Charles Foster Ofdensen stands in the Dethloading dock of Mordhaus, signing for a gross of Jack Daniels which should've lasted Nathan Explosion through the next few months, but the drunken singer always seemed to finish it off prematurely. He finishes penning his name with a flourish, and watches as hooded roadies wheel the booze to Nathan's room.
"Uh...hey Ofdensen?" the Norweigian rhythm guitarist approaches the band manager in the hallway. "Dids you orders my boxes of balloons aminals?"
"Yes, Toki, they should be in your room."
"Aww...but man, I wanted de balloons aminals that is mades of aminals!" He flicks a deflated balloon in Charles' face.
"You merely asked for the balloons, Toki. You have to, umm, blow them up and make the animals yourself."
"But youse have banned Dr. Rockso from Mordhaus, and I wanted him to makes the balloons aminals," he sighs in his broken English.
"That...clown..." Charles growls under his breath, making a fist and pounding it into his hand. "That goddamn clown..." Without another word to Toki, he walks angrily into the living room.
"Hey, uh...hey. Thanks for the, uh, Jack. I almost ran out. Which would be seriously...not metal," Nathan says to the band manager.
"You're welcome, Nathan."
"Why is its he's always gettings de liquors and bottles delivered to his rooms, and I haves to leaves to gets the MILFS and GMILFS to comes with mes to the bedrooms, I cannots haves some broughts in..." Skwisgaar remarks from the hot tub, noodling on his guitar.
"We've discussed that, Skwisgaar. It's called 'kidnapping,' and the legal system has a very low opinion of the..."
"Legal system. Buncha douchebags," Pickles interrupts.
"You're tellin' me. We can kill anyone we want onshtage, but mesh up a couple of shtray dogs in an alley with a chainshaw and that's all 'animal cruelty,' blah blah blah, shtupid crybabies..." Murderface continues to stomp around drunkenly, whining about PETA.
"Not every living being in the entire world has signed a pain waiver, William," Charles tries in vain to remind the bassist.
"And what the hell crap ish that?" he lisps back. "Doeshn't that mean that you're not doing your job?"
"My job doesn't involve collecting pain waivers from every single..."
"Hey guys, guys. It's time for the Dëthkløk Minute, okay?" Nathan interrupts as Pickles clicks on the TV guitar pedal. Toki sits next to them on the couch, hugging a bowl labeled "Toki candy."
"Well...maybe it sshould," Murderface pouts to Ofdensen, trying to get the last word in.
"And here's the Dëthkløk Minute," the blond announcer proclaims. "Plans for the Dëthkløk tribute album, DëthTribute, are underway with recording artists clamoring to cover the band's most popular hits. So far Cannibal Corpse has signed on for a version of "Awake Mustakrakish," with other acts to follow. One lucky musician will be selected by the metal gods themselves to perform an unreleased song, despite these claims by Dëthkløk frontman Nathan Explosion."
Interview footage of Nathan begins to play. "All other bands are not even nearly as metal or as brutal as Dëthkløk. I mean it, they make me sick and I wish they would all die."
The offscreen interviewer asks, "But Mr. Explosion, you've said in the past that you're in support of several other metal bands. What about Metallica?"
Nathan shrugs. "Okay, yeah, uh, I guess Metallica is pretty metal."
The blond host returns to the screen. "And that is the Dëthkløk Minute. Stay tuned, every hour on the hour, for more Dëthkløk updates."
Pickles presses a guitar pedal. The TV flickers off, and the band turns towards their manager.
"What's all this crap about picking a band? You never told us about that," Pickles argues.
"Actually I did, Pickles, just last week during the band meeting. Don't you remember?"
"Nah, I was too drunk," he admits.
"I don't remember either," Nathan adds. "I was probably drunk, too."
"Wasn't it somethings about havings to write a new songs for dis new CD that we is not evens goings to be playings on?" asks Skwisgaar. "Dat's like, so many works for no reasons, don't you agree, Toki?"
"Was I evens at dat meeting?" Toki says with a mouthful of candy.
"Yes, yes you were," Charles informs him.
"Oh, so dat's where I was."
"Well, I don't know about you guysh, but I'm not letting shome lame-assh
bands shcrew up our mushic. What if they wanna make it all...wusshy and shtuff?" Murderface interjects.
"Ya, with rainbows and candy hearts!" Toki agrees.
"And be playing de old slow grandpa's guitars on alls of our songs,"
Skwisgaar says as he emerges from the hot tub. "You knows how I feels about old grandpa's guitars."
"That's the whole point, gentlemen. You select the band you like the most to perform one of the new songs you've written. That way, it ensures that they are talented and capable of doing justice to your music," their manager explains.
"I dunno, it still sounds kinda lame to me," says Pickles. "Who are these freakin' guys, anyway? Are they even brutal?"
"You know, I haven't bought an album that washn't brutal shince..." Murderface does his best to come up with the name of a non-metal album. "...shince...what was the name of that band where that guy killed himshelf?"
"Ha! Murderface, you likes the Milli Vanillis!" Toki laughs.
"Sh..sshut up!" he yells, and stabs the couch furiously with his knife.
"Guys, guys. Check it oooout," Nathan quiets them, as he presents a list that Charles has just handed him. "These are the bands that we get to choose from."
"What the...I don't know any of these douchebags," Pickles complains as he furrows his brow.
"I don't knows dem either," Toki admits.
Nathan reads through the list in his trademark low-end voice.
Pickles makes a face. "Dude, it all sounds like a buncha crap."
"Do dey haves de Milli Vanillis on dat list, sos we can picks dem for Murderface?" Skwisgaar chides his bandmate.
"You guysh ssuck!"
Nathan puts down the list dramatically. "Alright. It has been decided that based on names alone, none of these bands are even close to being brutal enough to handle Dëthkløk. We need some time to think about this."
"Why can'ts we just cover our own musics?" Toki asks, as the rest of the bandmembers voice their agreement.
"That would defeat the purpose of the contest," Charles tells them. "I do have video clips of each of the applicants, so..."
"Well dude, why didn't you say so in the first place?" Pickles rolls his eyes.
Angered, Charles retains his typical staunch expression as he flashes back to last week's band meeting, where he had lectured through an entire Powerpoint presentation about the selection process. Pickles and Nathan had been going bottle for bottle in a "brutal" drinking contest, Toki had been sniffing glue as he worked on one of his many model planes, Skwisgaar was ranking the ladies on a scale of one to ten as he flipped through an issue of Good Housekeeping, and Murderface was up on the table, amused by the types of shadows he could make using the projector.
"Gentlemen, you...you really should pay attention, this is important..." Charles had said futilely, but all he got in reponse was a dirty comment about Wesson cooking oil from Skwisgaar, and a dancing Murderface thrusting in front of the projector, singing "ding dong doodily doodily doo."
He shakes the memory from his head as he inserts the contest DVD into the player.
"What the...?" Murderface exclaims. "Theshe guysh all have their hair combed over one eye!"
"Perhaps dey is pirates?" Toki asks.
"No, pirates is makings better musics," Skwisgaar corrects him.
"Gawd, it's like a hundred cats in a blender!" sighs Pickles.
Nathan's eyes widen. "Hey, that's a good song title."
"Yeah, too bad we already has written 'Screaming Babies in a Blender,'" Toki reminds the singer.
"Oh yeah, that's...kinda similar."
"Uh...hi, Dëthkløk. We're an industrial band from..."
"What is this 'indus..tri...als'?" Skwisgaar asks. He and Toki practice saying 'industrials' several times.
"It's kinda like metal, but with synthesizers and computers and crap," Pickles tells them.
"Yeah, and not as heavy. Or as brutal. Because you can actually dance to it," adds Nathan.
"Sos it's some guys who can'ts play instruments ands dey haves computers to do it for dems?"
"Bashically," says Murderface.
They watch about ten seconds of a guy stomping around in fishnets before Pickles clicks to the next video.
"Whoa!"
"Whoa!"
"Wowee!"
The band's eyes remain glued to the screen as a thin, shapely girl with pale skin and long black hair wails on a guitar, accompanied by synthesizers and drum machines.
"Dudes, that is not metal. But that...is...hot," Pickles comments.
"I didna know dat de girls, dey could be playing de guitars," the blond lead guitarist admits. "And alls dis times, I could have beens screwing dese sluts and den jamming with dems..."
"Comeon guysh, jusht because she'sh hot doeshn't mean that we should let her butsher one of our shongs..."
The other band members glare at Murderface.
"Okay, maybe it doesh."
"You're darn right it does," Toki mumbles without turning away from the TV.
"We have a winnuuuuuur," Nathan growls. "Too bad I already have a, uh, girlfriend."
"Dude, she's in an f'ing coma! And you've been cheating on her nonstop ever since we..." Pickles argues.
"Well, uh...I feel real bad about it!"
"No you don't!"
"Gentlemen," Charles interrupts, "now that that's settled, Severinnia be brought to Mordhaus and will select one of you to produce the tribute song with her."
"Only ones of us?" Skwisgaar asks skeptically.
"Why can't we all do it? What the hell ish wrong with that?" Murderface says as he turns towards the window with a frown. "I know she'sh never gonna pick me..."
"Comeon, Murderface, you don't know that," Nathan tries to console him.
"The reason you all can't do it is because of what happened the last time you signed on to produce an album." Charles folds his arms. "And where is that band now?"
Toki is thoughtful for a moment. "De cemetery?"
"I don't thinks there was enoughs left overs to bury dems," Skwisgaar replies.
"Why in the world you thought it was a good idea to do a vocal take while blasting the singer out of a cannon is beyond me," Charles says, mostly to himself.
"Hey, that was brutal. And how were we supposed to know that hitting that brick wall would kill him?"
The manager remains indifferent and lets Nathan's unique brand of logic pass over him. "Moving on. I'll notify Severinnia of the good news, and make the travel arrangements. You gentlemen may want to write the song you'd like to have her perform before she arrives." Charles starts down the hallway to his office, leaving the band to its own devices.
"Letsh watch the video again," Murderface suggests.
"Yeah, let's watch it again," Nathan agrees.
Pickles hits the guitar pedal, and the video replays.
"So, she's gonna stay at Mordhaus," Pickles muses. "I wonder where she's gonna sleep."
"Oh comeon, thish place has, like, a million guestroomsh. I'm shure she'll get put up in one of those," Murderface answers him.
"I will be disagreeings with yous guys about dis. We all knows dat she will be staying in my rooms," Skwisgaar tells them.
"Oh yeah? Why not my room?" Nathan shoots back.
"Hey, uh...guys? Can'ts we all just be like happy friends? She won't like any of us if she sees us fightings all the time," Toki points out.
"You has a points dere, Toki."
"It'sh a good thing my shide project is already indushtrial," says Murderface. "I'll bet she picks me 'cause I'm already comfortable with that kind of mushic."
"Dude, you don't even know what you're saying. You only recorded that one song, and it was cut and dried metal," Pickles disagrees.
"Yeah, Pickle is right," Toki nods.
"Yeah, Murderface, it was pretty metal," adds Nathan.
"It can be anything I want it to be!" he protests.
"Except finished," Pickles whispers, and he and Nathan share a laugh.
"Well, I hates to break up this parties, but I got some things to do," Skwisgaar tells his bandmates.
"Yeah, I...uh...I've got some things to do too." Nathan excuses himself.
"I hear that," Murderface says as he stands up and leaves the living room.
"Where are dey all goings?" Toki asks Pickles.
"I don't know for sure, but they're prob'ly all gonna buy synthesizers and crap so they can try and make industrial music," Pickles assumes.
"Well den, lets us get goings."
"Yeah, why not." The drummer heads towards his room whistling "Water Horsey Blues," hoping secretly that Severinnia is a Snakes n' Barrels fan.