Video Killed the Radio Star

I turned on the ambulance siren and pushed the accelerator as far as it would go. Cars and pedestrians flew in every direction as they ran into me. You think they would be kind enough to get out of the way when they saw me coming. I must admit, it was fun to listen to the idiots scream and crunch under the ambulance. (Oh, wait. That was when I drove that tank while I was living in St. Petersburg in Goldeneye 007.)

Anyway, I continued until I found the radio station. There were, naturally, people in front who decided it was a good idea to stand in front of the ambulance. I hardly noticed them as I plowed through the wall. Concrete flew in all directions as I drove right towards the recording area. When I saw the door, I decided to be civil and walk in. I jumped out of the ambulance. Suddenly, I remembered that I'd already been Wasted!, so I pulled out my Playstation 2 controller and put the weapons cheat code in again. I reached into my infinitely deep pockets and pulled out a machine gun. I decided that a machine gun was too informal, so I put it back into my pocket and pulled out a Glock.

I took a deep breath and walked into the recording area. When the door flung open, everyone stopped talking and stared at me. When the drugged up mother saw my gun, she screamed. Her high pitched squeal startled me, so I dropped the gun. I swear, I don't know how it happened, but the gun went off. The bullet hit the preacher right between the eyes. Imagine my embarrassment! The mother pulled out a bottle of downers and scarfed down a handful of blue pills.

I picked the gun up. "Sorry," I said with a shrug.

There was a long silence before Maurice Chavez spoke. "Don't worry about it. I never liked him anyway."

"I'm glad to hear it." I waved my hands around to show my gratitude. Everyone in the room screamed and ducked. So much for being friendly.

Maurice stood with both hands held out. "Why don't you just sit down and talk with us?" He motioned for the seat that supported the former preacher.

I was flattered. "Me? You want me on your show?" Maurice nodded. "All right!" I went to the chair and pushed the preacher over. I sat down with the gun still in my hand. "What's up Vice City!" I screamed into the microphone.

The druggie took another handful of pills, only this time the pills were red. "Going down the rabbit hole?" I asked. She looked at me as if I were insane before popping one final pill.

"So," Maurice began, "tell us who you are and why you're here."

I propped my elbow on the table. "Well, today has been a really bad day. You wouldn't believe how crazy the people in this city are. It's not safe for me just to drive anymore."

"You're the dangerous one," Miss Downer said.

I glared at her. "Excuse me?" The gun in my hand drooped slightly.

The woman looked at it with wide eyes. "Uh, never mind."

I grabbed her arm and shook it. "I know you said something, bitch! I ain't no punk! Say it to my face!" She screamed and pulled away. Frustrated, I turned to Maurice. "You see, Maurice?" I asked while flailing my arms. "People just don't have manners anymore!"

I guess I scared him. He dove for the floor. I didn't feel very happy. "I'm ashamed of you, Maurice. Is this how you welcome a guest?" I pulled out a flamethrower. "Say hello to my little friend!"

I stood and swept the room with fire. I payed particularly close attention to the drugged up woman on the floor. It was funny watching her run around screaming. "Well, I guess my work here is done." I ran from the studio with the flamethrower still in hand. "Kiss my ass, Vice City!" I ran up and down the streets shooting cars with the flamethrower. Pedestrians doing impersonations of Richard Pryor trying to commit suicide were running up and down the street with me.

I contimued running in one direction until I saw a club straight ahead. It was already open. I decided it was time for a little diversion. This club was notorious for going crazy. I'd fit right in. I walked up to the front, where a big burly gorilla pretending to be a bouncer was guarding the entrance. As soon as it was obvious I was headed his way, he stepped in front of me and held his arm up.

"Where the hell are you going?" he asked.

"Where does it look like I'm going?" I held the flamethrower up to emphasize my point. He didn't seem bright enough to pick up on the hint.

"I hope you're trying to get in here."

"Why not? It's still early. The freaks don't come out for another few hours."

"Then you're not getting in."

"Fine." I turned away as if to leave. When I was at a safe distance, I turned and lit him up like the Christmas tree in the middle of the Rockefeller Center. The smell of hickory smoked primate filled my nostrils as he conveniently ran from the door.

(Disclaimer: In no way am I advocating cannibalism or the destruction of the rainforests or the primates who live in them. Environmental protection is very important to me, but this one in particular had to go! We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.)

I stepped to the door and kicked it open. I walked right past the counter at the entrance and into the main area. The place was full of fools dancing to some song by Flock of Seagulls. Fighting the urge to puke, I ran to the DJ box and made a request. When he refused, I seized the record needle and scratched it across the vinyl. The song came to a screeching halt. I shoved the end of the flamethrower into the DJ's face. My trigger finger was really starting to itch. Taking the hint very well, the removed the scratched record. He placed another record in its place and set the needle. The song began to play over the speakers.

I'm just an average guy, with an average life I work from 9 to 5, hell yeah I pay the price

I pulled the flame thrower away. When the people on the dance floor protested, I casually pointed the flamethrower at some hapless idiot and set him on fire. He did his Richard Pryor impression running throughout the club and took a few people with him. Everyone took off in every direction screaming at the top of their lungs. I stayed where I was listening to the music.

I always feel like somebody's watching me And I have no privacy Ooh, I always feel like somebody's watching me Maybe it was just a dream

When the song was done, I smashed the turntable with the flamethrower and jumped onto the dance floor. I ran all around with flames shooting. I was finally starting to break a sweat. Giggling like an idiot, I ran out of the club before the whole place was set aflame on top of me.

As I tried to cross the street, everything suddenly stopped in time. I looked up in search of another Loading sign, but there was none. There was only one other explanation. The game had frozen. I went up to the television screen and knocked on it.

"Hey!" I called out to the idiot playing the game. "The game froze! Don't you clean your discs!"
Obviously embarrassed, the kid opened the Playstation 2 and removed the disc. He cleaned it with a damp, lint free cloth. (Remember, kids, wipe from center to edge!) Then he placed it back into the console, reset it, and loaded the game data. I ended up back outside the club. The gorilla of a bouncer was once again standing at the entrance. Frustrated, I pulled out my controller and put the weapons cheat mode in again. Then I pulled out a grenade and threw it at the bouncer. Then I ran as if hitmen were after me before the place blew. I laughed wickedly as I jumped into the street to hijack another car.