Chapter Six: Rixx Radio


Rikki walked into the room just as the DJ finished speaking.
"...And that was "Kashmir" by Led Zeppelin, one of my personal faves," she was saying. Clearing her throat, the tall, dark-haired DJ added, "Coming up next, we'll have a live interview with the lead singer of one of the up-and-coming heavy metal bands that has been bubbling underground for a couple of years now and is ready to burst onto the surface and take the hard rock world by storm." Rikki waited impatiently until the On-Air light blinked off, before ambling into the room and growling, "C'mon, let's get this promotional crap over with!" Taking a seat next to the DJ and putting on the pair of headphones, Rikki impatiently cracked his knuckles as he waited for the commercials to end, never once taking notice of who the actual DJ was. Unfortunately, the DJ didn't bother to glance in his direction either, and it wasn't until the show was back on the air that she bothered to spare him a look, as she automatically started to say, "And we're back here on 107.7 WHIP, with our special guest..." Her jaw dropped open in recognition, as she gawked at Rikki, who arched an eyebrow and returned her wide stare with a bored look.
"Oh, my God! Rikki Stixx! It's you, isn't it, you little S.O.B.!" she hollered furiously, her surprise turning to anger. Rikki shot her a bored look, demanding sullenly, "Yeah, am I supposed to know who you are?" She didn't look like a groupie...
"It's me, you assclown! Amber!"
Rikki appeared unimpressed, so Amber further prodded, "Amber Crowley? Your former lead guitarist?" When Rikki still looked clueless about her identity, Amber hissed, "You stole my frickin' hairspray to do a magazine photo shoot, remember?!" At that, Rikki's eyes lit up in recognition, as he crowed, "Oh, yeah, you're the crazy vampire wannabe chick!" He looked her up and down, and his upper lip twisted up in a smug Billy Idol-esque sneer, as he added, "Gee, didn't recognize ya there looking like a normal human being." Amber snorted.
"Hn, same thing can be said for you, Rixx!" she shot back. And then Amber added grouchily, "The radio station made me buy a new preppy wardrobe, on account of my regular attire freaking out the other DJs...Stop laughing! That ain't funny, Rixx, and you know it!"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever," Rikki snorted in an insulting tone of voice, and then turned his attention to the control panel, murmuring, "Hn, what's with all these blinking lights?" while Amber bristled. Shrugging and deciding that the best way to find out was to press one, Rikki reached out and pushed the first one, as Amber suddenly remembered something and smacked her forehead, groaning, "Oh, no! I completely forgot--we're on the air!" But it was too late, and the first caller--a schoolgirl with a squeaky, nasal voice--was already gushing over the phone, "Hey, you, like, totally sound, like, hella sexy! Are you, like, hella sexy?" While Rikki smirked and gloated, Amber growled, "Gee, I sure hope you're talking about the giant jackass that just walked in, and not me," and reached over and turned it off before a preening Rikki could reply.
"We ain't taking no phone calls yet," she grumbled, as she reached over to her stack of carefully prepared question cards, before realizing that this was Rikki she was talking about, and deciding to throw them out the window--literally.
"All right, listen, Rixx, I don't like you and you don't like me, and we both know this interview ain't gonna work out and we'll wind up destroying the *bleep*-ing studio if we're around each other for a long period of time," she began in a rushed string of words, as Rikki glanced up at the audio system, before remarking, "Hey, cool, you've got one of those automatic censors too, just like Roxy." Amber arched an eyebrow, as she inquired, "Who's Roxy? Your new squeeze-toy?" Rikki shook his head.
"Naw, she's too much of a high-maintenance *bleep*, plus she scares the hell out of me," he replied, casually propping his feet up on the control panel. Amber smirked.
"Hn, I like her already," she gloated, receiving a nasty glare from her former boyfriend and band mate. Clearing her throat, Amber added, "Anyway, like I was saying, there's no need for us to spend any more time with each other than is necessary, so I'll just ask the absolutely essential questions that my bosses are forcing on me, and you can just get the hell out of here. Got it?" Rikki shrugged.
"Eh, whatever," he sneered insolently, while Amber glared and struggled to control her temper.
"All right, let's get this crapfest over with," she muttered. Clearing her throat, Amber began her interrogation. "Okay, when's the album coming out, what's it called, and what can we expect? And make it snappy, I don't want to lose my job by attacking a guest."
"All right, fine," Rikki grouched. "Six weeks, Backlash, and expect amped-up guitar riffs and a return to eighties' heavy metal and hard rock."
"Great, great," Amber mumbled. "All right, next question: Does Jericho still leave the doors wide open when he showers?"
Rikki snapped up in confusion.
"Huh?" His gum promptly fell out of his mouth, as the flustered Amber blushed and tee heed, "Oh, dear, how did that get in there?" Coughing and clearing her throat, Amber quickly moved on to the next question.
"Can we expect any live performances in the near future?" she snapped grouchily, as Rikki thought for a while, before replying, "Well, we have some club dates with Valentino's in the next couple of weeks, but I know our producer Roxy's planning some big publicity tour in the near future, so nothing's really set in stone just yet."
"Fine, well, what do you know, this interview's over," Amber spoke breezily. Clearing her throat, she added, "All right, there's just one last thing I need you to do: The radio station's making all local artists record an anti-drug promo for the high school's D.A.R.E. program. Think you can grace 107.7 WHIP with your own, oh god of heavy metal?" Rikki darted a bored, disinterested glance at Amber, before a nasty glint suddenly went out in his darkly-colored eyes, as he sat up straighter--but only slightly--and sneered condescendingly, "Sure, I think I can do that, no prob." Amber looked uneasily at the sly expression on Rikki, muttered, "I *bleep*-ing hate my bosses," and sighed tiredly, "Okay, shoot. Just tell them who you are, which band you play for, improvise your message against alcohol and drug abuse, and plug a future club date or two. Got it?" Rikki smirked.
"Got it." He cleared his throat, absently patted his headset, and began to speak. "All right, listen up you drunken horny assclowns out there, jacking off by listening to a crappy little metal station when you could be attending a live Ömega show at Valentino's--"
Amber cut in, horrified.
"Stop! What the hell are you doing?" she hissed furiously. "In case all your hairspray's made you too braindead to realize it, we're on the air live!"
Rikki chuckled, for a moment looking almost boyish rather than the glammed out front man that he usually appeared, as he apologized, "All right, all right. I couldn't resist. Here, let me try that again."
"Fine." Against her better judgment, Amber gave in grudgingly, as she apologized to her listeners, "I'm sorry, our guest was just kidding." She then motioned for Rikki to go ahead and cut his promo for D.A.R.E.
"Hey, there, teens, Rikki Stixx of Ömega here," Rikki began, and a relieved Amber shot him the thumbs up sign. "Listen, I know that the phrase "Party like a rock star" probably isn't going to give me much credibility when talking to you on this subject, but for God's sake, listen to your parents and D.A.R.E. officers, and don't shoot up heroin! They'll leave messy, bloody needle marks all over your arms, and how can you expect to score looking like you've been attacked by a fat nurse armed with a jumbo hypodermic needle? Hey, there is something called snorting heroine and cocaine, ya know! Try that, but for crying out loud, don't *bleep*-ing shoot up or any messed up *bleep*--"
Amber looked like she wanted to clock him.
"Rikki!" she wailed, and her ex-boyfriend grinned.
"All right, all right," he laughed. "Here, I'll be good this time, I promise. Just give me one last chance." Amber turned away from him.
"No," she huffed. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go and start playing some Bon Jovi to repair your damage, so just get the hell out of the studio before I sucker punch you!" Rikki didn't listen to her, and began his tirade again, this time shouting to be heard over the opening sequence of what Amber had mistaken for Bon Jovi's "Livin' On A Prayer" but had actually turned out to be Warrant's "Cherry Pie".
"Hey, the Crow here didn't let me finish--Ow! Quit whacking me with your clunker there--Hey, ow! I meant your clunky shoe, not those other things!" Rikki whined. "Anyway, as I was saying, don't shoot up! And because your DJ is a scary *bleep*--Hey, ow! That's the truth, Crowley, and you know it! Anyway, don't snort either! Do something else! Hey, if you're not too pimply and pathetic, maybe you can try doing the wild thing with the token virgin!" Unfortunately for Amber and the radio station, Rikki's already damaging words struck right before Warrant delved into its, "Well, she's my cherry pie..." chorus, and the statement came out seeming as if the station was actually advocating what Rikki was suggesting. Rikki himself, meanwhile, was smirking as he gloated, "See? Even the old Crow agrees with me--Hey, ow!"

Fortunately, before a cat fight could break out in the 107.7 WHIP studios, another DJ poked her head into the room, a pale, petite brunette with orange streaked hair and dark brown eyes.
"Hey, Amber, think you can wrap this sucker up already?" she called into the room. "It's time for me to kick off my Ladies of Metal hour with some Lita Ford and Vixen." Amber stopped clobbering Rikki over the head for calling her an old Crow, mumbling, "Oh, my. Has it been that long already?" Rikki, gingerly rubbing his head, glanced up warily to see the new speaker, and frowned in recognition.
"Hey, I know you," he muttered. "You're that chick that Jericho used to date, aren't you?" The other girl groaned, slapping her forehead.
"Ugh, did you have to go and remind me of how shallow I was?!" she complained, as Rikki was saying, "Your name is, according to Jericho anyway, Trish, Teri, Tina, Trini, Thalia, Tracy, Tara-Jade, Torrie, Tasha, Tawny, Tally, and/or Tiffany. But, then again, seeing how he's also the same guy who once thought Jethro Tull was the name of our manager, I'm assuming your name's something different?" The girl sighed.
"Trina Joyce," she finally introduced herself. "I used to be the lead singer for the band, before I finally got a clue and realized I could get a job where everyone actually knows what my name is, and I'm not running the constant risk of my boyfriend stealing my red leather pants for a club date!" At her words, Amber turned around.
"Tsk tsk, Trina," she scolded. Trina glared.
"Hey, I was young and shallow, and Jericho looked just like a young version of David Lee Roth!" she defended herself. "Besides, you're one to talk, seeing how you actually went out with Rikki of all people!"
"All right, all right," Amber admitted grudgingly. "By the way, thanks for lending me that Smart Women, Foolish Choices book by Hillary Clinton. It really helped me get over the fact that I actually went out with Rixx in the first place!"
"No problem," Trina replied sweetly. "You know, I never thought I'd need a book like that, but then again, I'd never dated someone like Jericho before! I mean, before I thought the term "dumb blonde" applied only to girls, but I was dead wrong! We went out for two months, and in two months, he never once got my name right!"
"Hn, you think that's bad?" Amber snorted. "Rikki stole my hairspray to do a photo shoot for a local magazine!"
"Hon, that's just the tip of the iceberg to me," Trina told her. "Jericho stole my red leather pants for a club gig--and believe me, those pants are tight, which means they leave nothing to the information, and you could just see this great big--"
"Oh, God!" Rikki snapped. "I don't want to hear about that!"
Trina ignored his outburst, as she rambled on.
"Aw, shut up," she muttered, before ranting on, "And all I could think was, thank
God he's hidden behind his drum kit, where no groupies can reach him. And lo and behold, Jericho has to spoil that as well, when he actually tried to teach Rikki some "stage moves", which were basically humping the air, humping the mic stand, and repeat the two steps in no particular order!"
Amber laughed loudly.
"Really?! I was wondering why good old Rixx over here was walking with a limp on the day I auditioned!" she snickered, as Rikki glared at her, but to no avail. Trina nodded, before chattering on.
"Hey, now that I think about it, did you see that concert performance where Axl Rose took the stage in a friggin' kilt?" she giggled. Amber looked a bit surprised by this sudden change of topic.
"And what does this have to do with humiliating our former boyfriends on the air?" she wanted to know. Trina had a nasty gleam in her eyes.
"You'll see," she said mysteriously, so Amber shrugged, before replying, "I guess; man was that a hideous sight!"
"You know what else is a hideous sight?" Trina gloated. "Rikki and Jericho taking the stage in uber-short kilts themselves!" Amber nearly fell off her chair.
"No way!" she gasped, as Trina nodded enthusiastically.
"See, they had both run out of leather pants, and the only items left were either normal clothing or these two kilts," she began gleefully. "Now, God forbid the two mighty gods of heavy metal take the stage looking like normal people...so guess what they opted for? Now, I don't have a picture with me, but I can describe in detail..."

Two Hours Later...

"...So, there I was, two weeks after having quit the band and having paid eighteen bucks at Valentino's just to catch Ömega's first club date with their new Nikki Sixx lookalike lead singer," Trina was chattering happily. "And lo and behold, there are the only two males of the band, decked out in short kilts and scuba diving gear! You know, I honestly believe they were crazy enough to do the tube sock thing like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, but I guess since it had already been done, they decided to go with the kilts and the goggles!" Trina paused for a nanosecond to take a brief breath of air (she kind of had to, seeing how she was turning blue in the face), and then went on.
"So, anyway, did I tell you about that one time..." she blabbed on, happily oblivious to the fact that a. Amber had long since fallen asleep from boredom, an unsightly line of drool coming from her mouth, and b. the only other person in the room, Rikki, was pulling a Toxic Twin in his mad effort to forget that this unexpected encounter with the two terrors in heels had ever happened.


It was evening by the time Lance and Pietro returned to their apartment from their little visit to the set of Pop! Goes The Music Video, and the two teenybopper-terrorized guitarists were promptly greeted by the rather comical sight of an obviously drunk Rikki Stixx straddling the chainlink fence, giggling and hiccupping as he obnoxiously sang out the lyrics to "Cherry Pie" as loud as he possibly could. Lance eyed the heavy metal front man warily, before calling up, "Dude, what the hell are you doing humping the friggin' fence?!" Rikki stopped amidst a chorus of, "...sweet cherry pie," to peer down drunkenly at his fellow band mates, before hiccupping as he admitted, "I can't find the keys to the gate entrance, and I'm trying to get down!" Lance shook his head, muttering, "Great, and here I was hoping that you'd have the keys, since a certain someone lost them!" Pietro muttered defensively, "Hey, hey, hey, it ain't my fault! That valley girl would have grabbed my bloomers right out of my pants had I not been wearing a belt, and I had to sacrifice something to the teenyboppers! It's a damn shame the keys had to be the first thing my hands came across!"
"Look, never mind; it's obvious that Jericho and Morgan aren't returning anytime soon from their interview with that Lolita chick, so c'mon." And without another word, Lance leapt up and began scaling the fence. Pietro shrugged, before following suit. The two soon reached the top, gingerly dragged a drunken and giggling Rikki with them, and carefully climbed back down, with Rikki's half-assed version of "Cherry Pie" to serve as the soundtrack for their daring escapade.

"Oops, I did it again."
Lance and Pietro stopped in surprise, as Rikki abruptly stopped singing to cluck his tongue and chastise apparently himself, "Uh-oh, I guess I forgot the keys to the apartment itself as well. Oopsie."
"Never mind, we'll just have to climb in through the window, then." Lance took charge, before Rikki could continue unwittingly spout out Britney Spears quotes. Rikki brightened up.
"Yay, me first!" he squealed, and ran over to the nearest apartment wall and started to climb, as Pietro pouted and whined, "Hey, but I wanted to be first!" Rikki scaled the wall, surprisingly quick for someone who was obviously drunk, followed by Pietro and then Lance. He reached the window he presumed led to Ömega's trashed apartment, and threw it wide open. Unfortunately for the three present members of the band, Rikki was way off, and the dark-haired lead singer soon found himself staring into the startled face of a wrinkled old woman who must have been at least ninety-years-old, wearing only a girdle and slip. Rikki's hands flew up to his eyes, as he wailed in horrified dismay, "Oh, my God! I'm blind!" at the same time that the old lady screeched out, "Why, these perverted big-haired hooligans!" Had he not been screaming, "My eyes!" in terrified wails, Rikki would have giggled out drunkenly, "Not just big hair!" As it stood, while Rikki was going on about how he would never see again (and with good reason, too!) and the fortunately-spared Pietro and Lance behind him were wondering what was going on, the old lady reached out and whacked Rikki squarely in the head with a conveniently handy frying pan. Fortunately, Rikki's big hair protected his head from most of the hit. Unfortunately, though, Rikki, who'd already been dangling precariously on the balcony with his hands laced protectively over his eyes, took that one clobber to the head and promptly fell off, smacking solidly against Pietro and Lance and taking his band mates with him.

"Oof!" The three landed in a messy heap, Rikki on top and still wailing, "Wai! My eyes!"
"Ugh. I guess we'd better wait for Morgan and Jericho to get back," Lance grunted from the bottom of the heap, underneath a still confused Pietro frantically screeching how his hair better not be mussed, and a terrified Rikki howling, "Oh, the horror!"


*Next up, Lola Lolita attempts to interview Jericho and Morgan (I say attempts to, because...well, you'll have to see! ^_^)