"No, no, no, NO! Damn it!" yelled Moptop as he waded through the flooded basement. His guitars, books, and even some of his childhood toys were severely damaged and half-submerged in the dirty water. He picked up some floating scraps of wallpaper and flung them away in disgust.
Still angry and wet, he returned to the theatre and made his way to the main auditorium for the big show. The stage was large and terraced, and he was to be on the third level--quite high up. Dietrich was also there, just on the other side of a column. The audience began to noisily fill the seats below.
Moptop and Dietrich strapped on their guitars and began playing, and were pleased to find the audience very receptive, since Moptop was concerned that his and Dietrich's abrasive ways might have provoked the crowd into hostility.
The show went on, with Moptop and Dietrich downing more and more whiskey as the night progressed. Moptop picked up another guitar, which was black and white, and began playing it until he realized it was not his. He picked up yet another guitar, but it was also the wrong one, this one being an inverted white and black color scheme.
"Where did these come from?" he asked Dietrich.
"Oh, those are ours," said a pair of twin girls just below the stage. But you guys can use them anytime." The pair then giggled, and Moptop took several steps back, rather unnerved.
"The second band hasn't shown up yet!" whispered the theatre's manager from just off-stage. "Can you keep playing?"
Moptop and Dietrich obliged, but they were quickly running out of material and the whiskey was taking hold of their performances more noticeably. Exhausted when the extra set was finally finished, Moptop dropped his instrument and began to stagger away.
"Unbelievable!" exclaimed the manager, who reappeared and blocked Moptop's path. "The third band isn't here, either! You'll have to just keep playing!"
Dietrich recommenced singing--fairly incoherently--and Moptop reclined supine beneath his keyboard, occasionally strumming a chord when he could muster up the energy.
However, he was startled upright when a huge, bald man roared from the audience below.
"They've taken my slot! It's my turn to play! I'll destroy you all!"
While Moptop helplessly watched this monstrous adversary charge toward them, a nearby security guard pulled out a blowgun and, with a mighty puff of air, sent a dart spiraling into the angry man's posterior. The dart unfolded like the petals of a poisonous flower, and, staggering to a halt, the man collapsed to the floor.
The audience cheered.
