Pop Goes the God - inspired by the random thread
In his home on the Sun he sat and he schemed. It was all falling into place.
It wasn't easy living on the Sun. For one thing you needed mighty good sunglasses. Another was that at this time of year it was particularly hot and stuffy, and for some strange reason the nights were a little chilly for him meaning he had to stay outdoors. He tried to run a bath the day before last and found that the water instantly vaporised and screamed into the atmosphere, so much for staying clean.
Nevertheless, he was used to living the hard life, being an evil genius alien usually means you have to forgoe some luxuries.
His name was Pop, Mr Pop to those who were not well aquainted with him. Others called him Iggy, much to his chagrin. His name was Iggy Pop, and he was all aboard for Funtime on what he hoped would be the last day that the human race would infest his future home, Earth. Still he sat and schemed, for he found it rather relaxing.
Who needs to scheme really when you have the meaning of life printed on 14 A4 sheets in a shoebox? He kept the shoebox close to him always, and occasionally put it out when it caught on fire.
Bowie was on the run.
For some reason, while taking this night drive with Iman and little Alex, he couldn't get his song Too Dizzy out of his head. There was way too much talking going on for a night drive, and the windshield kept on misting up. Going around a corner at 80mph he nearly lost control.
David was being chased. It seemed like the whole world was after him. It made a pleasant change.
The paparazzi, the press, The President of the United States, they were all chasing him. It was like some sort of wierd slapstick comedy, except one that wasn't even remotely funny.
"The Airport dear, we must get to the Airport", Iman chimed in, "We have a plane ready to go"
Funny, David thought, How did Iman get a plane ready on such short notice?
"Here dear, take these", Iman handed David an assortment of pills, which he obediantly gulped down. She'd been acting awful strange lately. Perhaps it was motherhood, perhaps it was the possible end of the world. You never could tell with Iman.
Father McKenzie, writing the words to a sermon that no-one would here, no-one would come near. His bass guitar leaned against the wall in his small room. A room that contained only his desk, some stationary, half a dozen crucifixes, his guitar, and his water tank.
The Fathers socks needed darning, but that was the least of his worries. Today could be the end of it all. He was ready to die, but he wasn't ready to let the Pop man win.
"Evil Pop, evil Pop, evil Pop", he muttered to himself, "If only I'd never met you"
He left his sermon, and plugged his guitar into it's amp. "Funny", he thought as he stared at the amp, "that wasn't here before". A lot of funny things were happening, and not ha-ha funny either.
The Father filled his tank and hopped in.
Father McKenzie had learned the art of playing bass guitar underwater at a monostary many years ago. It was a secret the monks had known of for centuries, even long before bass guitars were invented which was rather odd to say the least. The first song he learned was Love Me Do because it was quite easy to play.
Playing bass underwater may look easy... and it is...deceptively so. That is why it is the greatest meditation technique known to man, and why McKenzie was one of the few who knew the truth, but also one of the few who was bound by the dark one. Not Pop. This dark one had an agenda of his own.
To be continued...
One sees great things from the valley,
only small things from the peak.
Edited by Sysiyo on 06/23/04 06:47 AM (server time).