Criminy. Is that you making that noise? What the fuck, Mitch, you nearly scared the fertilizer out of me! Put that bloody thing away, will you? Scientists!
Yeah, that’s right — I’m complaining again. So what’s new, right? Hey… you lock yourself into an abandoned hammer mill with an assortment of mad scientists, musicians, automatons, root vegetables, and extraterrestrials, and see where your head ends up. (On a pike, quite possibly.) You’ll be glad to know I’ve given up on the idea of pressing our own CD’s. (Too depressing.) But the spirit of scientific experimentation (sans animals) lives on here at the Cheney Hammer Mill. Unfortunately, where Mitch Macaphee is concerned, this usually involves some kind of explosion, whether intentional or not. Actually, most times not. It’s just that when you haphazardly drop a little of the blue liquid from beaker C into the 60 ml of yellow liquid in test tube 9, you may get a new kind of hair gel… or you may get a big kaboom (which can give you a new “do” just as quickly).
Nobody ever said music was a particularly safe occupation. Well, perhaps someone said it sometime, but they’re probably dead by now. Though I’m willing to wager that most suckers who go into pop or anti-pop music probably don’t expect to have to deal with hazardous materials or mad plans to control the future using a slightly modified VCR remote. Listen up, you children out there — if you want to be a rock 
musician, it goes with the territory. Don’t believe me? Talk to Marvin (my personal robot assistant). He’s got that kind of honest, open face that people tend to trust. What’s more, he’s hip, fly, keen, blah-zono, and can really talk to the young. Where was I going with this? Ah yes — he knows the scientific / technological hazards of the rock industry because he himself is the product of an experiment… a creature of Mitch Macaphee, a.k.a. Mr. Explosion.
I guess the thing to remember here is… hmmm. I appear to have forgotten. So many things to keep track of here at the mill, you know. Why only yesterday, some local merchant was trying to drum up a little extra business by commandeering Trevor James Constable’s orgone generating 
device and using it as a slide projector. Next thing we know, the son of a bitch lights a bonfire in the street right in front of the freaking mill, and starts handing out hotdogs and marshmallows on a stick. You would think that such irresponsible behavior as this might only draw the attention of the local fire brigade, but in fact, there were some gawkers. I’m a bit ashamed to say that Marvin was prominent among them (though, in all fairness, he was only there for the marshmallows). Suffice to say it took several hours to clear the sidewalk and drag the orgone generating device back into its cubby hole.
Which brings me back to science (see — there was a point to this story). If it weren’t for those pesky scientists, we wouldn’t have to deal with situations like this… at least, not on weekdays. Lock that sucker down, Trevor James!
