Sunday, May 29, 2005
The Extra Musician of Bremen: MoB part II!
This story was written in 2004.
When last we visited the Musicians of Bremen (the MoB), we left our heroes living a life of relative luxury in a palatial estate. A palatial estate they appropriated from a band of brigands our friends encountered while on their way to the city of Bremen—where they had originally planned to live as popular musicians.
But they never stopped dreaming, and they never stopped practising. Then, one day...
VRRRRUUUM! VRRRRUUUM! A low slung Harley chopper pulled up to the gates of the MoB estate. Davey the dog looked up from the patio where he had been practicing his drumming and was amazed to see the most collosally huge pig climb off of the motorcycle and slowly look back and forth, scanning the area. The pig was wearing leather chaps, red bandana, dark black sunglasses, a hitler mustache and a guitar strapped to his back with the words, “Born Squealing” stenciled on the side.
“Hey, lads!” called Davey over his shoulder into the mansion, “take a look at this blighter!”
Soon, one at a time, the other members of the MoB emerged from the house and lined up to ogle the great porker. Katey the cat, the lead singer of the MoB, was the first to walk up to the gate, followed by Rocky rooster towing his bass guiter.
“So, like, who ARE you anyway, gross pig thing?” Katey asked around a mouthful of chewing gum.
The pig took his sunglasses off and cocked his head cockily towards the cock and cat and spat on the ground at their feet.
“I'm Big Pig. They sometimes call me B.P, right before I tear their fucking heads off. I heard you guys quit the business, and I came to make you an offer.”
“What kind of an offer, bawk?” asked Rocky
“Either you can let me join the MoB and we can go on tour, or I can stand here at the gate and mock you mercilessly with impovised songs of derision from now until the end of time.”
Duck Donkey, the keyboardist and the leader of the band, walked up behind his bandmates and protectively placed his hooves on their shoulders.
“We don't do gigs anymore, man. We don't gotta, and we're all settled here. We don't live the life no more.”
Davey the dog had finally gotten up to the gate, and, looking back and forth between Duck and BP, said, “Speak for yourself, you bloody great ass. I think its high time we get on the road again. This place has gotten deadly dull these past days.”
Duck sighed, looking at each MoB in turn, “Well, crew, what'll it be?”
“Well, like, lets hear what Big Pig can do, right? It's, like, SO prematu-re to make plans without knowing.”
With that, BP unslung his guitar, and began laying down the most deadly, demonic, rocking licks the MoB had ever heard. There were scintillating highs, terrifying lows, and bridges that seemed to arch from hell to heaven. Katey let loose with a grinding yowl of sexual need in response to the urgent, turgid wailing. Duck bobbed his great head along with the implied rhythms, and Davey tapped out a pattern on his thigh, enveloped as he was by the music of BP. When BO was finally done, Duck was the first to say, “Fuck, yeah! Lets do this!”
So the band left their estate behind, and with Donkey pulling the cart, the musicians headed towards Bremen, where they had many adventures, had lots of sex, did lots of drugs, went into lots of rehab, and then became a lot of has-beens. They eventually went back to their estate and lived out their lives in wistfull, nostalgic solitude. But if you should happen to pass through that area you can still hear MoB and the BP screaming their defiance in a musically unique and driven way.
The End
¶ 11:25 PM 
When last we visited the Musicians of Bremen (the MoB), we left our heroes living a life of relative luxury in a palatial estate. A palatial estate they appropriated from a band of brigands our friends encountered while on their way to the city of Bremen—where they had originally planned to live as popular musicians.
But they never stopped dreaming, and they never stopped practising. Then, one day...
VRRRRUUUM! VRRRRUUUM! A low slung Harley chopper pulled up to the gates of the MoB estate. Davey the dog looked up from the patio where he had been practicing his drumming and was amazed to see the most collosally huge pig climb off of the motorcycle and slowly look back and forth, scanning the area. The pig was wearing leather chaps, red bandana, dark black sunglasses, a hitler mustache and a guitar strapped to his back with the words, “Born Squealing” stenciled on the side.
“Hey, lads!” called Davey over his shoulder into the mansion, “take a look at this blighter!”
Soon, one at a time, the other members of the MoB emerged from the house and lined up to ogle the great porker. Katey the cat, the lead singer of the MoB, was the first to walk up to the gate, followed by Rocky rooster towing his bass guiter.
“So, like, who ARE you anyway, gross pig thing?” Katey asked around a mouthful of chewing gum.
The pig took his sunglasses off and cocked his head cockily towards the cock and cat and spat on the ground at their feet.
“I'm Big Pig. They sometimes call me B.P, right before I tear their fucking heads off. I heard you guys quit the business, and I came to make you an offer.”
“What kind of an offer, bawk?” asked Rocky
“Either you can let me join the MoB and we can go on tour, or I can stand here at the gate and mock you mercilessly with impovised songs of derision from now until the end of time.”
Duck Donkey, the keyboardist and the leader of the band, walked up behind his bandmates and protectively placed his hooves on their shoulders.
“We don't do gigs anymore, man. We don't gotta, and we're all settled here. We don't live the life no more.”
Davey the dog had finally gotten up to the gate, and, looking back and forth between Duck and BP, said, “Speak for yourself, you bloody great ass. I think its high time we get on the road again. This place has gotten deadly dull these past days.”
Duck sighed, looking at each MoB in turn, “Well, crew, what'll it be?”
“Well, like, lets hear what Big Pig can do, right? It's, like, SO prematu-re to make plans without knowing.”
With that, BP unslung his guitar, and began laying down the most deadly, demonic, rocking licks the MoB had ever heard. There were scintillating highs, terrifying lows, and bridges that seemed to arch from hell to heaven. Katey let loose with a grinding yowl of sexual need in response to the urgent, turgid wailing. Duck bobbed his great head along with the implied rhythms, and Davey tapped out a pattern on his thigh, enveloped as he was by the music of BP. When BO was finally done, Duck was the first to say, “Fuck, yeah! Lets do this!”
So the band left their estate behind, and with Donkey pulling the cart, the musicians headed towards Bremen, where they had many adventures, had lots of sex, did lots of drugs, went into lots of rehab, and then became a lot of has-beens. They eventually went back to their estate and lived out their lives in wistfull, nostalgic solitude. But if you should happen to pass through that area you can still hear MoB and the BP screaming their defiance in a musically unique and driven way.
