Never, ever put your musical taste into your work. Nobody cares that you like Nightwish, or Korn, or Katy Perry*, or whatever shitty band you heard from an AMV (where musical taste goes to die). It's intrusive, unnecessary, and just makes you look like a dog begging for a pat on the head for being a good good boy. Asshole.
Quite simply, you have to be me to break this unwritten rule, which is what I shall now do, shamelessly, and with a Fuck You grin on my lips. Because I'm awesome like that. If you don't like it, then fuck you (naturally).
I am only doing this because there simply are no two soul mates as made for each other as Heath Ledger's Joker and Iggy Pop & the Stooges' Raw Power album: from the music, to the lyrics, to Iggy's nihilistically manic persona, these two are each other. If you've never heard this album or this band, then I really could give a shit less if you don't "get" this fic, because this isn't for you. This is for me and my own personal, anti-social amusement.
In a nutshell, aside from the prologue, each chapter will be a performance of a single song from the album: eight songs, eight chapters. They'll be in the same order as on the album, cause if it's good enough for Iggy, it's good enough for me.
* Forgive me, Katy Perry! You know I love you!
Now, enough of my obnoxious, narcissistic blathering. I'm sure I've alienated enough (useless) people as it is...
I Am the World's Forgotten Boy... The One Who Searches to Destroy
0. Welcome to the Funhouse
"Ladies... gentlemen... and children of failed parents! Attend to what I have to say!"
The Joker's triumphant voice almost pierced the bedlam before him.
"Hey! I'm not talking to myself, here!"
The painted freak of nature impatiently tapped on his microphone, set in its stand at the front of the stage.
"Is this thing... are we even on?" he asked the guitarist, bassist, and drummer behind him, all dressed in nearly matching clown masks.
"Yeah, I think so, boss," replied the guitarist... or the bassist. Whichever. Didn't matter.
The... guy with the axe to the Joker's right, struck the strings of his instrument with his pick, unleashing a jagged wave of barbaric noise, static, and distortion. With the way the floor and the air trembled, from the mountain of amps behind them, to the very back of the dingy, piss-stained auditorium, you'd think the entire place, along with the dilapidated buildings surrounding it, would have been leveled.
The Joker waggled his pinky in his ear.
"Well, that answers that. Good job, Guitar Clown."
"I'm the bassist."
The Joker's eye twitched.
"Switch instruments with the real Guitar Clown."
"But, boss, I can't play guitar."
"Of course you can't. That's why you play bass. Now do what I say... or I'll stab you. I do things like that."
With a fearful gulp, the bassist-cum-guitarist exchanged instruments and nervous glances with his bandmate.
"Now!" declared the Joker, turning back to his captive audience, "Let's try this again... Oh good, you're paying attention this time."
The thunderous chord of the bass guitar had had the effect of silencing the unruly crowd gathered in the condemned venue, directing their attention to the front of the stage.
"So, I imagine you're all wondering why you're here."
The group of several hundred people erupted at once with several hundred shouted questions.
"Shut... the hell... UP!"
The crowd quieted more out of curiosity than fear.
"Thank you. Let me tell you a little story. Since I was a little tyke, I've probably always wanted to be a rock star. I mean, sex, drugs, assorted other parental nightmares. What more could an impressionable boy want? So now, I'm going to entertain my theoretical childhood dream and put on a little... rock 'n' roll show, for all of you lovely, lovely people."
A raucous round of cheers and applause broke out, to which the Joker gamely bowed and soaked up the adulation.
"If you still had the common sense to," he continued, waving down the commotion of the rowdy throng, "I'm sure you'd also be wondering why you're all so calm in the presence of a psychotic, serial killer clown whose only jollies are had at the expense of people other than himself. Well, my good not-friend, Jonathan Crane, has graciously allowed me to steal his brand spankin' new formula for something-or-other that removes the victim-slash-winner's inhibitions. And as we aaaaalllll know, there is no greater enemy to rock 'n' roll, then inhibitions... and Tipper Gore."
This time, the Clown Prince of Crime allowed the gathering to whip itself into a bit of a frenzy of cheering, before finally quieting them down again.
"Don't worry, I won't go on too much longer - gotta rock after all - but I'd just like to thank the person who wrote all the music The Joker and His Expendable Flunkies will be playing for you this fine, fine evening: myself. Or... at least the guy I probably stabbed to death and took it from. Honestly, I just kind of found the stuff in a bloody shoe box in my closet yesterday, and damned if can remember how it got there."
Throwing his outstretched hands to the ceiling, the Joker declared, like a circus ringmaster...
"Now! It's time for you all to show the world what happens when supposedly decent human beings... cut loose! Let's start the show!"
TBC...
All adulation from attractive females of legal age can be directed to the general area of my genitals. All adulation from ugly/fat/smelly/underage chicks or complaints from anyone can be directed to the general area of my anus. And if you didn't get the Tipper Gore joke, then you're probably not my kind of people.
Thank you and good night, Cleveland!