I forget what I’m doing here. Do I live in this dump? What is the purpose of my presence here? WHO IS GOD, ANYWAY??
Oh, sorry, you all. (What, am I southern now?) I was just having one of my difficult moments. That’s a new pastime here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. We each get all dramatic and difficult at least half a dozen times a day, preferably taking turns at it so that the ambient noise doesn’t upset the mongooses trying to sleep on the roof when the sun is hottest around midday. (Are you getting all this down?) Why would we take on such an endeavor? Well, as you know (and this is perhaps the reason why you love us), we are not tremendously successful as a band. No heap big contract. No honking piles of ready cash. No adoring fans dogging our every step. And times being what they are, we thought, well…. if we act like assholes, these things will come our way.
Well… we’ve been doing for a few weeks now, and so far… big fat nothing. Not a sausage. Maybe the magic doesn’t work after all. We had it on pretty good authority. Our cohort Anti-Lincoln hangs with some of the biggest names in the antimatter world entertainment industry – people like Anti-Frank Sinatra and Anti-Melvyn Douglas. (I meant to ask him about Anti-Ed Wood… is he … *gasp* … normal??) They apparently have mad temper tantrums all the time, and it only seems to increase their aura of 
stardom. It kind of creates a penumbra of mystery around the umbra of famousness. That’s the shit we need, friend – to be sure.
I’ve asked Marvin (my personal robot assistant) to man the parapet and watch for the moment when throngs of admirers begin approaching the gates of the Hammer Mill. He has been dispatching this duty with the usual mixture of doggedness and incompetence. Got to give him credit. With all the hassle those mongooses give him, he keeps up his vigil, no fear. Good man. Good cyborg.
Good grief, is that the time? I’ve got to get all melodramatic again. (I can hear the echoes of the man-sized tuber’s last tirade dying down, and I always go after him.) MITCH?! MITCH MACAPHEE?! WHERE’S MY GOAT CHEESE?!!
