Monday, October 31, 2011

ANNOUNCEMENTS and Flash Fiction - Shelter From The Storm

Good day!

 I have some news for you; but first, this week's Halloween/Día De Los Muertos Flash Fiction!

***


            Hard rain slowed to a halt outside the old house. Andrew waited in the bedroom upstairs and feared looking out the window. Instead, he had the blinds shut and focused on the hardwood floor and the dark red carpet and the bed to his left. A hot drink was in his hands. He had asked for tea. He didn’t know why. After everything that he had seen that day, he doubted that a warm drink would be the first thing he could possibly want. Sweet scents and the heat took his mind off of things, but only for a short while.
The day was a blur. It began with waking up in a bed that wasn’t his. He entered the kitchen and was greeted by a man he knew as his car mechanic the day before. The man swore he was a librarian.
Andrew fled the apartment. Outside, he saw his mother arm-in-arm with a stranger, denying she knew her only son. At his office, nobody recognized him, and neither did he know any of them. He spent the afternoon hiding from the rain in an old coffee shop, his senses escaping him.
Then he saw the thing rising in the streets.
He saw it spreading everywhere, a black mist that snaked through every road and into every window he saw. People breathed it in, and let it enter through their faces and up their fingernails and inside their clothes. Everything began to grow dark and thick with the twisting black mass; that is, except for an old house he saw up a large hill. He ran for it.
            His host and the owner of the old home crossed the threshold of the room in a one-piece black silk dress that stopped at her ankles. Three obsidian bangles sat on her left wrist. Pale skinned, brown-eyed and raven-haired, she was tall with a broad face and full lips. Back in town, the children claimed she was a witch, calling her Lady Hyena or Madame Jackal behind her back.
            She said she preferred Shauna.
            “How’s the tea?” she asked, walking up to him.
            “Not helping,” Andrew admitted, “But it’s making me focus.”
            Her fingers drummed against themselves, “You know you’re safe, right?”
“I don’t know what’s happening,” he whimpered, avoiding the question, “I think I’m going crazy.”
            Shauna’s eyes traced up and down his body with the same intrigued look she gave when he first showed up, “Do you, now?”
            “Everything’s different,” he muttered, “I told you, everything’s different. I don’t know what’s happening. I,” he swallowed, “I need help, lady.”
She laughed, “And you think seeking shelter from the storm with this old cougar will help you?”
            “You can’t be that old,” he said, sceptically.
            Cooing, she leaned over and pinched his lip, “You’re sweet. Besides, I’ve heard the children say I’m quite the bitch.”
            Andrew shook his head as she let go, “Kids can be cruel.”
“Honesty comes from the mouths of babes,” she misquoted. “But we’re not here for idle chatter, are we?” She crossed the room and opened the blinds. “We’re here to talk about that.
Hesitatingly, he joined her side.
At the window, they saw the massive, writhing shadow emerging from the centre of town. Lights flicked off and on as amorphous limbs stretched into each house and store and church it could find. Red bubbles rose and fell across its ever-twisting form like bloody mist. Branches of its impossible body rose and clawed at the sky.
            “We’re the only ones that can see it, you know,” she said, her hands finding his shoulders, “And it’s been here longer than you could possibly imagine.”
            He found himself staring at it, staring into its pulsating red-and-black body, “What does it want?
            “Change,” she said, leaning in, “Constant change. Every night it rises and pulls people’s memories apart, places them in different homes, gives them different jobs – even rewrites the records at city hall. Then, it sinks back to wherever it came from and watches you live another life.”
            “Why?” he asked, feeling her breath.
             “Fun?” she whispered, “Perhaps it feeds on incomplete lives, wasted potential energy? All I know is that you go to sleep a believer and wake up an atheist. One minute you’re the mayor’s son, the next your dad’s the town drunk.”
            “That’s horrible.”
            She lowered her eyes, “My mother knew about it years ago. This place was never touched by it, not once. That’s why I was raised here. That’s why I invited you over two days ago, Mister Repairman.”
            He blanched. “I’m not a repairman.”
            “You were,” she insisted, “I took photos. You said I was being awful peculiar. Don’t you recall, Greg? Or, who are you now?”
            His blood ran cold. “Why do you want me?”
“I’m lonely,” the woman confessed, circling round to his front, “Just some middle-aged lady with poor fashion sense and an overactive libido. I used to drift from man to man to woman across this whole town, and now my bones ache and I need to settle down.” She put her arms around his neck, “You just so happen to be the man for the job.”
He tried to take a step back, but she had him fastened in place, “You’re nuts.” His voice began to break.
“I’m bored,” she complained, pulling him close, “I used to think it was exciting, seeing a new world open up before my eyes every morning. Maybe it’s time for stability. Maybe it’s time to save some lives,” she stroked his neckline and hummed thoughtfully, “We can start now.”
            “This is a joke,” he wept, tears rolling down his face. Blindly, his hands sought the sides of her dress, “This is all a joke. My name’s Andrew. I work in a bank. I studied accounting. I did a minor in Latin. I,” he gulped, and pressed his forehead against hers. Big sobs bubbled up in his throat, and words escaped him, “I – I –”
            “Hush, now,” she cooed, pressing her finger against his lips. “We’re safe. Just you and me, we’re safe.”
            He gave in.
            Outside, the shadowy devil shook its limbs at the sky and rumbled out a deep, agonized groan.
Inside, Shauna drew him in for the longest kiss in his known life.

***

 So, now that that's done, I have two things to say!

 First and foremost, one of my short stories is going to be published in the December 2011 issue of Schlock Magazine! I got the news this morning and spent about half an hour floating one foot off the ground. I feel like I'm finally making some headway with my writing! Thanks for reading! Let's hope this doesn't make me all pompous.

 On that note, I'm also announcing that I will be writing in NaNoWriMo this year. I already did it last year, creating a massive novel titled The Anti-Cupboard of Cassandra Dalton. I intend to return to the characters and world I created there with a sequel titled The Unfortunate Life of Crystal Qiu. As such, updates will be a little more irregular on I've A Nuke while I try to hammer together this new creation and search for stable employment once again. Expect little blurbs and bleeps here and there, but on the whole I'll be focused on this. It will be big and IT WILL BE WEIRD.

 See you next time! Happy Halloween, y ¡Feliz Día de los Muertos!

-RWI

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Flash Fiction - Live4

Good evening,

 I promised Live4 and here it is.

***

            “Dude,” Jeff said, as they forced their way through the thickest part of the crowd of fellow concert-goers, “Dude, listen! If she’s dead, I’m giving you so much money.”
            “No,” Mark snapped, “If she’s dead, I’m kicking your ass and taking your money because this was your idea you fucking nimrod. 
            News had circulated through to their side of Ground Sound. Violence had broken out at the three-way rap battle between horrorcore rapper Slither and his opponents, Dadaist rapper M.C. Shaz and the foul-mouthed Hazardous Matt. Reports they heard over security radios were mixed. Some told of shots fired, others of a riot.
            There was one report that seemed consistent: a woman dead or dying. 
Mark’s girlfriend had gone to see the battle on Jeff’s recommendation; they prayed it wasn’t her.
In moments, they were at the centre. Jeff and Mark immediately recognized two of the three rappers being led away by several security officers. Hazardous Matt was in a full-body radiation suit, while M.C. Shaz exited the scene in his trademark candy-coloured top hat, white sleeveless shirt and heart-patterned boxer shorts, and with his jeans pulled down around his ankles. 
Vans and motorcycles and old BMWs were parked in random locations across the lot. A predominantly male crowd stood around, its numbers murmuring at one another. Yellow police tape lined the area and people were pulled aside for questioning. The distinct smell of fire and kerosene hung in the air.
Jeff shook his head, “Fuck, where do we even begin? 
Hands running through his hair, Mark hissed with panic, unable to take his eyes off of the scene, “Ask questions. Please, please, ask someone something.
“Right,” Jeff hummed, looking around. He stopped and raised his hand. “You, there! Hey!” he shouted, flagging down a long-haired man who smelled of spices, “What happened at the battle?” 
            “Okay, so like,” the spaced-out youth began, “Slither totally started eating a guy’s face, right? And then M.C. Shaz turned a gun on the crowd and totally killed everyone?”
            Mark blinked out of his trance, “What?” 
            “And then Dracula showed up and we all had cake,” their informant concluded. 
             There was silence for a second.
            “I’m taking him home,” Jeff declared. 
            Turning pale, Mark ground his teeth, “NO!
            His friend shrugged, “Come on, he’d be a great conversation piece.” 
            “Do you like French fries?” asked the youth.
            Jeff put a hand to his chest, “I love French fries. Not this guy, though,” he said, indicating towards Mark, “He’s a poser.” 
            The youth narrowed his eyes, “Fag.”
            Mark began to sulk away, “Fuck you.” 
            “Don’t be such a poser, fag,” Jeff’s new friend mumbled, “Poser-fag. Fag-poser. Fagoser.
            Another young man with chains attached to his pants slumped over to the three of them, “What up, Brett?” he asked the first youth. 
            “That guy’s being a fagoser,” the one named Brett said, pointing to Mark.
            “Oh, right on,” he said. 
            “NO!” Mark screamed, whirling back and shooting a fierce snarl at them both, “You will not invent a fucking word while my girlfriend lies bleeding to death by a minivan!
            “We don’t even know if she’s dead!” Jeff shouted back, “Just calm down and let’s –!” 
            Mark grabbed Jeff’s collar and yanked the squirming man close to his face, “Fuck you! Fuck you! I ought to leave you out here to starve! I’ll –
            “Mahku?” 
Mark released his friend and turned left. He bit his lip and moaned. Slender and flushed, Haruka stood next to the largest policeman either he or Jeff had ever seen, a titantic cross between Ving Rhames and a Buick.
Mark rushed the girl and held her in his arms. He choked. Giving little squeaks of confusion, Haruka patted her lover on the shoulders and cooed in Japanese while Jeff rolled his eyes. Mark pulled back, pressed his forehead against hers and wept with joy as they kissed. 
            Jeff walked past them both and pocketed his hands, screwing his gaze upwards to the giant officer, “Alright, so while Tristan and Izanami here have their little moment, you mind explaining what actually went down?”
“Slither threw a Molotov cocktail into the crowd during his rebuttal to Hazardous Matt,” the man said, in a grim bass voice, “But we’ve got him detained; again. His parole officer’s going to have a fit.” 
“Was anyone hurt?” he wondered, casting a glance back at the lovers.
The policeman shook his head, “People are shaken but not stirred, if you get my drift. Some kid’s shoe caught fire from the blaze, but she’ll be fine.” 
Jeff’s nose scrunched, “Christ, the radio chatter we heard made it sound like a warzone. What was all that about shots fired and a woman dying?
The officer shrugged, “Broken telephone? It’s hard to get a reliable witness out of this crowd.” 
Jeff glanced over his shoulder to the long-haired youth from before, who now writhed on the ground scratching himself as his associate laughed, “Tell me about it.”
The officer tipped his hat and left. Turning on a heel, Jeff put his hands behind his head and strode for the lovers. “You guys okay now?” 
“Fuck off, Jeff,” whimpered Mark, lifting his head. Haruka looked his way at the same time.
What?” he called out, offended. “Fuck your teeth, I’m your friend. I just –” He paused and froze, his eyes growing wide. 
            “Jeffu,” Haruka said, sniffing at him, “What’s up?”
            There was reverence in his voice, “I hear the opening bass riff to ‘We’re Going To Get Several Bitches In This Motherfucker.’” 
            Mark dried his eyes and stared at him, “How?
             “I just know, okay?!” Jeff snapped, shaking his head, “Enough! I must go! The Further Colonels need me!
            Without another word, he was gone. They stood and watched their friend rush into the distance. A drum beat pounded against the air and shook the earth.

***

 Yay, Haruka's not dead! Now to retire these characters until I can think of something else to use them in. Perhaps I'll make an epilogue to Live later.

 Stay tuned, ladies and germs, because next week we've got our first Halloween special and an announcement!

 See you next time,

-RWI

EDIT: May 23, 2012. EditsstidE

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Flash Fiction - Live3

Good evening,

 Early bird here! I'm continuing on from Live and Live2 and hitting you with a cliffhanger!

***

            “Have you seen Mark and Jeff?”
            This was the question Adam posed to every one of his friends that he could find. Lost in a maze of concert-goers, vendors, and security guards, Adam weaved his way through the mass of people in search of them. A thunderous bass from one of the many stages shook the trees as he hunted for the pair.
He remembered seeing the panic on their faces as they bolted through the crowd ten minutes ago. He had to know why. Responsibility dictated that he was to find them, and to support them however he could. He knew where all the Lost and Found stations were. There was a first-aid kit in his car. He had memorized the exact locations of each outhouse, emergency services tent, and information desk. He would do his part. He was ready.
It was Paul he flagged down next. Drenched in sweat, the man wiped his face on his shirt and shrugged, “Dunno where they are now,” his friend admitted, pointing to his left, “But I did see Fat Johnny passed out in one of those outhouses over there.”
            “Oh,” winced Adam, “Oh, wow.”
            “Yeah, and he stank of vodka. I think Nanako’s Chinatown gang loaded him up and set him loose.”
            “He was dressed, right?”
            “And how. I’ve never seen a man wear that many ponchos.”
            “We’re getting sidetracked. What about Jeff and Mark?”
            Paul shook his head and thumbed to somewhere in the distance, “I saw them heading that way.”
            In an instant, Adam pulled a map from his pocket and scanned it. His finger ran along the page and his eyes darted back and forth from the paper to the horizon, “Okay, so they’re going North-East...” he mumbled, “so they’re heading to the hot dog stands, or the Stanktastic show, or the –”
“Dude, what does it matter?” Paul griped, “You’re not Superman.”
“No, I’m their friend,” he said, boldly, “And I have to be there for them.”
Paul rubbed his cheek, “Doesn’t mean you gotta chaperone two twenty-five-year-olds.” He stopped and leaned left, “Oh, hey!”
Adam turned to see who he was hailing. Bleach-blonde Claire entered, tall and lithe and pouting. A taller, tanned man he assumed to be her latest victim strode up with her. He felt his sinuses burning away from all of the perfume she wore.
Paul stepped forward and waved to her, “How’re you liking the show?”
“Broken Nose was tight,” she said in a nasally, whinging tone, “Some prick tried to grind me during ‘So Low?’ But then Gustavo showed him what’s what.”
“‘Sup?” said her consort.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Adam yammered, forcing himself between them, “I’m looking for Mark and Jeff. Have you seen them around?”
            Claire sneered and checked her Blackberry, “Those guys? I saw them just now. They’re looking for Mark’s ho-bag.”
            He never understood why she didn’t like Haruka, “Did she get lost?”
She put the phone to her side, “Nah, she went over to that rap battle in the parking lot? Jeff told her to check it out.”
            Adam’s blood froze. He knew who was performing and how volatile they were known to get. He remembered seeing one of the police cruisers and a handful of security rushing off moments before he saw Jeff and Mark run for the distance, “What’s going on there?” he asked, expecting the worst.
            “I dunno,” Claire said, checking her Blackberry again, “Some fight broke out and they think Haruka’s dead or something? Whatever. Is there any pizza here?”

***

 Expect Part Four of Four on Tuesday. I'm a busy boy!

See you soon,

-RWI

EDIT: May 23, 2012. Edits. WHAT.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Flash Fiction - Live2

Good evening,

 This is a day late due to a busy weekend with friends. I'm continuing on from Live, and preparing Parts Three and Four for next week. Then I have to figure out what I'm doing for Halloween.

 Anyway, this:

***

            Jeff was pressed against the window by Fat Johnny’s titular girth. Mahmoud was on his right, but was slimmer and less affected by the man’s size. Now and then, Adam would glance back to Paul, who hadn’t stopped grinning since the sardonic man’s first grunt of anguish. Every time he saw the broad smile cover his friend’s face, he would shake his head and focus on driving again.
            “How’s it going back there?” Paul asked, turning to Jeff.
            “Can’t breathe,” he wheezed in response, “If I don’t make it, tell my father I hate his shoes. He’ll know what I mean.”
“We’re almost there, so chill,” Adam snapped back at him.
Paul chortled, “Yeah, don’t be such a drama queen, buddy.”
One of Jeff’s arms poked out from behind a roll of Johnny’s fat and pointed at his antagonist, “I will haunt you. I swear to god, I will haunt you, Paul Fester.
Adam rolled his eyes, “Stop it. You didn’t complain before.”
“I must have blacked out,” coughed Jeff.
“No, no,” objected Mahmoud, “You were very much a quiet, Jeff.”
Fat Johnny shot him a look, “I thoughts yous was sleepin’.”
Half-laughing, the scrawny man sneered, “Death is like sleep.”
“Well, time to wake up,” the driver said, grinding the car to a halt. “We’re here.”
Doors opened on their own. The rest of Adam’s passengers left the old Camaro as Jeff stumbled out wheezing. Linh and Ben’s van pulled up and Jeff’s lithe little Leila slipped out of her seatbelt to run to his side. Shinsuke, Nanako, and a legion of unknown Chinese men and women joined her. Mark and Haruka left their hatchback, helping Darren and all of his bags out of the back seat.
            Down the hill where they all stopped, a sea of people writhed amongst the wide expanses of grass. White stages dotted the horizon, vanishing into the distance. Another parking lot sat at the bottom, where a mass of enthusiasts covered in a cloud of marijuana smoke. No doubt they were prepared for an oncoming rap battle. The wail of guitars, the whine of violins, and the thud of drums reached them on that plateau.
            They gathered at the edge and stared out at the scene. Adam pulled the map and information brochure out of his coat and started reading them over. Haruka and Mark held each other close as they snapped photos of the landscape. Darren did a quick inventory check while the titanic Fat Johnny mumbled out suggestions to an agreeing Shinsuke.
Two stragglers, Linh and Ben, joined them, a baby girl sitting in Linh’s arms and cooing. She wore sunglasses and an old Sneaker Pimps t-shirt.
            Adam turned to them and did a double take, “Why?” The rest stopped and shared his shock at the infant’s presence.
            The couple looked at each other and shrugged. “We can’t get no babysitter,” Linh said, “so she’s coming with.”
            “That baby is so getting stolen,” Jeff said, morosely. Leila jabbed his ribs.
            Linh smiled and bounced her daughter, “No, we gonna get family pass now!”
            Jeff laughed, shortly before returning to his previous expression, “No, seriously, you’ll never see her again.”
            “Jeff!” Leila cried, jabbing him again.
            Striding around the gang, Adam checked the pamphlet. “Okay, so who’s going to be where? We should make the food courts our meeting place, alright? We can regroup there now and then throughout the –”
            “God, man, you sound like my mom,” Mark whined, stroking Haruka’s hair, “Just let us do what we do.”
“I want to know where everything is and I want to know where all of you will be so we can find you all in case of an emergency. I know Nanako’s dying to throw Hennessey cans at Hard Nox and the Nguyens are off to Sexadecimal.”
            “You are taking the baby?” Mahmoud said, wide-eyed, “To see the Sexydeci-mall?”
            “What?” complained Ben, “She’s eleven months old! She won’t remember this!”
            “You trouser trolls can do whatever you want,” the cynic sneered, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders, “Leila and I are gonna hit the stage the Further Colonels are rocking and mingle with the cool kids.”
            “The what?” Darren asked, in-between bags.
            “You’ve never heard of The Further Colonels?!” Jeff cried, striding forward with his hands up, “They’ve got some of the best songs! ‘I’m In The Strip Club?’ ‘Come Get That Mm-mm?’ ‘We Are Going To Get Several Bitches In This Motherfucker?’”
            Darren eyeballed the fanboy, “Never heard of them. They cool?”
            “Like ice.”
            “They got swag?”
            “They bleed swag.”
            Mark rolled his eyes, “Christ, you sound like a promoter.”
“We know what we like,” chimed in Leila, stroking her boyfriend’s chest.
            “Oh god,” Adam groaned suddenly, looking around them all wild-eyed, “where did Shinsuke and Fat Johnny go?”
            Everyone stopped and scanned the area for the obese giant and his associate. Darren leaned over the landing and waved at them. They gathered at the edge and looked downward.
Down the hill, they saw a familiar, bulbous shape and a tiny man rushing for the bottom.
Adam slapped his forehead and instantly felt lost.

***

See you next time,

-RWI

EDIT: May 23, 2012. stidE

Monday, October 3, 2011

Flash Fiction - Live

Good day,

 Another Flash served up ripe and ready for all y'all:

***

            Adam didn’t have enough chairs.  He had Mark and Haruka taking up the couch, Shinsuke on the floor with his chin resting on his knees, and Paul sitting on the only fold-out IKEA chair he had. Adam took to leaning up against the wall while Paul went over the brochure for the event.
            “So who’s playing, anyway?” he asked the reader.
            “Uh,” Paul muttered, going over the slip, “We’ve got Sexadecimal, Broken Nose, and D.J. Sitrep on Stage Five. Shibuya Murder Scene’s opening for The Further Colonels by the food stands. There’s a three-way rap battle happening between Slither, M.C. Shaz, and Hazardous Matt in the parking lot –”
            This raised Mark’s eyebrow, “Did you say in the parking lot?”
            “Yeah, says here they want to ‘keep it street’ and shit,” Paul said, passing the pamphlet to him and his girlfriend. While the couple poured over the pages, he turned his attention to the man on the wall. “Who else is coming?”
            Adam shrugged, “Ben’s going to take Saturday off, but no guarantees with him. Carla, Linh and Mahmoud are still good to go, but they wanna bring Fat Johnny.”
            “Does Fat Johnny have a cell phone now?” groaned Paul, reclining, “Because we can’t bring him if we can’t find him. Remember last time, at the beach? When he got arrested?
Adam waved him off, “You let me handle Fat Johnny. And before you ask, I can’t invite Sylvia because she’s been weird lately.”
            Mark shook his head while Haruka took a turn with the pamphlet, “She’s still hurting over what happened in Siberia. I –”
“Everything Lovely,” Haruka squeaked, running her palm against Mark’s chin, “I want to see, this gurupu.”
Paul stared, “Is gurupu some Japanese thing?”
“She means ‘group,’ guy,” Mark sneered, kissing his girlfriend’s hand.
            The man rolled his eyes, “Accents.” Seconds later, a coke can bounced off of his knee and Haruka puffed up her cheeks.
            “Alright, alright,” Adam groaned, looking at the man on the floor, “You bringing anyone, bro?”
            “My girlfriend, she coming. She wants to see Hard Nox,” Shinsuke said, laughing, “So surprise, yeah? She like this kind violent girl.”
            “Eeeeeeeeeeeeh?” Haruka hummed, surprise in her eyes, “Nanako is scary.”
Shinsuke laughed his high-pitched laugh again, “No way. She young gal, that why. And always go karaoke with this kind of crazy Chinese guys, yeah?”
            “We need more people. Tell her to bring the Chinese guys, too,” said Adam, turning back to Paul, “Did you call Jeff?”
            Paul gave a tsk. “I sent him a text yesterday, and he called me back a minute later.”
            “What’d he say?”
            “‘Stop texting me, you colon scavenger,’ and then he hung up.”
            Scratching his nose, Adam scowled, “That doesn’t sound like Jeff.”
            “No,” Mark said, dialling a number on his phone, “No, it sounds just like him. Here, let me try.”
            As Mark went on his mission, Shinsuke called out to the others, “Listen, I gonna bring Darren, then he gonna bring Andy and Claire.”
“Eeeeeh,” whined Haruka, “Noooo, Claire so mean.”
“What’s wrong with Claire?” Paul shot at her, “She’s better than fucking Jeff. At least she didn’t ditch you and Mark at a restaurant without paying the bill.”
Slumping forward, she twisted her mouth, “Eeeeh, datte. She thinks I am hooker.”
 “Everybody who isn’t Haruka shut up. I got Jeff and Leila,” Mark chimed in, pressing a button on his phone and aiming it at the crowd. “You’re on speakerphone, bud.”
            “Who else is there?” a voice asked in a dismissive tone.
            Mark scratched his nose, “Uh, me, Haruka, Shinsuke, Adam, and Paul –”
            “Ah, yes, the slave to the machine. Hurry up, we’re watching Doctor Who.”
            “Hi!” his girlfriend called out from the other side of whatever room they sat in.
            Mark leaned in, “We were wondering if –”
            “Ha!” Jeff cackled, “Matt Smith said a funny. Sorry, what?”
            Paul rubbed his eyes and growled, “Just tell us if you’re coming to Ground Sound this weekend, you fucker.”
            Indignantly, Jeff scoffed, “Well I’m not now, meanie. Do you know how many cherubs died because of your cussing?”
            “Dude, come on,” pleaded Adam, “The Further Colonels are gonna be there.”
            Something dropped on the other end. “You lie,” hissed Jeff.
            Mark nodded, “Shibuya Murder Scene’s opening for them, too. It’s gonna be pretty cool.”
A sputtering noise grunted at him from the other side, “Do not speak of Shibuya Murder Scene and The Further Colonels like they’re garage bands from Utah!” the man snapped, “This is going to be like Mary Magdalene opening for the Norse gods! I’m in!”
“Who is playing?” they heard Leila ask.
“Shibuya Murder Scene,” Jeff responded.
“Who?”
“They’re opening for The Further Colonels.”
There came the sound of a hundred-and-ten pound Persian girl scrambling over the couch, seizing the phone and yelling “WE’LL BE THERE!” before hanging up.

***

 I know what you're thinking: Oh Fuck It's Them. And yep, you're right. I thought I was done with Jeff and the rest of them but the scene just wrote itself. So what happens next? I dunno. Come back in two weeks to find out, because I'm taking next Monday off for Thanksgiving.

See you next time,

-RWI

EDIT: May 23, 2012. EDITS!