Disclaimer: I don't own "The Big Bang Theory."
Dr. Sheldon Cooper Rocks Out
By
Runt Thunderbelch
"I've had a hard day," grumbled Leonard as he and Penny headed up the staircase from the lobby.
"You've had a hard day!" she snarled. "You've had a hard day? YOU'VE had a hard day?"
"Em, yes? But apparently it was nowhere as bad as yours?"
"Twyla Murphy is pregnant!"
"Twyla Murphy . . . as in 'not you'?"
"You don't get it, do you, Leonard?"
"I never get it."
"Twyla Murphy is pregnant. Twyla Murphy has to go on maternity leave. Twyla Murphy works Monday nights. Now, someone has to cover for her on Monday nights. And so who is it that now has to work Monday nights?"
"Em, you?"
"Me! Good ol' 'Take One for the Team Penny'!"
"Aren't uh Monday nights in a restaurant really slow?"
"Oh yes, they're slow. Really slow. Dead. So dead, our manager has decided we need a gimmick to bring in some customers."
"And the gimmick is . . ?"
"Amateur night! Any gaggle of teenagers with delusions of starhood and with anything vaguely resembling music instruments is welcome to step up onto our little temporary stage and commit mass assault upon the eardrums of everyone in the Cheesecake Factory!"
They reached their floor. "Sorry. So what are you going to do about it?"
Penny headed for her door. "Get drunk."
Leonard watched as Penny unlocked her door and made her way inside. Poor girl. He unlocked his own door and went in.
Atop the coffee table stood Sheldon Cooper, Ph.D., wearing a black leather jacket with the collar turned up, tight black jeans, black boots with two inch heels, and what may have been a dead beaver on his head. He was holding an electric guitar.
Amy was sitting on a chair nearby, her harp resting on her shoulder.
"Sheldon? What's going on?"
"Leonard, I have bad news, and I have good news!" his slender roommate replied bounding down from the table. "The bad news is that the grant, which in any just universe would have been awarded to me, has been hijacked by a cabal of unscrupulous Japanese nuclear theoreticians. The good news is that the Cheesecake Factory has amateur night. So I'm putting my high school band back together, and I'm going to become a fabulously wealthy rock-and-roll star. Then I'll be able to provide my own financing. Isn't it wonderful?"
"Your high school friends are coming here to play in your old band?"
"Don't be ridiculous. They're all from Texas. Most have already been arrested, tried, convicted and executed. So my old band is going to have to consist of entirely new talent. Amy here has agreed to join."
"Hi Leonard," she chirped, strumming her harp. "Do you want to rock out with us?"
"Oh thanks, Amy, but I, I, I . . ." He was staring at Sheldon. "What's that on your head?"
"That's my idea," gloated Amy. "Sheldon's thin hair and theoretical-physicist hairstyle does not give him the requisite rock-and-roll ethos. So I bought him a wig."
"Oh. It looks . . . interesting."
"See, Sheldon? I told you so."
Leonard was frowning. "Somehow I never pictured you as a rocker."
"It was during my rebellious adolescence," Sheldon explained. "My mother told me that rock and roll was the devil's music, and that was a good enough endorsement for me."
The front door swung open, and in came Howard and Raj carrying delicious-smelling boxes. "Who wants pizza?"
Sheldon's eyes perked up. "Howard, you play the electronic keyboard, do you not?"
Howard shrugged. "A little. You remember that time I played with Leonard backing me up on drums."
Amy set her harp upright and bounced to her feet. "Drums? That's the central pillar of any rock-and-roll band!"
"But they're in storage."
Howard asked, "What's this all about?"
Sheldon beamed. "We're forming a rock-and-roll band. I'm lead guitar; Amy's on harp; Leonard it would appear will be our drummer, and you're going to be on keyboard."
"No, no, no, no," stammer Howard. "I'm Jewish. Jews don't play rock and roll. I only learned the keyboard in order to interact with any extra-terrestrials who communicate using musical notes."
"Can I join too?" asked Raj.
Sheldon gazed at him. "Do you play a musical instrument?"
"I'm from a third-world country. Sure, my family had a TV and a radio, but most of the time, our electrical grid was down. So we needed to learn musical instruments in order to amuse ourselves."
Amy said, "Let's eat the pizza, then everyone go get their instruments, and we can meet back here for rehearsal."
۞
"What in the world is that?" vociferated Sheldon.
Raj was dragging in an extensively decorated, 10-foot-long bamboo tube. "It's a didgeridoo."
"But, but, but a didgeridoo is an indigenous Australian instrument! As an Indian, you should be playing the sitar."
"Dude, a sitar has 23 strings. My left hand has only 4 fingers. How am I supposed to play something like that? A didgeridoo has one note. One note, I can handle."
"Fine! Okay, fine!" snapped Sheldon. He stomped over, picked up a small stack of photocopies and began giving each band member a copy. "Here is a song I've written. I suggest we start by learning it."
"You wrote a song?"
"Well, just the lyrics. Brian Wilson wrote the music."
"Brian Wilson? As in, Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys?"
"Is a rock-and-roll song, Leonard. From whom do you think I'm going to steal the music, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart?"
۞
Monday night, Penny was in Hell. The good thing about that, she realized, was that things couldn't possibly get any worse. She was trying hard to ignore the stage as the first band set up. Okay, what she was really trying to do was to figure out how to steal a drink without the manager seeing her.
"Welcome to amateur night at the Cheesecake Factory!" chirped her enthusiastic boss over the cheapo-cheapo public-address system. "Tonight we have a real treat for you. The world debut of Sheldon Cooper, Ph.D. and the Sub-Atomic Particles!"
Penny swung around. Oh . . . my . . . god.
Sheldon was stepping up to the mike. "Good evening all. My name is Dr. Sheldon Cooper. As you may or may not know, recently the good folks a Cern managed to accelerate a neutrino to faster than the speed of light. This, of course, violates the rules of physics as postulated by Dr. Albert Einstein. So, in celebration of this momentous event, I wrote this song.
He twanged his electric guitar.
Leonard began pounding on his drums. Amy strummed her harp. Howard struck a chord on his electronic keyboard. And Raj blew a note so low that it sounded as if it echoed up from the very pits of Hell.
Sheldon sang:
I was cruisin' in my neutrino late one night
When a tachyon pulled up on the right.
It twisted the fabric of time and space
And challenged me then and there to a race
I said, "You're on, tacky, my mill's runnin' fine
And there's some laws of physics, I gonna define.
Einstein was a bright guy, but I've spotted a flaw,
So let's race all the way
To Einstein's Law."
Einstein's Law, it's no place to play
Einstein's Law, you best keep away
Einstein's Law, I can hear 'em say
Won't come back from Einstein's Law
Geneva was deserted late Friday night
We were buggin' each other while we sat out the light
He might have been good; but I knew I was great;
Ya shudda seen my atomic particles accelerate.
I flew past a large electron-positron collider
And tweeked my neutron beam just an Angstrom wider.
Anti-protons were poppin' in my Hadron's maw
When I pulled her out, there we were
At Einstein's Law
Einstein's Law, it's no place to play
Einstein's Law
Well, the last thing I remember, Doc, space-time started to curve
And Schrödinger cat, I began to observe.
I know I'll never forget that horrible sight
I guess I found out for myself that everyone was right
Won't come back from Einstein's Law
Einstein's Law, it's no place to play
Einstein's Law, you best keep away
Einstein's Law, I can hear 'em say
Won't come back from Einstein's Law
THE END