Monday, 27 October 2008

Songs About Drugs

Being a University English Student, I felt that I should put my mastery of the English Language to the test, and so hacked out this masterwork. I rule you.

The tour bus screamed over the deserted moor, as tour buses are wont to do. Of course, it also made what is technically known in the business as 'drivey sounds', but that doesn't sound dramatic at all. And in a gritty and dramatic story such as this, such frivolities are allowed. But the authorial voice isn't, sadly. Pretend that didn't happen.

The tour bus screamed over the deserted moor, mist rising against its wheels of burning rubber, satanic headlights piercing through the gloom to illuminate the misty wasteland stretching ahead. And then, without warning, an old lady stepped into view carrying a large bag full of shopping and kittens. Muffled voices echoed out of the dark coach as if spoken by Satan himself

"Oi, Sean. Old lady! Right right!"

"Don't listen to him Sean. Left!"

The coach careered down the road, eventually swerving left to smash into the old lady and all her kittens. And then it reversed back over her.

"Yup, left. Toldya James"

Inside the coach, Sean grinned at himself, and nimbly gobbled down a whole Mars bar, wrapper and all. The day was only going to get better...


Mike Oldfield studied the stage being erected outside Buckingham Palace with disdain. True, the coming concert to celebrate the Scientologist religious festival of Giant Space Lobster +4 Day was going well. Little children wearing masks of the true saviour, L Ron Hubbard were collecting tins of money to line his pockets and thus keep the evil aliens away. In the far distance, Tony Blair himself was shaking hands with a few hobos, his tin-foil helmet reflecting the evening sun.

"Keep it simple, Mike, we're paying for this from the Feeding Orphans Fund" Tony Blair had told him when it was announced that he, as the greatest musician on the planet was to host this event, which would culminate in the sacrificing of crisp £50 notes to a giant effigy of L Ron, in order to keep the aliens away. Mike swigged another bottle of vodka, before smashing the empty vessel on the head of a nearby poor person. Something was going to go wrong, he felt a tingle in his spine. Swiftly, he turned round and stabbed the tramp who was trying to steal his coat in the face.

"Mike, where shall I put the 200 man triangle orchestra?" shouted a rather shabby worker. Raising another bottle to his lips, Mike indicated some space on the stage. "Right there, scum. Right next to the giant Tubular Bell and the herd of virgin Ostriches.

No-one knew why Mike Oldfield wanted virgin Ostriches on stage, nor how he knew their... condition. No-one dared ask, not after what had happened to Richard Branson after Oldfield had assumed command of the country's military forces, and found that Branson, against popular opinion, was not made of pickles. He was now though.

Rubbing his hands, Mike Oldfield stalked towards the stage, a glint in his eyes as he saw an Ostrich that had got loose. And was hanging about... a tour bus? He moved closer, to suddenly find himself surrounded by three men with guitars.

"Hello Mike" spoke the first one. "My name's James. And we're here for your concert. Sean, get him!"

With that word, the one no-one had bothered to call Nicky grabbed Mike from behind, whilst Sean lumbered forward to bite Mike solidly on his hand. And that was all Mike knew for a few hours.

As Mike's body slumped to the floor, James rubbed his hands. "Finally... we, the Manic Street Preachers, will have our day in the sun again! Muahahaha". He pauses. "That doesn't sound much like me"

"No, it doesn't" retorted Nicky. "It's almost as if someone who has no clue about the Manics, save his housemate's continual dribblings about them, is writing a Mike Oldfield slash Manic Street Preachers fanfic."

At the mention of the word 'slash', James twirled around in worry, as if expecting to see a naked Jon Bon Jovi exciting the bus and doing an exciting dance in front of his face. To his relief (or at least that's what he told everyone afterwards) this didn't occur

Sean simply smiled and stuffed a bag of jelly beans into his mouth, the whole bag becoming a visible bulge in his chin. "Silly Sean, the scamp" said Nicky, ruffling Sean's hair.


Mike awoke to the roof of a cramped tour bus, which smelled... odd. Quickly, he heroically leaped out of the window, sneakily bypassing the still open door. Woozily picking himself up and placing his mangled tin-foil hat back on his head, he looked to the sky and Big Ben. "Still 2 hours to go till the concert begins. Those Commie scum haven't won yet!" he exclaimed, as his left hand began to twitch and jerk about...


"James, this tin foil itches" Nicky complained fidgeting, as Sean scampered about on stage, poking everything inquisitively, and trying to gnaw on one of the microphone stands, without much success. James nudged Nicky, and carried on with his work, handing a long list to the elderly conductor.

"I must say, this is quite... well, quite." The conductor scratched his forehead. "But, if it's what Mike wants, it's what Mike gets. I don't want to be pickled after all." With a nervous glance behind him, he spied the familiar jackbooted figure of Mike Oldfield stalking towards the stage. "Oh... there you are sir" he called.

Mike was about to reply, when suddenly some bikini-clad women wandered past. At night in winter, yes. His left hand suddenly became outstretched, and practically dragged him towards them, away from the stage. "The heck..." Mike struggled valiantly with his hand, but it was not to be denied. After doing bad things with the third dog he passed, Mike began to scream in rage, eventually taking out his trusty guitar and smashing his hand until it fell off at the wrist. And he fell over through blood loss and unconsciousness.

From the stage, James looked on in puzzlement. "...but I thought Sean bit his right hand..."


A hush fell over the now crowded London, as the most important concert of the day was to be held. The stage fell dark, and then blazed with light as three figures all holding guitars marched on. James stepped forward. "Hello ladies and gentlemen, and Queen..." He gave a smile and a bow to the Queen, watching from the balcony of the nearby Palace. "Mike Oldfield couldn't be here today because he went mad and hacked off his own arm with a guitar, so the Manic Street Preachers are here to entertain you instead!"

Some of the crowd cheered. Some screamed something about the 'Maniacal Street Preachers'. But most simply looked onto the stage, eyes glazing over as they began to play their first song.

"La la la drugs. La la la kill your parents. La la la drugs" sang the boys, their message of evil and taking drugs filling the air, and the empty heads of the audience. Soon everyone was under their Maniacal spell, and the crowd cheered when Sean stepped forward and without warning bit the head off a live baby towards the end of the number.

The music died and soon, so did the applause. "And now", shouted James loudly, a look of evil about his face. "The main event". Without warning, he turned his guitar towards the balcony of Buckingham Palace, and pressed a trigger. The gun disguised as a guitar worked, as a hail of thudding bullets spread out, leaving the Queen of the Nation a mangled, bloody mess. "Hail to the king, baby!" shouted James, when suddenly...

"STOP!" Mike Oldfield emerged from behind the curtain, looking slightly shabbier than usual, hair a mess and a guitar now tied onto the stump of his left wrist. He waved the guitar in the air threateningly. "Let this be our final battle!"

And then the world exploded.


Many still talk about what happened that fateful day, as the titans clashed. Some believed that the Manics slaughtered Oldfield, others that Oldfield's decent music caused his enemies to immediately surrender. What everyone can agree on though, is that staging the confrontation at the very moment the Giant Space Lobster of Scientology +4 broke through the dimensional gates was a Bad Idea. Even more confusing was the immediate invasion by the forces of Cuba, which drove off the Scientologists and their crazed Lobster overlord.

The forces of evilness were defeated by the combined power of music, and Fidel Castro's army. And a better world was forged for all. Now, excuse me whilst I stand in line for my daily beatings, comrade...

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