Mr. Music Please

"This kind of thing seems to be happening a lot recently," I said, "now that I think on it."

"Yeah, and I thought it was only at the Onion," she said.

"Just a couple of days ago Pooter's band, Crying Day, was in the middle of their set at Elliston Trapezoid, when the guitarist, Greg started playing and singing Bang Your Head by Quiet Riot. A couple of people in the crowd spontaneously combusted, and most of the armadillos had seizures." I paused. "Think it's anything to worry about?"

"I don't know. Last night was pretty horrible."

We ate in silence.

"Oh, look at the time!" she said looking at the time.

"Late for work?"

"No, Wet Wax Factory is practicing at the Plexiglass Onion this morning. Crap, I'm going to be late even if I teleport. And teleporting on a full stomach is not the most pleasant of things."

"No problem," I said, and I picked her up and flew her to the Plexiglass Onion.

The rest of the band was already there and starting to get impatient. They understood when Squasha told them what had happened the night before.

She invited me to stay, but I had promised Cat that I would help RIP set up for their afternoon show at the Canary. The Canary used to be a big warehouse for trade in canaries and canary-related paraphernalia, but was now a music venue.

"See you around Squash."

"'Bye Animal." She hugged me and I left.

"Hey, it's Animal!" yelled Sean as I flew into the room. Sean is the guitarist for RIP. Seated around him was Donnie the bassist, John the drummer and Cat.

"Greetings everyone!" I called from above.

April, Donnie's girlfriend, walked in as I landed next to Cat. I tipped my hat to her and my skin turned blue. I wasn't worried; that kind of thing is rarely permanent. "Hi Animal," she said as she hugged me.

We all started moving the equipment in. It was a particularly hot day for mid-November and at one point I removed my hat in order to wipe some sweat from my forehead. When I replaced the hat I was looking at five perfect replicas of me. And they were looking at me. I shrugged and they shrugged with me. The six of me continued with the task at hand and we were done long before we expected to be.

The show went great. He-Man wasn't there, the SilverHawks failed to show up and no evil sounds came from the speakers. Tony the Tiger sat at a table in his cyclops shades with Hulk Hogan (Tony, Cat informed me, had taken over as Mr. Hogan's manager recently), and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. I had a blast! Three of me stayed in the slamming pit, while the other three rested and socialized. It was really cool, because I experienced that show from six different perspectives at once.

I went over and gave Squasha a friendly hug when she came in. "How was practice?" I asked her.

"Great. I've been learning all their old songs, and working on a few new ones. I think I'm ready to perform with them."

I went out to slam dance, as I came over to sit with Squasha. She looked confused. "Oh, sorry. I forgot to warn you about that."

"What...?"

"It's my hat. Every time I put it on it does something weird. Like when it transported me from Woodstock in 1969 to Nashville in 1984. A few hours ago I had blue skin."

She nodded.

After the show, I ... or I should say we (there was still six of me) ... walked with Squasha for a couple of blocks. I was really enjoying her company. We had become friends in a very short period and I had to let my lust give way to camaraderie. It wasn't easy, but I managed to force my lust into the background. Even now, I need to beat it back with a stick once in awhile.

It had cooled considerably since setting up for the show, so I wrapped my scarf around my neck. As I did so, Squasha turned to say something to me, but before she could speak we heard the sounds of a stampede. There was a herd of rogue bull elephants charging down 8th Avenue and they were headed right for us! Squasha teleported to a rooftop with a puff of green smoke (with little yellow polka-dots), while I (all six of me) jumped into my hat.

I peeked out over the brim and watched the panicky pachyderms turn a corner.

As I climbed out of my top hat, I noticed that my duplicates were gone.

"Wonder what set them off," wondered Squasha, when she returned from the roof in a chartreuse puff of smoke (with a little mauve mixed in).

"Don't know," I said picking up my hat. "Probably something minor. You know how these elephants get."

"Yeah."

"Anyway," I dusted off my hat, "what were you going to say before we were so rudely interrupted?"

"What? Oh!" I put my hat back on as she spoke. "I was just going to say that I'm glad I met you. You're a really ... nice ... person." She was giving me a very odd look.

"Thank you. I feel the same way about you," I said. "What's wrong?"

"There's a Roadrunner cartoon playing on your shades."

"Oh, that's the work of my hat again."

"Ah." A walrus stopped and bummed a quarter. She gave him one. "That is a very strange hat."

"I've gotten used to it."

We walked on and talked some more, getting to know each other better. I liked this person.

We were both getting kind of sleepy, so we decided it was time to part company. I hugged her and she kissed me on the cheek. Before she teleported away she said, "Wet Wax Factory is having a show at the Plexiglass Onion soon. I'm putting you on the guest list, so you'd better show up."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," I said sincerely.

She smiled and teleported home with a puff of blue smoke (with a little orange mixed in).

I watched Roadrunner before I went to sleep that night. I couldn't get sound on my shades, but I coped.

Nothing much of interest happened before the night of the Wet Wax Factory show. Well, my roommate, a bespectacled wolverine by the unlikely name of Newton, found out that he'd inherited a fortune in Rice Krispie Treats from his Auntie Willamina, but that has little to do with the rest of this story.

On the way to the Plexiglass Onion, I spotted Cat's car. I swooped down and flew beside the driver's window. "Hey, Cat!" I said. "You goin' to the Wet Wax Factory show?"

He jumped but kept control of the car. "Yeah, man. Hop in."

I flew around to the passenger side and climbed in the window to the back seat. Normally I would have taken the front seat, but it was currently occupied by a mutual friend of ours named Eddie, the Screamer. "Hey!" I kissed the top of his head. "Ed's gone skin again!" He does that once in awhile.

He wrinkled his newly shaved head at me. "Feel it, man. It feels like a raisin, doesn't it?"

I started to answer, but Eddie was screaming out the window. Three telephone poles went down and the kids walking down the sidewalk were plastered against the walls of the nearby buildings. Eddie's screams, whether he had hair or not, were the greatest!

The place was packed when we got there. A cheerful warthog sat at the bar showing the bartender pictures of his grandpiglets, while a pair of geese played chess in the corner and a group of weasels and a duck with a Mohawk snickered at He-Man's dreadlocks. Normally dreadlocks look pretty cool, but somehow they didn't look quite right on He-Man.

Oh, great! He-Man was there! Well, I wasn't going to let him spoil my evening. 'At least,' I told myself, 'the SilverHawks aren't here!'

We managed to find a table close to the stage where we could enjoy the show. There wouldn't be any slamming tonight. Wet Wax Factory is an alternative, rather than a hardcore punk band.

He-Man was sitting at a nearby table, desperately trying to comb out his dreadlocks as the show began. Apparently everyone else shared my opinion of them. And that was the really sad part. If I thought that it would sink in, I'd suggest to He-Man that he get a hairstyle that he liked and screw what other people thought about it. I shook my head and turned my attention to the stage.

Squasha looked great as always, and the band was in top form. They got an enthusiastic reaction after every song. Everything was going great. That is... until it happened.

About halfway through their set, they prepared to do one of their new songs. But then a strange look came over Squasha's face. In fact, a strange look came over the face of each of the band members. I can't describe the look. It was just ... strange. Squasha played a few random notes on her guitar and then ... I hate repeating this part; it was so horrible. Then they started playing a song by Debbie Gibson!

"Shake you're love..." was coming out of Squasha's mouth. That was all I could bear to listen to. I tried to make my way over to the stage to save Squasha. She couldn't be doing this on purpose! She had to be under some kind of spell! But my way was blocked by a large group of people, possums and orange pigeons who were writhing on the dance floor. They were in pain; I could see it in their eyes. I tried to fly to the stage, but to no avail. I felt woozy and my legs started to feel heavy. I was paralyzed! The room started to spin and I noticed a man in a duck suit dancing about as if his underwear had crawled up the space between his buttocks. It was utter chaos!

Just when everything seemed hopeless, Eddie let out the loudest scream I'd ever heard from him. Then there was silence.

I looked up in time to see Squasha fall. I rushed the stage. The band looked worried, as did the audience.

"She'll be okay," I announced. "I just need to get her home." I picked her up and turned to Eddie. "That scream of yours may just have saved all of our asses!"

"Shucks, 'tain't no big thang," he said, blushing from the top of his smooth head to the bottom of his neck.

"Eddie, you're a hero." The crowd started cheering, and chanting Eddie's name over and over again as I flew out the door with Squasha's unconscious form in my arms.

"I won't be able to teleport for a few days," she said, after I asked her how she was feeling, "but other than that I'm perfectly fine." I must have looked skeptical, because then she said, "Really Animal, I'll be okay. You go home and get some sleep. I'll call you if I need you."

"Okay," I said hesitantly, "but I'll come by and check on you every so often, just the same."

"You do that," she smiled.

I gave her a gentle farewell hug and flew out the window.

We were having a snack at Newton's Rice Krispie Treat Emporium (recently opened where Empress Chili used to be), talking about nothing in particular when Eddie said, "Hey Animal, didn't you say that you saw He-Man combing out his dread-locks at last night's show?"

"Yeah, why?" I asked curiously.

"Because," started Cat, "he was nowhere to be seen after you and Squasha left."

"Hmmm," I hmmmed, "he seems to be around whenever these disasters strike."

"Yeah," said Cat, "he was there when Mommyrot inadvertently lured Santa Claus to the Plexiglass Onion so Frank's Nuclear Wastoid could kill him."

"And," said Eddie, "y'know he was at Crying Day's last show, when those people exploded."

"What about the SilverHawks?" I asked.

"What about them?" counter-asked Cat.

"They were at the Plexiglass Onion when Bill accidentally sang that Lionel Richie song. And they've threatened to tear the place down."

"Well, they were also at the Crying Day show," said Eddie, "but they weren't at last night's show."

"Or at the Plexiglass Onion, when Tiffany's carnage happened," said Cat. "I suppose they might have caused the troubles from outside, but I don't know. But I do know that He-Man was at those shows."

"I'd better tell Squasha about this." I threw down 50¢ for the Rice Krispie treats I'd eaten, and put on my hat. Before I could get up, I was sitting across from Squasha at her kitchen table.

"I didn't know you could teleport," she said after jumping a few feet in the air.

"I can't," I said.

"But you just -- "

"It's my hat again."

She nodded. "What can I do for you?"

"Think about this: He-Man, it seems, is at every show where there is a musical calamity, while the shows he stays away from go smoothly."

"You think he's somehow responsible?"

"It's a distinct possibility. And each time, it gets worse. There's no telling what would have happened last night if Eddie hadn't been there."

Squasha shuddered. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get more evidence."

"Be careful Animal."

"Don't worry about me, Babe," I said, "you just get better."

"I have to. You're going to need my help."

"May I have your attention, please?" I was addressing the local ClownWatch skateboarding penguin gang, Cat and Eddie. The penguins sat down. Eddie put aside his Turtle™ brand head wax. Cat was already listening. "Thank you," I said as the room quieted down.

A penguin coughed. The sound echoed on the walls of the Emporium basement. Newton was upstairs waiting on customers; Cat would fill him in later.

"I know that most of you are dedicated to the cause of protecting the neighborhood from giant rampaging clowns, but we need your help with something just as important." I paused. "If there is anyone here who is not willing to work hard and long hours toward this goal, then now is the time to leave." The penguins leaned forward. Eddie polished his head but was no less attentive. Cat nodded for me to continue. No one made a move to leave. I knew I could count on this group.

"It seems that He-Man is trying to destroy our scene with bad music. We need some hard evidence, and I'm counting on each one of you to help find it." I studied the faces of the grim penguins. Eddie continued to polish his head. This group would not fail me. "This is what I want you to do..."

For the next week, skateboarding penguins could be seen removing old flyers, advertising previous shows in the area, from telephone poles. Cat and Newton helped in this endeavor.

Eddie's job was to go to all subsequent shows and prevent any catastrophes with his incredible screams. We talked to the members of some of the bands and they agreed to put Eddie on their guest lists whenever possible. Squasha said she had quite a bit of money put aside and would foot the bill for the rest.

Squasha and I sorted and filed the various flyers as Martin, the leader of the ClownWatch gang, brought them in. When we had plenty of flyers, and Squasha was well enough to teleport, we prepared to do the main portion of the investigation.

"Let's make sure we know what we're doing," said Squasha.

"Right on. Each of us takes half of these flyers and asks around about the shows."

"We find out how each show went."

"If it went well, we don't care."

"If it went bad, we press further."

"Then we find out if He-Man was there."

"And if he stuck around to take any of the damage," Squasha put in.

"Good thinkin'," I said.

"We should ask about the SilverHawks, too. Everyone is pretty sure that they weren't at a lot of these shows, but they do have a beef with the good people at the Plexiglass Onion. Maybe they have similar grudges with other club-owners."

"Yes, I agree. Oh, before we part company, I have something for you." I handed her a medallion that I'd gotten from my hat. "Hold on to this. If you need me, or if I need you, that medal will act as a homing device. If you need me, just whisper my name, and teleport. It'll take you right to me."

"And what if you need me?"

"It'll glow bright puce."

"And I just whisper your name and teleport?"

"Right on." A thought occurred to me. "Squasha, can you teleport with someone else? We might need to get around together faster than I can fly us."

"Ooo, good question," she said, "I've never tried, so I don't know."

"No better time to find out than now."

"What if something goes wrong?"

"I'll count on my hat to protect us. It's one Hell of a powerful hat."

"Okay... So, where to? The Onion?"

I nodded. She took me by the hand and everything went dark. The trip seemed to last for hours, but I didn't get worried or even impatient. The ride felt nice.

When we arrived at the Plexiglass Onion in a cloud of blue smoke (with a little grey mixed in), I was aware of no passage of time. I looked at Squasha and noted how good she looked in my patch-covered jacket, maroon scarf and round Lennon-style shades. "Oops," she said, looking at me strangely.

I looked down at the skirt I was wearing. "Hey! Don't ever do that again! I'm a boy!" She smiled and took my hand again. An instant later, we were standing two feet closer to the stage, back in our respective garb and waving away twin clouds of yellow smoke (with a little purple mixed in). Miraculously, my hat stayed on my head both times that we teleported.

"Well we know it's safe anyway," laughed Squasha.

"If a little naughty," I grinned.

My investigation went well. Most people that I questioned were cooperative, and the ones who noticed He-Man's presence ("Which wasn't very difficult," said one hippo in drag, "with him showing off his bowl cut and all."), all said that he was gone before disaster struck.

When I went to see Squasha at her place, she had similar stories to report. "The SilverHawks seem to have solid alibis, but every time there was a disaster, He-Man was present," she said. "Except for the time that Captain Super Duper Magnificent Man blew up the bar in Daddy Smurphy's Deli at the Fatal PBS show. But that had nothing to do with the music: he was just having fun."

"Hmmm," I hmmmed, "I wonder if Eddie found out anything. Where's yer phone?"

"I don't have one. Sorry."

"S'okay. I can get one from my hat." I reached into it, and pulled out a Batman telephone. "I'd like to charge this to my home phone, Operator. That's 382-4583. The name is Bon Jovi. Jon Bon Jovi. Thank you." Okay, it was a local call, but it still gave me satisfaction to make Jon Bon Jovi pay for it. It was sort of a game we played together. I annoyed him by charging all of my phone calls to him, and he annoyed me by producing crappy bubblegum pop music.

The phone rang twice before Eddie picked it up. "Hey, Bo."

"Hey, Eddie. Animal. Did you find out anything?"

"Yeah man, and my throat is sore from all the screaming I had to do."

"Lemme guess. Every time you had to scream, He-Man was there. Right?"

"No, one time I had to scream to get some guys out of the little boys' room. I had to pinch a loaf real bad!"

"Thanks for sharing. Other than that?"

"Yeah man. I started to watch He-Man real close, and guess what man! I timed it, and He-Man left exactly thirty-seven seconds before the mess happened. Every time!"

I turned to Squasha. "I think we have the evidence we need. Eddie, can you get the gang together and meet at my place at five? We need to make final plans."

"Sure man. This probably doesn't matter, but every time I saw He-Man he had a different haircut."

"Hmmm," I hmmmed. He did seem to be changing his hair an awful lot recently. Cat didn't mention anything about He-Man's hair when he told me about the Mommyrot show, but there was a lot going on, and it was around the same time that He-Man had made a personal appearance at the Municipal Auditorium with a retro-seventies shag haircut. I'd seen the television ads for it, but I wasn't sure how it all fit. "I don't know. I'll see you at five, Ed."

"Okay, Bo."

Squasha took us to my apartment in two short hops (she 'ported twice so that we'd have our own clothes on when we got there. It saved quite a lot of embarrassment). We arrived long before five o'clock, and the only people there were Cat and Newton. The news was on, and the story had to do with the Cavity Creeps attacking Toothopolis again. Luckily, this time the Crest and Aim teams were working together to fight off the invasion.

We ordered some pizza (with extra cheese!) while we waited, and hoped that the Ninja Twins didn't intercept it. We'd make sure to save some for Eddie and the penguins.