While the events are fictional (obviously), all characters in the story are caricatures of many of my friends (and some enemies) that I had in those days. Hopefully this will bring back memories for those who were there...
...and my apologies to the rest of you, who probably won't get this at all...
by Joshua Gizelt
Once upon a time there was a small, out of the way hamlet known as Massapequa. In this township, there was a purveyor of Recordings of Music (mostly in the form of the Discs of Compactness). It was called The Tower Of Records.
Although most of the people at this store were happy, friendly folk, there also was an evil witch named Layne. By twisted and dark means, she managed to attain a position of power she in no way deserved in the Section of Video. She ruled over her charges with a horrible, iron fist, her cruelty covered for all others by a supposedly amicable exterior.
One day, she was in her dungeon, stirring her odiforous witches' brew. She was mixing in slug snot and severed armadillo penises when Arturius, her poor, deluded man-child husband, called downstairs, "Prithee, sweet wife; have thee yet completed preparing our sumptuous repast?"
"Silence, foul fuck!" she responded, cowing him as usual. "There still be one more seasoning!" With that, she popped a zit upon her buttocks into the stew. "There," she said, "It be done now."
She brought the malodorous goo upstairs to the dining room and served it. Arturius, as was his custom, slurped eagerly at the brown slime as soon as it hit his plate.
"So (slurp) thee hath (snort) brought thyself (zaplort) back to thy previous position (drool) as the Lady of Video," he managed to get out.
"Shut up and eat yer gruel!" Layne said, poking him in the eyes.
"Ow, wha'd thee do that for?" Arturius protested.
Layne broke his nose. Hmmm, she mused, perhaps my ultimate plan for complete Tower domination has not actually been served by this move. A horrible stench filled the room as her brain began grinding. Several lice met early deaths from the sudden heat generated by her contemplating mind.
The next day, she ambled into work at eleven o'clock (she was due in at nine). As usual, when her co-workers saw her Nissan Maxima Chariot pull into the handicapped zone, they scattered throught the store in order to find something to do to avoid her. Today they all felt the change. Layne was on the warpath.
Layne settled into her usual spot, across from the office of the Duke of the Tower, Desi Arnez. He regarded her briefly, then dismissed her as he was used to her spending the entire day sitting in the back, eating, hitting up Representatives of Record Distributors up for the sacred Promotional Disc of Compactness, eating, abusing her charges and eating.
Today, however, was different. Today Layne would make Changes. By the time the day was over, she would be in Desi's chair...
Dan-Delion glanced over his shoulder to the Associate of Administration, and greeted him.
"Ho!" he said graciously.
The Hotorious B.A.G. responded happily in kind. "Unca' Dan," he said, "How did you find the Motion Picture thou didst attend last night?"
"Excellent," Dan-Delion responded. "The performances were most phat."
Ho nodded, and proceeded to fill the Caps of the End.
Suddenly, a thunderclap was heard. "I demand," came a thin voice from a source beneath the counter level, "a ticket to the Lands of the Meadows to see Billy of Joel." This was a customer of the Master of Tickets, and therefore a most dangerous and annoying addition to the standard moronic clientelle.
Dan-Delion, attempting to be civil to this apparition, said, "I will call up someone who can assist you." With that, he did call for a supervisor.
Dan-Delion's call did ring throughout the entire store, coming to rest upon the ears of several people in the Chamber of Recieving. Big Dog, the diminutive yet self-assured Baron of Recieving turned to look at Alec, the lacksadaisical supervisor. Alec was enthralled by the act of wrapping fine Imports of Cheesy Discs of Compactness in plastic. "THou had best handle this," he remarked to Chuck of Neder, the other supervisor.
Chuck sipped his fresh coffee with Cinnamon Hazelnut cream pensively. "Yes," he said quietly after a time. "I shall render unto Dan-Delion the help he requires."
As Chuck of Neder approached the Register of the Front, there was a blaze of trumpet music and, dramatically backlit, the Swashbuckler entered the store, his ill-fitting shirt was dramatically spotted with food, but he moved with a rare lumber bespeaking of the power with which he could swing the bastard sword hanging at his hip next to the pouch containing his copious collection of Discs of Compactness.
"Greetings and salutations," he did say as he moved to the all-important sign-in sheet.
"Are thou he whom will get me the tickets?" inquired the thin, nasal voice.
"No," the Swashbuckler did say firmly, and then he disappeared into the Room of Ancient Music.
"I will assist thee," Chuck of Neder said.
Captain Dip Shit of Donovan passed by the Master of Tickets. "Are thee coming in for the great sale of Phish?" he asked. "I require several tickets. I will take them whether thee dost offer them or not, but I will have them, dude." After stating this nonsensical blathering, he walked over to the Section of Video, where Layne's second slave, the Pie of Mud was. She had vomited several times that morning from the revels of the previous night, but Captain Dip Shit did not care. "Have the any Cannibis," he asked of her.
"Surely," she replied.
Meanwhile, Mista Goldfish was assisting the Princess Garbo of the Department of the Arts in hanging a colossal advertisement for the Boys of the Back Street upon one wall. Mista Goldfish had noted Layne's temperment and was nervous as to what the day might bring. "Perhaps," he whispered to the Princess, "it would be best to watch the bitch carefully."
Later in the day, the security guard formerly known as Prince stopped a roudy villain. In the ensuing scuffle, the ruffian did scatter several Discs of Compactness about the Chamber of Recieving.
Layne's evil mind worked as quickly as it possibly could. Several hours later, she realized how this could work to her advantage, and did pick up several of the recovered Discs of Compactness and hid them in a roll of cellulite. Desi, thee will soon be out... and I will take the store from thee!!! she thought as she sat back down again in her office.
But she had miscalculated. The act of leaving her office was in itself so unusual that it had attracted the attention of the Princess.
Desi Arnez settled into his chair. He had not gotten used to the layout of his office since it had been rearranged by unpaid slave labor. He considered having it rearranged again, but soon realized that his crew was way too lethargic to bother.
Layne entered his office. She tripped over the chair that was by the door and fell violently to the ground. As she did so, she dropped the recovered Discs of Compactness into Desi's bag. Then she started whining about her back. Desi Arnez promptly ejected her from his office.
Once again, Layne had miscalculated. Hy of the Fucking Zapper had witnessed this because he had come to Desi Arnez's office in order to facsimile over a request of Promotional Discs of Compactness to the Harmonia Mundi mess of labels.
Several hours later, Desi Arnez was preparing to leave early. Layne slorged to the front counter, and waited. During her vigil, she began to run the Master of Tickets, totally screwing up an order (which would later be blamed upon the clerks who had worked the machine before her) so that the customer, who was asking for tickets to the Lands of Wetness to see the Fifth Fold of Ben, ended up with tickets to see Englebert of Humperdinck play at the Back Alley of Bill's Bar and Grille.
When Desi Arnez did finally come up to leave, she suddenly turned and quoth, "Thy bags... thee must have the security guard formerly known as Prince check thy bags."
Desi Arnez shrugged and was about to speak when Mista Goldfish spoke up.
"Perhaps," he said, "there is something in the bag that thee did not place there."
"Surely," the Princess agreed. "There will be several Discs of Compactness..."
And she did name all of the Discs of Compactness that she saw Layne pick up off the floor. Sure enough, all these Discs of Compactness were in Desi's bag.
"No doubt they were planted as so to cast thee in a questionable light," Hy of the Fucking Zapper said. "I did witness them so planted."
"How heinous," the Swashbuckler did say, and with another trumpet fanfare, did lop Layne's head clean off with his sword. The body twisted for a moment and collapsed.
From her throat did bleed a thick, brown, viscous fluid that spread across the floor. Slowly, a creature began to grow out of it... it did bear a resemblance to an insect, but it had two heads on long necks... Layne's heads. It quickly grew to a height of eight feet, and then began to attack. Several customers were torn asunder.
The Swashbuckler began to fight the creature. Once again, a head came off, but in its place grew two other heads, and now the Swashbuckler had three to contend with rather than two.
"Prithee, help!!! 'Tis a hydra!!!" he did yelp as one of the heads bit at his leg. The creature came away with the Swashbuckler's pants (this caused no stir among his co-workers, due to a raunchy joke played towards the Hotorious B.A.G.).
Doom seemed certain for all of the Tower heroes when Little John of Neder came inside. He had been standing outside during the course of these events enjoying the pleasures of the air. As he walked inside, as was his custom, he did exhale the smoke of his fine Winston leaf, a curl of which did float towards the struggle.
As soon as the vapor hit the creature, it shrank back. Dan-Delion noticed this, and shouted, "The smoke is the thing, wherein we may defeat this foul beast!"
With that, the heroes did avail themselves of their pipes and did ignite them, and they blew a thick haze at the horrid monstrosity that had sprung from Layne's blood-ichor. The creature thrashed about and shriveled, dying slowly until there was nothing left but a sickly smelling puddle of muck upon the floor.
Mister Troy came up to this filth and quoth, "I I I I ain't gonna clean dat!" and did walk from the store.
Christopher of Ward, who had been cowering beneath the Master of Tickets until this moment, began to froth about the mouth. "Fucking suckers of cock leave a mess like this lying around where people can trip and fall. I'm the only person that doeth any work around here..."
And so the day waned and everybody who felt inclined to lived happily ever after...
...that is, until the evil Shari, Representative of UNI, struck...
...but that is another story.
Soon to be a major motion picture from Warner Brothers