little party, we'll make it the most brutal Yale reunion party ever."
"No doubt you will." Ofdensen adjusted his glasses. This was the part he had been dreading. "I…need to ask one more favor of you."
"Gods whats is it littles Mr. me me mes" said Skwisgaar in an exasperated tone.
Ofdensen grimaced. "I need you to help me find a date for the party."
