Floppy ranger plugged his bass guitar into the rig and some funky vibrations filled the poorly lit studio. Cock was sitting on the other side of the room cradling his axe with a stern expression on his face. Cock only cared about two things in the world; his dreadlocks and his guitar. He was a white boy with straight hair mucked up with seal fat and fish glue twisted into dread locks. He was a cock. Fury tits was standing by the mike doing his vocal exercises. Gu gu gu gu ga ga ga ga and all that bollocks. Unbeknownst to fury tits, cock had gone behind his back and tried to steal floppy ranger away from the band, the then infant plastic soup.
Floppy had gone to the mutinous jam which cock had organized and was disappointed with what he found there. The “very fit girl with an amazing voice” had turned out to be a shy, fat croaker and the songs that cock had written were guitar gibberish with no structure, nor purpose. Floppy had sat through the shambles of a rehearsal and bolted out as soon as it was passably polite to do so.
Now, Monday evening, was business as usual. Fury tits and cock had had yet another fight over something trivial and fury tits seemed more pissed off than normal. As soon as cock walked out of the room to take a “time stopping” shit, fury felt the rage bubble up inside him once again. He skulked past the other rehearsal room doors and headed for the toilet after cock. When he opened the front door he lowered his head to the floor to see which cubicle cock was using and as he was doing so he heard the under-strain grunt which accompanies the most challenging defecation attempts. Fury kicked the door open with one mighty blow and proceeded to bash cock repeatedly over the head with a half empty waste bin. He had to hit him really hard as his head was protected by copious amount of grease and the basket kept bouncing back up. When he was done with it and cock had ceased moving fury tits stopped to catch his breath. The faint sound of the other bands rehearsing was the only accompaniment to his heavy breathing. Just one more whack on the head for luck he thought. As he did so the familiar “plof” of a last splinter of a turd hitting the water made fury look at cock with a disgusted expression. “Amazing” he thought, “he’s dead and he’s still full of shit”. It took a long time for fury tits to chop up the whole body into small enough bits with the pocket swiss army knife to flush them down the toilet “where he truly belonged”.
A couple of times fellow toilet goers had come in to take a whiz and, after hearing a bit of commotion coming from the cubicle, had rapped firmly on the door and given words of encouragement like “Go on. Teach it a lesson mate”.
By now floppy ranger had been waiting in the practice room for a substantial amount of time and when fury returned he never asked what had taken so long or indeed what had happened to cock. He probably knew exactly what happened and deep down must have thought it was not only the right thing to do but also the only one.
To be continued...