Slackin' with Vlad
"I'm reading my own page," thought Gladbag. He paused, his butt scootching ever closer to the edge of his chair.
"Nice picture. That's me all right. Danger...High Voltage! Ha Ha! Look out girls! He He!"
But there were no other details. Nothing to even suggest that Gladbag played guitar, or even looked cool holding one.
"Wait. Why is Klazfadge doing this?" Gladbag thought. "This page is supposed to be about my rise to guitar stardom."
His brow furrowed automatically, showing off the complex landscape and and skin tones of his newly shorn head.
"Okay, enough, Klazfadge, you fucker. Stop this! This is my day in the sun! "
But the page kept right on going into utter darkness. Vlad became agitated. He had the sense that an outsider had assumed control of his thoughts. He determinedly fought the urge to click to a porn website he had never heard of.
"O.D.'s designing my band bio as a weapon against me. He's just mad because I made all those comments about his website design. He can be so petty sometimes, and passive aggressive. It's been that way ever since I saw him naked and threatened to tell his dirty little.....ughhhhh!!!."
Vlad's brain erupted in blinding pain. He felt like a B-class wrestler who had been pinned to the mat once again by the pretty-boy superstar (as scripted.) Gladbag's eyes darted back and forth as though electricity from an ungrounded outlet was running through his body. Thoughts continued to fly throught his head and onto the page.
"Why would Klazfadge do this? I mean, he knows how much work I did mixing the Strainer CD. He KNOWS! And I sat there quietly while those other two picked it apart, piece by piece, like seagulls eating a fish that had washed up on the shore, dodging bottlecaps and McDonald's styrofoam meatless-burger boxes all the while."
Gladbag paused in wonderment at the detail of the analogy that transpired in his own head.
"I thought I only did that when I had an audience," he mused. "But right now, the only audience is me."
Stay tuned for part II...
