3:33 AM on a Tuesday in Wyoming.
D. Rich kicked in the door and entered the room with a scissor kick. “Kitcha!” he screamed and got the attention of O’Donnell who had been stirring in his sleep deciding if he should wake and get a bottle of Vitamin Water. “I need a Power Drum Suit that has hidden compartments ready to spit out sticks and brushes that I can command with my mind” he excitedly said. O’Donnell responded that he’d “call the banker” to see if funds could be made available for such an endeavor (knowing all along that the prototype alone would be more than what he could get for his prized ‘Air Gait’ Lacrosse card).
In the back room, Mulready (hereinafter known as Nails) was busy weaving bracelets to sell on tour knowing that if only they had a Hibachi maybe they could sell veggie burritos instead. O’Donnell stuck his head through the wall and said “Hey, weave us a Power Suit like the ones you used to make.” Nails quit the bracelet and laid down for a nap thinking to himself that Power Drum Suit weaving would require some energy.
D. Rich cart wheeled onto the porch and grabbed a gangly kid that was smoking a Cadillac, “Hey you…..yeah you” D. Rich shouted, “Maingey…..you’re our new bass player so find a bass and don’t make me look bad. The tour starts at Noon so you’ve got six hours…..when in doubt just play F flat.”
Suddenly a band of illegal aliens appeared in the distance and they looked weird.
At ten to Noon – O’Donnell tuned his guitar and motioned to Maingey to do the same. “A pitch fork is all I need” said Maingey as he wrapped it off his own skull producing a perfect A 440. “I don’t know if we can let the aliens join us for the set without filing the proper tax forms” said D. Rich. “The government won’t like it and they may force us to live in the underground cities with the Sasquatches as punishment. Sasquatches don’t have the hygiene that we’ve grown accustom to here in Wyoming and I’m afraid they might take Maingey for one of their own.”
At five to Noon it was time for D. Rich to put on his Power Drum Suit and for Nails to cover himself in Neon Yellow Body Paint. Maingey, bothered by his lack of costume, threatened to quit his tenure in the band but O’Donnell talked him out of it; “Ball Down Son!” he shouted.
The set began like an old-fashioned train wreck. The pyrotechnics engulfed D. Rich’s Power Drum Suit and his compartments started shooting sticks wildly into the audience, sending the 14 people in attendance scurrying into the storage room. An aberrant brush caught Nails in the jugular and forced his hands to smack an Eflat5#11 chord against an F major. The sound it created summoned the Cracken from the depths of the Mediterranean Sea causing European, African and Asian cities to flood, but making Manic Depressives everywhere smile.
The bus rolled along Route 90 heading for Oregon. At a rest area in Portland, Brollik disembarked and headed for the local tavern. Masky the Mascot from the local minor league team was dancing on the bar with his invisible friend Broonzy when Brollik entered. “Leaping Lemons!” shouted Masky “them Brollik characters done come to bootleg the band and steal their good ideas. Hide the dynamite!”