Music Banter - The Best Day of My Life

"..John." He slapped me with a steak, and managed to open one eye. 6:30? Like hell I was getting up this early buddy. He continued, "Hey, John, wake up man, check this out." WHAP. The steak again. ****ing Earl with his ****ing steak at ****ing six thirty in the morning. I slowly got up and glared at him sleepily. His face melted onto the floor when our eyes met. "What the hell is so important this early?" I growled. His mouth chuckled from off of my dusty camelskin carpet. "Take a look out your window man!" I peered out into the yellow-purple dawn, and saw only robots. Millions and millions of androids, piled up onto each other. "Yeah, robot orgy, cool stuff." I yawned, and started to lie back down in my sleeping bag. "No!" Earl shouted eagerly, picking his face up off the ground. "You gotta put our glasses on, duh." I grumbled and grabbed my movie theater brand 3D glasses from off my three inch fridge. As I put them on, I realized I was immensely hungry, so I grabbed the only grape in the fridge too. Earl started to rumble now, a red glowing light emanating from his stomach. "****, what now?" I asked. I was a bit curious, but ever since the last time he punched three snails in the face simultaneously I'd grown quite bored of Earl's antics. His face, as I now saw, was in utter horror. He clutched his belly like it was the only item he could take to bible camp, and then his mouth opened. Oh god, why did his mouth have to open? A black, ominous mist arose from his throat, and a chainsaw was heard off in the distance. Earl's eyes, which were once the most hideous shade of violet, now transitioned into a lovely meringue. Which reminded me I forgot to pick up some liquidized lemon meringue pie for my comatose pet aardvark. Ah well, he'll have to wait until we're all finished with this. Earl's eyes, however, were not the only things that were changing. He had now acquired a six-foot gray beard, and was holding three copies of the Teenage Dream album in each claw. Oh, did I mention he had turned into a lobster? Well, yeah, that happened somewhere along the line. I was suddenly aware that the black mist that had escaped from Earl's body was now filling the room at an alarming rate. "What the **** man?" I screamed angrily, "I could have been dreaming of Muhammad Ali right now!" I started crying, and the sounds that I made were not unlike a baby's wails. "Juh-juh-juh-awwwn.." Earl managed, and he shakily pointed his claw behind me. I felt wary, that some large monster was going to iron my clothes if I dared to turn my head. I did anyways. What I saw was not my principal in drag, but thousands of chairs in rows below us. Sitting in those chairs were 1940's Russian communists, and they were all clapping and whistling. "Go! Go on, now!" They yelled in unison. "Give us a show!" I turned to Earl with a "what-do-we-do-now" expression, and was met with only a pair of tap shoes and a black velvet cane. Earl, unfortunately, was no where to be found. I considered searching for him, but with the combination of the sun-like brightness of the spotlight and the crowd now chanting "C'mon John, ol' buddy, we're waiting.", I decided against it. I blinked, and was instantly wearing the shoes and holding the cane. I turned to face the thousands of communists, whose heads were now exploding in anticipation. The next few minutes felt like a dream of sorts. My legs moved as if on their own, my hands twirled my cane with sheer awesomeness. I felt as if nothing could bring me down, until the Statue of Liberty's torch fell straight onto my head. Now, you may think I died a horrible death right there on the stage. You may think that the front row of the audience was showered with a mixture of splinters and brain matter. In fact, you may think that the pure ridiculousness of my death would result in both PTSD and a great bar story. Well, you're right, all those things happened.

The End.