Summary: Foop and his friends form a rock band for their school's talent show, but they must keep it hidden from Anti-Cosmo, whom Foop secretly fears disapproval from.

Hey, I'm not dead! I lost interest for a while, but I'm back with part two of this episode. I should really get back into this series.

I'm (Not) in the Band (Part Two)

The kids returned to Foop's room to make their first attempt at writing a song. Foop had his chin resting in his hands, elbows propped on the windowsill, gazing out the window. Brenda was pacing. Anti-Goldie was sitting against the wall, leaning her head back on it. And, Bryson was sitting on Foop's coffin, his legs dangling off the edge.

Bryson blew out a sigh. "So…"

"...Music," Anti-Goldie blurted thoughtfully.

Brenda stopped pacing. "Guys, I don't think randomly blurting out stuff is gonna give us a song."

Anti-Goldie shrugged. "It could work. Why don't we just say the first words that pop into our heads and see if we can make something out of that?"

Bryson clapped his hands and grinned. "Artichokes!" The girls just stared at him. He frowned. "What? That was the first word that popped into my head."

"Artichokes?" Anti-Goldie repeated in confusion. "Really?"

Brenda would have rolled her eyes if she had pupils. "Girl, I learned a long time ago not to question his thought processes." She thought for a moment. "We could write a song about choking people."

Anti-Goldie nodded. "We could, we could…"

"Bratwurst!" Bryson exclaimed.

Brenda raised an eyebrow. "Brother, are you hungry, by any chance?"

"So hungry!" He looked over at Foop, who hadn't moved from his place by the window. "Hey, Foop? Ya got any snacks? I got a real craving for a Mexican donut."

Anti-Goldie blinked, trying (and failing) to make sense of the male Xye. "You mean a churro?"

"What's a churro?"

Foop hadn't heard a word his friends had been saying. Try as he might, he simply could not get his father's words out of his mind. Sure, some rockers went overboard on...everything, but Foop was better than that. But, would his father feel the same? Would he be disappointed or look down on him? Foop swallowed hard at the thought.

Brenda's voice brought him back to the present. Now standing beside him, she said, "You're awful quiet, Foop."

Thinking quick, Foop lied, "Oh, I'm just looking for inspiration in the beauty of nature." Outside, lightning crashed in the blood-red sky. A large bat flew by, only to be swallowed whole by an even bigger creature with huge claws and several rows of sharp teeth. "Sadly, even this beautiful weather isn't giving me any ideas."

"Kumquats!"

Foop groaned. "Ugh! Will someone get this guy some food, already?" The knock at the door only irritated him more. "No one wants you! Go away!"

Amused, Anti-Cosmo opened the door, his wife grinning behind him. "Now, is that any way to speak to people who brought snacks?"

Anti-Wanda poofed up a plate of savory treats. "I made mini bagel pizzas! One of them's half eaten, 'cause I sorta ate half of it. I also ate four others. And, part of a chair. I was really hungry."

"FOOD!" Fast as lightning, Bryson breezed past Anti-Wanda, grabbing the tray and staring at the bagel pizzas eagerly. "Thanks, Foop's mom. If I had to go one more hour without eating, I was gonna eat everyone in this room! That's not an exaggeration. I was seriously this close to eating all of you." He popped a bagel pizza into his mouth.

While everyone else just stared at Bryson, Anti-Wanda piped up, "I wanna hear the song! When can I hear the song?"

Foop narrowed his eyes at her. "We don't have a song, you insignificant toad!"

She frowned, and Anti-Cosmo glared daggers. "That is not how you speak to your mother."

Hot shame covered his face whether he wanted it to or not. "Uh, right. My apologies, Mother. I'm just very frustrated, right now."

His mother smiled. "It's okay, sweetie. You get lashing out from your daddy."

"It's true," Anti-Cosmo confirmed. "I tend to do that. So, why the frustration, son?"

"Because, Father," Foop answered, forcing himself not to yell again, "none of us can think of anything to write about."

Mouth full of the last bagel pizza, Bryson said, "I still like my idea."

"No one wants to hear a song about Courage the Cowardly Dog!"

To everyone's surprise, Anti-Cosmo commented. "I do." They all stared at him, and he shrugged. "What? It was a good show. Anyway, perhaps we'll leave you kids to your work. My little prodigy," he added with a wink at his son. "Oh, I just don't get tired of saying that!" He poofed away.

Anti-Wanda smiled at her son. "You've really made him proud, sweetie."

Foop deadpanned, "I know what I've done."

"He's so excited to hear your song! And, so am I! Acoustics is the best music!" She poofed away.

Foop breathed deeply, struggling with not screaming in frustration. Even his dimwitted mother wanted something he wasn't going to provide. "Hey, guys," he said, an idea forming. "Perhaps, we could write two songs. A rock song for the talent show, and an acoustic one for my parents."

"I thought you didn't care about their opinions," Anti-Goldie asked suspiciously.

Foop thought over what he'd requested and mentally smacked himself. "I-I don't! I just, um...um… Nonspecific excuse!"

Brenda walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, if we're really starting a band, then your parents are gonna find out about it sooner or later."

"I choose later! I know for a fact that neither are fans of rock and roll and that my father will probably kick me out of the house or something. I'm simply worried about displeasing him and making him hate or something, alright?"

Anti-Goldie raised an eyebrow. "Dude, do you realize you just bared your soul to us?"

Foop stammered as he realized that she was right. What was wrong with him today? "Uh-uh-I- Oh, let's just write a stupid song, already!"

After licking the crumbs off the plate, Bryson asked, "Can we write about how awesome these mini bagel pizzas are?"

"You haven't been paying any attention to us, have you?" Anti-Goldie asked, annoyed.

"Nope!" He slurped up the remaining crumbs.

Foop sighed. He had an idea for a song, but he kind of hated it. Then again, he'd already bared his soul to his friends (except maybe Bryson, who hadn't seemed to hear a word they'd said). They probably wouldn't be too surprised.

It was the day of the talent show, and the school auditorium was filled to the brim. Currently, Sammy Sweetsparkle was trying to juggle, but really all he was doing was constantly picking up the balls he was failing to catch. Good. There was absolutely no real competition.

Foop was distracted from his musings by the sound of Anti-Goldie panicking. "Oh, I'm so nervous! I've never been on stage before! What if I freeze up? What if I throw up? Does this dress make my butt look big? And, where the heck is Waldo!?"

Bryson hugged her far too tightly. "Relax, girl! We got this."

"Personally, I'd be more concerned about Foop," Brenda commented.

Foop started at her worried tone. "I beg your pardon?"

Brenda pulled the music sheet out of her pocket. "These lyrics, man. Are you sure you're alright?"

Heck, no. "Of course, I am. Those lyrics aren't even about me! They're about...not me!"

Bryson released Anti-Goldie, who started gasping for breath, and held his arms out to Foop. "Do you need a hug, too?"

Foop glared at him. "If you touch me, you die."

"Whoa!" Bryson held up his hands defensively. "Normally, you're just passive-aggressive when I offer you a hug."

Foop was about to retort (possibly with words that would give his father a heart attack), when Ms. Powers announced, "Let's give a big hand to Sammy Sweetsparkle, and let's all hope he recovers from the concussion he gave himself…" The audience cheered, apparently deciding to ignore that last part.

Meanwhile, in the audience, Anti-Cosmo was impatiently checking his watch. "Ugh. Why hasn't Foop gone on, yet? All we've seen is a bunch of idiots nearly getting themselves killed by talent they don't have."

Anti-Wanda, who was sitting next to him, shrugged. "Maybe they're saving the best for last?"

Anti-Cosmo considered this. "Yes, I suppose that's possible."

"And, last, but certainly not least," Ms. Powers called out, "we have four students performing an original song!"

"Ooh, this is it!" Anti-Cosmo leaned forward in anticipation, and his wife did the same.

"Put your hands together for Brenda and Bryson Diablo, Anti-Goldie Anti-Goldenglow, and Anti-Poof Anti-Cosma!"

As the audience cheered and Anti-Goldie poofed up their instruments, Bryson asked, "Your name is Anti-Poof?"

"Legally, yes," Foop responded. "Now let's blow the roof off this place!"

The kids took up their positions with their respective instruments - with Foop at the microphone, since they all agreed that he was the only one of them who could even kind of sing.

(This song is a parody of Numb by Linkin' Park.)

Tired of trying to be what you want.

Feeling so worthless, do I really deserve this?

Don't know why you are ruining my fun.

Put under the pressure of trying to please you.

Is everything that I do just another mistake to you?

I am just so done, and, you don't even care!

I've become so tired, so much more aware

Of becoming this! All I want to do

Is be more like me and be less like you!

Anti-Cosmo watched and listened to the performance, both confused and intrigued. Now that he thought about, Foop never did say what sort of music he was interested in. Anti-Cosmo had merely assumed it would be acoustics. His son never struck him as a lover of - ugh - rock and roll. Well, so be it. If that was what Foop liked, then who was Anti-Cosmo to stop him? The odds of the boy making it big were rather slim, especially at his age, but there was no harm in him having a little fun with his friends.

Wait… Anti-Cosmo paid close attention to the lyrics. There was no way those lyrics were just some rhymes the kids randomly thought up. There was something deeper there. But, what? Who among the four of them wrote that song?

His question was answered when Foop locked eyes with him. A look of utter horror overtook the boy's once-euphoric expression, and he squeaked out, "Father?" His friends stopped playing their instruments. The room grew silent, and everyone turned to look at Anti-Cosmo, who was processing the situation.

Oh.

...Oh…

The song was about him.

Foop dropped his guitar and ran off the stage. Anti-Goldie awkwardly stepped up to the microphone and tapped on it a few times to get the crowd's attention. She cleared her throat. "Um…there's been a change of plans. Foop's very...emotional…" Angry screams and loud smashing-sounds came from backstage. "And, very violent. So, um, while we calm him down… Er, please enjoy...Bryson...singing various songs of the Public Domain."

The girls ran backstage, and Bryson walked up to the microphone. He cleared his throat and began singing as he shook his hips and waved his hands side to side in an attempt at a cute dance. "Jimmy crack corn, and I don't care! Jimmy crack corn, and I don't care!" He stopped dancing and frowned. "Why did I sing that? Now, I'm hungry again!"

Brenda and Anti-Goldie found Foop backstage, repeatedly smashing a new guitar (he must have poofed it up) to the ground and screaming, "I CAN'T TAKE IT! I CAN'T TAKE IT! I CAN'T TAKE IT!"

When he threw the remainder of the guitar to the ground and just floated there, panting, Anti-Goldie tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, and she simply could not resist asking, "Hey, just checking; can you take it?"

She quickly realized her mistake, when her friend's blue face turned purple. "I WILL BURN YOU IN THE FIERY PITS OF HADES!" Brenda slapped him the face. He blinked. "Do that again." She did so. He rubbed his stinging cheek. "Thanks. I needed that."

"What's wrong, Foop?" Anti-Goldie asked once she was certain he wouldn't maim her. "I thought we were doing pretty good."

Ignoring the question, Foop glared accusingly at them. "What is my father doing here?"

Anti-Goldie raised her hands defensively. "Don't look at me, man. I didn't tell him anything."

"Me neither," Brenda confirmed.

"Uh…" Bryson drawled, staring at them guiltily from around the corner. "You said not to tell your dad, so I kinda told your mom. Should I not have done that?" Foop started turning purple again. Bryson swallowed hard. "I think I'll go sing more Public Domain songs." As he returned to the stage, they heard him singing, "London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down…"

Foop slowly let out a breath. Hiding his own fear and despair was getting harder. He briefly wondered if throwing Bryson into a vat of acid would make him feel better. No, then he would just lose one of the few friends he had.

"Foop," Brenda's gravelly voice brought him back to the present, "it doesn't matter what your dad thinks. You should just focus on being you."

"Don't you think I'm trying?" Foop lamented. Because, his gosh-darn emotions were getting the better of him. Curse his three-year-old mindset! "I'm trying so hard to be me, but being me isn't cutting it! I mean, think about it! I come up with evil schemes, I cause bad luck throughout the universe, I drink hot tea even though I prefer iced! I do things my father does so that I can be like him. He's the feared but respected leader of Anti-Fairy World. And, what I am? I'm just some kid who's lucky enough to be related to him. Do you have any idea how hard it is, trying to live up that hype?

Meanwhile, I've something that's mine. Something that makes me happy. But, it's something that my father detests! I can't share it with him because, I'll lose it if he isn't proud of me!" He panted and pressed his hand against his heart, as if that would stop his heart from beating out of his chest. "Oh, man… Oh, I'm so glad I got that off my chest."

"Wow…" Foop's heart pounded even harder at the sound of the familiar voice behind him. His father was floating there, completely and utterly stunned. "That, um, wow."

While Foop blanched, Anti-Goldie coughed into her fist. "Well, I just remembered, I need to go...iron my shoes." She poofed - awkward! - away.

As Brenda slowly backed away, she drawled, "And, I...don't exist."

The father and son were left alone. Both were silent until the former cleared his throat, rather unsure of how to deal with the current situation. "I...I thought that, um, that you and your friends were quite good-"

Foop raised a silencing hand. "Don't bother with pleasantries, Father. I know you hated it."

Anti-Cosmo flinched at his son's defeated tone. "I-I never said-"

"I know you hate rock and roll, and I know you were you expecting something far different. But-But-But, I'm not you, Father! I'm not as smart or sophisticated as you! I'm bad at math. I can't understand half the big words you use. And, when I'm drinking fizzy beverages, sometimes I like to burp the alphabet! Just to show that I can!"

"Foop-"

"Please, don't interupt me, when I'm ranting!" At this point, yelling was all Foop could do to keep himself from crying. "You're better than me at everything! And-And, I just want to be as awesome as you, but-"

"That's enough." Foop clamped his mouth shut. Shutting up was the only thing he could do when his father used his authority-figure voice. Arms crossed, green eyes narrowed dangerously at purple ones, Anti-Cosmo wouldn't listen to another word of such nonsense. "You are right about thing, young man; I am disappointed in you."

Foop choked back fresh tears. "You...You are?"

"Of course I am! I mean, really? How could you think me to be so cold to my own flesh and blood?"

What? Foop stared at his father in shock.

"Of course, we're different, you twit! It is biologically impossible for two anti-fairies to be exactly alike. And, anyway, while I'm better than you at some things, you tend to best me at other things." He then added with a small smile, "Namely music, it seems."

Foop processed what his father was saying. "So...you're okay with me being in a rock band?"

Anti-Cosmo smiled wider. "Indeed, son."

Foop released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Thanks, Father. That means world, coming from you. But, don't tell anyone I said that."

Anti-Cosmo chuckled then said shyly, "You know, I hadn't realized you'd put me on such a high pedestal."

Foop blushed. "Well, uh, I-I- Argh! If you tell anyone I have feelings, I'll melt you in the depths of Heck!"

His father laughed. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone about what a softie you are."

"I am not soft!"

Suddenly, Foop's friends ran up to him excitedly. Bryson called out, "Foop! A bunch of kids want us to play at their birthday parties!"

"And, some of the grown-ups want us to play at their grown-up parties!" Anti-Goldie exclaimed. "I've always wanted to know what happens at grown-up parties!"

Foop grinned. "This is amazing! The Bassinets are going to be famous!"

Bryson frowned. "I thought we were the Misfits."

Brenda put a hand on her hip. "Oh, we changed it, while you were in the bathroom, throwing up mini bagel pizzas."

"I guess that's what I get for not sharing."

Anti-Cosmo beamed. "Well, I'm proud of you kids. And, you know, if you're going to get gigs, you're going to need a manager, don't you think?"

Foop gaped at him. "Are-Are you offering to be that manager?"

"Only if you'll have me."

Foop couldn't help hugging his father. (He blamed his mother's DNA.) "We'll totally have you!"

Bryson bounced on his feet in excitement. "Ooh, this calls for one more song!" He cleared his throat and started singing at the top of his lungs.

(This song is to the tune of Take Me Out to the Ballgame.)

Take me out to the swamp, and

Hold my head underwater!

Make me come back from the dead and haunt you!

I'll make you wish you never were born, 'cause you'll

Die, die, die worse than I did!

You'll rot from your toes to your brain!

And, this song is allowed on this site,

'Cause it's Public Domain!

After a moment of stunned silence, Anti-Cosmo awkwardly commented, "I'm pretty sure that's not how the song goes…"

The End

Does anyone remember the FoP episode, "Anti-Poof," when Fairy Hart referred to Foop as the "bad boy of the bassinets?" Now, you know where the band's name came from! Review, everyone!