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The following is an ongoing work of composite fiction by
contributors from the Message Board. Due to the erratic nature of
its construction the editors apologize for any omissions or lack of
attribution to the proper authors. This story is on-going and will be
archived here periodically. For current chapters, comments, or to
add you own chapter, please visit the Message Board. This story is
a work of fiction. Names have been changed to protect the guilty
and any similarity to actual events is purely coincidental.
Bowie slowly reaches out his hand and touches the being with his
image. One long finger brushes the hollow of his throat. The being
steps back and crumples to the floor, a lumpy nothing that reforms
slowly, while Bowie watches calmly, into the forms of everyone he
loves, his friends, family, bandmates, they all emerge to smile softly
and then change again. Finally the form arrives back to the Bowie
shape. They stare at each other with the same stare, measuring,
cautious. Then the changing Bowie speaks, "You are no longer a
mirror with nothing on it. Go home, Earthling on fire with the
sounds of the ground. Go Home."
Both Bowies smile at each other and then laugh. Bowie turns to go
and wonders as he walks away, 'Is it over?"
Bowie almost makes it to the door of Satan's throneroom, but then
he remembers that The World Is Changing will most likely still be
playing to the damned dancing masses. He turns to ask if there is a
possible alternative route to get back to the Dread Portal without
having to pass by the Really Bad Music circle, and when he turns
back, he notices something different about Satan. Satan is no
longer the spitting image of David Bowie. In fact, Satan now looks
like a 14 year old Catholic schoolgirl, right down to her plaid
uniform and knee socks. David is speechless. Satan laughs, and
says "Don't looked so surprised. I can take on any form I want,
after all. And you really didn't think I'd drag drag you all the way
down to hell and NOT play with you more than that, did you?
You've had identity crises in the past before, but now that I have
you here, you'll not be getting away that easily. Here, look at this."
Satan reaches into a file cabinet and pulls out a notarized
document. "This here is the deed to your soul. It was signed in
1972 by your MainMan manager, somebody by the name of
DeFries, and in exchange for your phenomenal success, he
promised me your soul after 25 years. I'm afraid your time is up."
David can't believe what he is hearing. DeFries had in fact sold his
soul, and David had no clue about it.
"This isn't fair," David says in a shocked tone of voice, "I didn't
even sign this! Tony had no right to sell my soul!" Satan shrugs
his shoulders and says "Oh a deal's a deal! But don't worry, you
won't have it so bad here. After all, hell does have the best
musicians, and we know how to treat them right." For the first time
David notices that Earthling is playing softly on Satan's stereo
system. "I really do like your latest," Satan says "even though I
have had a taped copy of it since the time of the MSG concert. But
even the all-powerful Mitch Schneider Organization can not keep
the Great Adversary from getting a hold of a promo copy. But the
CD quality is much better."
David has heard very little of what Satan has said. He just shakes
his head, trying to come to grips with the facts that he has just
been informed of. Satan gets up from behind his large desk and
moves around to sympathetically pat David on the back. "Come
now, don't look so glum, I told you we always treat our musicians
with respect here. After all, I'm really indebted to musicians,
particularly those of the rock and roll variety. Without them, there
wouldn't have been anybody to lead wayward youths astray. You
don't have to mingle with the masses *out there*; you really do
become part of the royalty of hell." David looks up at Satan, not
quite believing what he's hearing. "Of course," Satan continues,
"hell wouldn't be hell without some fun. Without some form of
punishment. Every musician has to do a weekly show, and we
customize each experience to really highlight each performer's
talents. I'm proud to say that we're about to enter our 20th year of
the Stripping Elvis Revue. Friday nights feature endless solos by
John Bonham on his Casio drum machine. Sid Vicious skill on the
sitar is showcased each Monday night, and we've just added Tiny
Tim opposite Janis Joplin in our special Sunday matinee
performances of the Phantom of the Opera. You yourself are
scheduled to do endless elaborations on that little Young
Americans medley that you did with Cher a number of years back.
And you will..."
"No, stop, this just can't be happening," David finally says. "Isn't
there any way that I can get out of this? I never authorized Tony to
sell my soul, and I'm certain that hell couldn't use the bad publicity
of going thru a lengthy, drawn out lawsuit over the legality of that
written instrument. I know people who could drag this thing out
ENDLESSLY." Satan leans up against his desk and mulls this over.
He then slowly says, "Well, IF I do let you go, you'll have to do
one of two things. Either find somebody willing to take your place.
Or you could just tell me what on earth compelled you to use
Frampton on the Glass Pumpkin tour?" "I can just tell you that and
you'll let me go?" David asks, breathing a sigh of relief. "Just tell
you why I used Petey? Why, that's easy! I used him because..."
and then David begins to panic. He can't remember. He thinks to
himself "oh no, I bet you some kind of Vulcan mind meld must have
happened when I was in Ramona, because I can't remember! SHE
must have retained the knowledge of why I used Frampton..." Satan
clears his throat, waiting to hear what David has to say. David
takes a deep breath and...
just before he can begin to speak, an enormous explosion blasts
down the door and throws both Satan and David against the back
wall of the throne room. The captives of Hell were revolting!! They
had completely destroyed the speakers playing The World Is
Changing, had blown up the TV's and slide show projectors, and
had proceeded to relieve themselves on whatever was left. There
were millions of angry souls crowded outside of the door. And at
the front of this enraged mob is *gasp!* THE EVIL MARIAH! still
clad in black leather and holding her whip.
"Oh GOD, not THIS AGAIN!" shrieks David.
Maria chuckles maliciously. "Oh, you didn't actually think that a
little thing like being killed twice would stop ME did you? I am the
ultimate incarnate of evil!!"
"HEY, what about ME?" growls Satan, who now resembles a
mixture between Michael Jackson and Brian Eno (for whatever
mysterious reasons). "I'M Satan!"
"Shut up, you!" spits Mariah, giving Satan a few harsh lashes. He
promptly shuts up and hides his head. Mariah turns on David, who
is trying to sneak out the door.
"Not so fast! Now that I have you here, not ONLY will I have you're
talent, I'll ALSO have your SOUL! MWAHAHAHA!" She raises
.....Mariah is able to give him a few good lashes before the whip is
literally shot off from her hands. Her hands explode like firecrackers
and she wails in agony. Bowie merely boggles at this as he
searches the room for the one who saved him. Brandishing a
steaming gun, Stephen King walks in. "Hey, Bowie," Stephen says
calmly, "was this cheap tart bugging you?" Bowie, in a sigh of
relief, responds, "Oh, you have NO IDEA! She's been on my ass
raving about wanting my talents." "Your talents?" Stephen looks at
the wailing Mariah who sits in a puddle of her own blood. "She
wouldn't know what the f**k to do with them once she got them,
anyway. So she'd be an even BIGGER flop." Bowie only looks at
Mariah, who sits and bleeds to death. "You know something,
Stephen, I think you might have a point there, but YOU'RE a writer,
what is something so HORRIBLE and so EVIL that we can condemn
her to do for eternity?" Stephen holds the gun loosely in one hand
and scratches his five o'clock shadow with the other. "Well, let's
see," he looks at her hands, "I've got it........"
"but it could get a little, um, sticky." Just then, the Evil Mariah
begins to hack. Stephen and Satan look on as Mariah's eyes begin
to tear with the force of her wheezing and coughing; David merely
lights up another Marlboro. Mariah looks around with a troubled
and confused glint in her eyes. She then gets up from her pool of
blood on the floor and begins to climb up the ornate carving of the
Tree of Life (complete with a bas-relief snake-and-apple motif) that
is tastefully lit and displayed behind Satan's throne. Being
handless, it is truly an amazing sight and a credit to Mariah's many
talents that she can climb up so easily. When she gets to a certain
height, Mariah stops climbing and bites down on a branch. She
remains frozen there and, within seconds, a bright orange-tipped
spike erupts from the center of her forehead. The orange tip of
Mariah's spike begins to flake, and little dead Cameroonian Stink
Ants rain down on the floor underneath the Tree of Life.
"Shit," says Satan as he reaches into his desk and pulls out a Dirt
Devil mini-vac and begins vacuuming up the dead insects. "I hate it
when these damn things get in my shag carpeting. It's a real bitch
trying to explain it to the carpet cleaning guys." Stephen looks up
at the once again dead Evil Mariah and tries to say something to
David, but Bowie can't hear him over the hum from Satan's Dirt
Devil. Just then, Iggy Pop, holding a rubber hose in one hand and a
half-eaten peanut butter sandwich in the other, bursts thru Satan's
door. He had heard the faint signal from Dave's *anti-prefabricated
pop diva* device, and had just barely made his way to the bowels
of hell. Iggy swats Stephen with the rubber hose and shoves the
rest of his sandwich in his mouth. He then walks up to Dave,
throws him over his shoulder, and turns his little 5'1 inch body
towards the door when...
Satan's preoccupation with the stink ants in his orange and
magenta shag carpet, patterned so that it would remind one of a
lava lamp, subsides, and he begins chasing Iggy and David with
his Dirt Devil. However, for some odd reason, he forgets to remove
the little vacuum from the floor, and is chasing them on all fours,
trying to ram the heels of Iggy's Chucks with it. However, this
proves very effective, frightening Iggy so that he runs all the faster,
while kicking up his heels higher and higher to avoid the voracious
jaws of the electric beast. When suddenly, Satan trips, and the
whirring of the Dirt Devil comes to an abrupt halt. "Awww NUTS!"
yells Satan, realizing the cord has become unplugged. He turns
back, yelling for an extension cord. Yet, Iggy does not realize that
he is no longer being pursued, and continues bounding along the
landscapes of Hell....
"No worries, Dave, we'll be out of here in no time...."
"PUTT MEEEE DOW-OW-OW-OWN! ! !! ! !!! ! !! !!!"yells our
hero, "AND DDONT CAL AL AL ME D-D-DAVVVEEH!" Yet, they
Hours later, and no luck.
David: "I think we're lost!"
Iggy: "No, we're not, I know this place like the back of my hand!"
David: "I still think we're lost, we've passed this lava pool THREE
Iggy: "FINE, Mr. Know-it-all! Mr. I-got-to-be-God-for- a-day. FINE!
Mr. I-Had-Sex-With-With.... FINE! Why don't you get us out of
here, or better YET, try to get out of here YOURSELF!"
Iggy dumps our hero onto the rocky shores of a less-than-serene
acidic lake and stomps away.
David: (muttering) "Some men, I swear, they think they have a
compass implanted in their skulls!"
David surveys his surroundings. "Let's see, miles of arid desert,
vultures in the sky, red cliffs in the distance, where the hell am I?
Hell or Australia?" David notices a cloud of dust in the distance,
whatever is producing it is moving quite rapidly "Great, with my
luck it will be 17,000 Camaroonian Stink Ants singing Mariah Carey
songs! Well fine then, I'm tired of running!" With that, David sits,
facing away from the dust cloud, to await his fate.