Yet another amazing excerpt

There was a knock on the door. Antietam and Tristram had arrived. Antietam had his drum kit in the back of his hatchback, parked out front. Tristram had Frankenstein toastered his guitar. It pulsated rhythmically, as if a heart were beating beneath its shiny exterior. In fact, that is exactly what was happening.

They didn’t have any amps or other equipment. Antietam knew where Paris-Texas’ equipment was stored, though. He led the rest of Shit-Stained Flesh Wound on foot to a house on South Bassett Street. They sneaked in through the back door, down into the basement, and one by one carried out all the equipment they could get their hands on. Take that, Paris-Texas. Ha ha ha.

By this time, it was about 7:30pm. “Aw man, man,” Tristram worried. “Our show is in half an hour and we don’t have any songs, we haven’t practiced together at all, and I don’t even know if my Franken-Fender actually works.”

“Uh, Tristram?” Aias Anterograde answered. “Dude, we’re a grindcore band. Don’t worry about it.” They went back to Nickelback Fledermaus’ house with the stuff they had lifted from Paris-Texas. They grabbed a few beers from the fridge and toasted to their first show, chugged their beers quickly, then carried their stuff over to James Madison Park. They got over there around 7:55pm. There was already a large crowd, about two hundred people, with more arriving from all directions. Yes, even from Lake Mendota itself. ALL directions.

Eight o’clock came. Aias Anterograde took the mic. “Oh, by the way, since none of you paid the admission, Nickelback Fledermaus here is going to kick all of you in the crotch.” While Nickelback Fledermaus did that, Tristram detuned his guitar. Aias Anterograde stomped the ground and psyched himself up for the show. Antietam did some bass kicks and twirled his drumsticks.