Egon's New Record
The Never Ending Quest - Episode 82185
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You are just debating whether Moloch's Meatballs might make a tasty
filling for the Pittas of Gehenna when you hear a castrophanous orgy of
sound blast out of the outhouse. You realise with a shudder that Egon
had returned from his trip to the Dockside Piscine Offal emporium, no
doubt with several bags of fishguts, and was now resuming his radio
broadcast which had been somewhat abruptly halted by his fight to the
death with Jankle. As the first few bars of the record wash over you like acidic projectile vomit, you realise that this particular "tune" was not one with which you are familiar. As you have heard both of the albums Egon owned many times before, you can but surmise that Egon had not only visited the fishguts place, but had also paid a visit to the local music store, Mr Shifter's. Mr Shifter's was an unusual place, as one might expect given that its proprietor was a former Miss Antarctica who at the age of 47 had decided to have both gender and species reasssignment surgery and as a result was now the world's largest chameleon. It was to his new reptilian state that some attributed Mr Shifter (or "Shape" to his fiends)'s somewhat unusual musical tastes. Not for him the commonplace banalities of Kindergarten Musical 3 or McDonna or Justified Timbershortage or Brewed Stringbeer or Meatsmell or Britannia Javelins. Nor would it quite encapsulate the nub of the matter to describe his musical tastes as merely "left-field", for he similarly eschewed the more "informed" outputs of It's Quacked for the Last Time, Inch Perfect But Still Dead, In Vain I Fouled My Underpants, Badly Probed Boy, That Hutchence-Carradime Experience, Feel My Nose And Put My Specs There Roars Drunken Major, and the like. No, Mr Shifter's wares were altogether more eclectic, more enigmatic, more choleric, more chthonic, more - otherworldly. Indeed it was often remarked that none of his records were on labels available anywhere else, or featured artists of which there was any other trace other than those 19" discs of congealed mucus, which had led some of the more fanciful and easily scared locals to suggest that perhaps the records came from another world or even another universe. Of course, when confronted directly with such ridiculous questions, Mr Shifter would merely roll his eyes (independently of each other) and change colour. That Egon's new record must have come from Mr Shifter's store is immediately apparent to you for two reasons: firstly, it was the only music store within 300 miles of your home, and secondly the style of the music itself. If "music" was the right word (which it was - you had checked in the dictionary the last time this happened). You imagine that this is what it would sound like to be reincarnated as a waste disposal unit that was used to process soiled diapers inside a cavern the size of Detroit. It was that good. Pausing only to perform an intricate ritual to seal the contents of the freezer in limbo for the rest of eternity, you hobble over to Egon, who by now has died of old age, and ask him what the cool new sound is. Fortunately Egon has become a zombie as he always said he would and explains to you that the track in question is called "Uuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnhhh!" by the artist (artists?) "Uunhh! UUUNNNHHHHH!!". You are now nearly 200 years old and have never owned a puppy. Now what?
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eric kantona
7/30/2009 3:43:18 AM
Extending Enabled
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