The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince
Friday, January 02, 2004
Happy New Years, And A Fine Hobbit Day To You
Citizens,
My apologies to you all for failing to post yesterday. I'm aware that the tales of my adventures are most likely the most exciting thing in your mortal lives, and without which, you no doubt begin to shrivel up and return to the thought processes of yearning for death. Never fear lowly civilians! You'll have my great and noble words today! My tales are as unstoppable as the cosmic power which flows from my mystic sideburns.
Yesterday, the first, was Spaceslut and Robot Day and I did very little to celebrate. It's most likely very fortunate that Rush Girl was safely away in the low-crime ghettos of Vancouver, Canada, for I very well most likely would have spent the majority of the day trying to satisfy her mechanical needs, as is tradition on Spaceslut and Robot Day. Spaceslut and Robot Day to me is much like Pon-Farr to a Vulcan, sending my hormones out of balance and weakening my mind, temporarily turning me into a drooling simpleton worthy of hanging out in Paris Hilton's circle. I have made it through the ordeal, and though I may yet harass Rush Girl again in the future (it's almost a certainty) today is Hobbit Day, and I have tonight's Fellowship of the Drunks to look forward to. A feat of strength it will be indeed.
'Tis the time to rest up for all of us brave travelers destined to head out in the rain, up into the hills tonight, into the fierce winds, the high altitudes, the mud, the impenetrable darkness. My teeth will gleam that much brighter against the contrast of drenched face-mask and muddy trenchcoat. 'Twill be a grand adventure, and we may not all make it back, those who do will surely show signs of the journey.
Speaking of Journey, that reminds me of why I was not able to write last night. Rock supergroup Journey was on it's way to the great space-concert on Reticuli 4. Though Journey's popularity may have faded here on Earth, they're still as popular as ever among the skinny, white, bald men that reside within the Reticuli system. Nowhere moreso than Reticuli 4, the rumored birthplace of music-man Moby's ancestors.
There was a problem however, Journey's instruments had been stolen. This, of course, prompted front-man Steve Perry to place a very urgent phone call to yours truly, The Virgin Prince. It's a little-known fact that Steve Perry suffers from a very rare affliction that causes him to sing everything he says. Have you ever seen the video Journey did where Steve Perry says a quick non-sung phrase to his girlfriend? The filming of that one scene took 3 days and 2814 takes. Ultimately the dialogue was pieced together. That said, the conversation with Mr. Perry took some getting used to. Upon answering the Virgin-hotline, the first thing I heard was:
"We've got a problem here,
someone stole our IN-STRU-MEH-ENTS!
Without our magic tools,
our music sounds like EX-CRE-MEH-ENT!
The CON-CERT is TO-NIGHT,
the baldies want to HEAR US PLAY-AY!
Our DARK-EST hour NEEDS LIGHT!
Won't you come and SAVE THE DAY-AY?"
I took a minute to adjust to Steve Perry's manner of speaking and then responded in kind, using the language of song to ensure he understood me loudly and clearly.
"FEAR-NOT MOR-TAL!
Your property shall BE RE-TUR-URNED!
I'LL-HEED YOUR-CALL,
the villains shall be BAD-LY BUR-URNED!
DON'T-STOP BELIEVEING,
I'll search out all the CLUES AND HIH-INTS!
YOU'LL SOON BE RECEIVING
Your cosmic-powered IN-STRU-MEH-ENTS!"
I'll spare you the rest of the conversation, but rest assured we got our points across and made clear our concerns. Upon hanging up, I was on the case. I threw on my mystical Vice-shoes and ran from my Fortress of Fortitude, across the sky towards Journey headquarters.
Upon arriving at Journey headquarters, I did an initial investigation of the crime scene. The footprints left there indicated no less than four perpetrators. Minute traces of blood and stress fractures in the wall indicated a struggle between two of the fiends. These were all revealing clues, but it was the spermatozoa-encrusted Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band booklet left scattered on the floor that gave away the culprits. In song, I began to address the band members.
"The culprits have been found,
the clues have shown me THE TRUE VILL-AINS…"
"Ummm… Mr. Virgin Prince," Ross Valory interrupted, "the rest of the band speaks normally. You don't need to sing to us."
"Oh. Thank you," I told the interrupting bassist, "now shut up."
"Gentlemen," I said as I addressed the band, "I have determined the culprits responsible for this vile deed. Ready the cosmic tour bus, we're going on a trip. A trip to an evil, evil place. Deepest, darkest England."
Into the cosmic tour bus we piled, and off to England we flew. We landed in a seedy little town, and parked the bus behind a worn-down warehouse, our intended destination. The fog was thick in the air. Slowly and quietly we crept inside. We quickly realized that our stealth had been unnecessary, inside the warehouse the members of the band Oasis were busy pummeling eachother. The members of Oasis are a lot like gremlins. Both are loud, obnoxious, violent, and dangerous on planes. The most noticeable difference between the two is that gremlins are cute when they're young.
"Stop fiends!" I yelled at the band, "We've come to reclaim Journey's magical instruments. Hand them over now to receive a minimum of physical abuse!"
Liam Gallagher, though seemingly lacking actual musical ability, was also a song talker. In responding, he let loose with his soul-draining whine, singing in the talentless way he'd grown so talented in.
"Oy, I want a danish,
I've got a lot of money.
We're the greatest band ever,
Even bigger than Yanni."
Through the moaning and the trite lyrics, I couldn't understand exactly what it was he was trying to say, but it mattered not. Noel Gallagher promptly walked over and punched him out.
"That's right," Noel bragged, "we're the ones wot took the instruments. We're the greatest rock band ever, and we realized we might have set our goals too high in trying to be bigger than the Beatles, so we've decided to be bigger than Journey instead, and we're almost there! Now that we have the instruments, we're ready to start our new project, Colonel Cayenne's Solitary Cardiac Organ's Group Quartet!"
"Back to plagiarism and lack of originality again? When are you going to learn that you'll never be bigger than the Beatles because their songs, though mostly marginally mediocre pop hits, were original and by far better than your brand of crap? Also, unlike you, the Beatles were relatively good-looking. If you wanted a gimmick, you should have gone the way of Victor Willis and named your group the Uni-Brow People." I yelled at them.
“Oy! For that slight I’ll destroy you! Prepare to meet your doom, courtesy of my Champagne Supernova in the sky!” Noel cried as he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small disc which he then tossed into the air. It stayed there hovering, spinning, shooting beams at us, glowing and increasing in intensity.
“The wheel in the sky keeps on turning!” cried Steve Perry, his voice full of panic.
Gritting my teeth, I shot at the spinning disc with my atomic vision. The blasts bounced off of it as it continued spinning and firing bolts at us which increased in size. Noting that my own special abilities seemed to be failing me, I rifled through my utility belt. I found little more than condoms and pickle-relish. With a shrug and a groan, I started pelting the Champagne Supernova with relish-filled prophylactics.
Paydirt! With an explosion of latex and dull-green wetness the Champagne Supernova was out of commission, short-circuited and lying uselessly on the ground. With a quick spring forward, I charged at the members of the band as if I were a tornado of flying fists. I caught Noel with a strong right hook to the jaw and for good measure, kicked away at the groin of the unconscious Liam.
Suddenly, it occurred to me that, while incredibly satisfying, fighting with the members of Oasis was completely unnecessary. They would gladly do the work for me!
“Hey! Which one of you is the talented one?” I cried to the members of Oasis.
“I AM!!!” they all cried. They stopped and made angry stares at eachother before all jumping at eachother and forming a large, rolling pile on the floor. Fists flew and teeth flew further, until finally, the whole bunch was unconscious.
“Okay Journey, grab your instruments, you’ve got a concert to get to.” I yelled to my compatriots.
The band members excitedly ran up and retrieved their instruments. Steve Perry seemed to illuminate briefly as he grabbed hold of his cosmic microphone. I walked outside the warehouse and waited by the cosmic tour bus. Soon, the band members joined me and they loaded their instruments into the bus, meanwhile, I sealed the exits to the warehouse with my atomic vision, hopefully sealing Oasis inside forever.
Steve Perry opened his lips to sing me thanks.
Quickly I covered his mouth, “Your happiness is my reward.” I told him, shoving him onto the bus. The cosmic tour bus then lifted from the ground and flew off into the sky, off towards the space-concert.
And there you have it. That was my New Years / Spaceslut and Robot Day. I hope yours was as productive. I’m off now to participate in the Fellowship of the Drunks. Happy Hobbit Day!
Be seeing you,
The Virgin Prince
My apologies to you all for failing to post yesterday. I'm aware that the tales of my adventures are most likely the most exciting thing in your mortal lives, and without which, you no doubt begin to shrivel up and return to the thought processes of yearning for death. Never fear lowly civilians! You'll have my great and noble words today! My tales are as unstoppable as the cosmic power which flows from my mystic sideburns.
Yesterday, the first, was Spaceslut and Robot Day and I did very little to celebrate. It's most likely very fortunate that Rush Girl was safely away in the low-crime ghettos of Vancouver, Canada, for I very well most likely would have spent the majority of the day trying to satisfy her mechanical needs, as is tradition on Spaceslut and Robot Day. Spaceslut and Robot Day to me is much like Pon-Farr to a Vulcan, sending my hormones out of balance and weakening my mind, temporarily turning me into a drooling simpleton worthy of hanging out in Paris Hilton's circle. I have made it through the ordeal, and though I may yet harass Rush Girl again in the future (it's almost a certainty) today is Hobbit Day, and I have tonight's Fellowship of the Drunks to look forward to. A feat of strength it will be indeed.
'Tis the time to rest up for all of us brave travelers destined to head out in the rain, up into the hills tonight, into the fierce winds, the high altitudes, the mud, the impenetrable darkness. My teeth will gleam that much brighter against the contrast of drenched face-mask and muddy trenchcoat. 'Twill be a grand adventure, and we may not all make it back, those who do will surely show signs of the journey.
Speaking of Journey, that reminds me of why I was not able to write last night. Rock supergroup Journey was on it's way to the great space-concert on Reticuli 4. Though Journey's popularity may have faded here on Earth, they're still as popular as ever among the skinny, white, bald men that reside within the Reticuli system. Nowhere moreso than Reticuli 4, the rumored birthplace of music-man Moby's ancestors.
There was a problem however, Journey's instruments had been stolen. This, of course, prompted front-man Steve Perry to place a very urgent phone call to yours truly, The Virgin Prince. It's a little-known fact that Steve Perry suffers from a very rare affliction that causes him to sing everything he says. Have you ever seen the video Journey did where Steve Perry says a quick non-sung phrase to his girlfriend? The filming of that one scene took 3 days and 2814 takes. Ultimately the dialogue was pieced together. That said, the conversation with Mr. Perry took some getting used to. Upon answering the Virgin-hotline, the first thing I heard was:
"We've got a problem here,
someone stole our IN-STRU-MEH-ENTS!
Without our magic tools,
our music sounds like EX-CRE-MEH-ENT!
The CON-CERT is TO-NIGHT,
the baldies want to HEAR US PLAY-AY!
Our DARK-EST hour NEEDS LIGHT!
Won't you come and SAVE THE DAY-AY?"
I took a minute to adjust to Steve Perry's manner of speaking and then responded in kind, using the language of song to ensure he understood me loudly and clearly.
"FEAR-NOT MOR-TAL!
Your property shall BE RE-TUR-URNED!
I'LL-HEED YOUR-CALL,
the villains shall be BAD-LY BUR-URNED!
DON'T-STOP BELIEVEING,
I'll search out all the CLUES AND HIH-INTS!
YOU'LL SOON BE RECEIVING
Your cosmic-powered IN-STRU-MEH-ENTS!"
I'll spare you the rest of the conversation, but rest assured we got our points across and made clear our concerns. Upon hanging up, I was on the case. I threw on my mystical Vice-shoes and ran from my Fortress of Fortitude, across the sky towards Journey headquarters.
Upon arriving at Journey headquarters, I did an initial investigation of the crime scene. The footprints left there indicated no less than four perpetrators. Minute traces of blood and stress fractures in the wall indicated a struggle between two of the fiends. These were all revealing clues, but it was the spermatozoa-encrusted Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band booklet left scattered on the floor that gave away the culprits. In song, I began to address the band members.
"The culprits have been found,
the clues have shown me THE TRUE VILL-AINS…"
"Ummm… Mr. Virgin Prince," Ross Valory interrupted, "the rest of the band speaks normally. You don't need to sing to us."
"Oh. Thank you," I told the interrupting bassist, "now shut up."
"Gentlemen," I said as I addressed the band, "I have determined the culprits responsible for this vile deed. Ready the cosmic tour bus, we're going on a trip. A trip to an evil, evil place. Deepest, darkest England."
Into the cosmic tour bus we piled, and off to England we flew. We landed in a seedy little town, and parked the bus behind a worn-down warehouse, our intended destination. The fog was thick in the air. Slowly and quietly we crept inside. We quickly realized that our stealth had been unnecessary, inside the warehouse the members of the band Oasis were busy pummeling eachother. The members of Oasis are a lot like gremlins. Both are loud, obnoxious, violent, and dangerous on planes. The most noticeable difference between the two is that gremlins are cute when they're young.
"Stop fiends!" I yelled at the band, "We've come to reclaim Journey's magical instruments. Hand them over now to receive a minimum of physical abuse!"
Liam Gallagher, though seemingly lacking actual musical ability, was also a song talker. In responding, he let loose with his soul-draining whine, singing in the talentless way he'd grown so talented in.
"Oy, I want a danish,
I've got a lot of money.
We're the greatest band ever,
Even bigger than Yanni."
Through the moaning and the trite lyrics, I couldn't understand exactly what it was he was trying to say, but it mattered not. Noel Gallagher promptly walked over and punched him out.
"That's right," Noel bragged, "we're the ones wot took the instruments. We're the greatest rock band ever, and we realized we might have set our goals too high in trying to be bigger than the Beatles, so we've decided to be bigger than Journey instead, and we're almost there! Now that we have the instruments, we're ready to start our new project, Colonel Cayenne's Solitary Cardiac Organ's Group Quartet!"
"Back to plagiarism and lack of originality again? When are you going to learn that you'll never be bigger than the Beatles because their songs, though mostly marginally mediocre pop hits, were original and by far better than your brand of crap? Also, unlike you, the Beatles were relatively good-looking. If you wanted a gimmick, you should have gone the way of Victor Willis and named your group the Uni-Brow People." I yelled at them.
“Oy! For that slight I’ll destroy you! Prepare to meet your doom, courtesy of my Champagne Supernova in the sky!” Noel cried as he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small disc which he then tossed into the air. It stayed there hovering, spinning, shooting beams at us, glowing and increasing in intensity.
“The wheel in the sky keeps on turning!” cried Steve Perry, his voice full of panic.
Gritting my teeth, I shot at the spinning disc with my atomic vision. The blasts bounced off of it as it continued spinning and firing bolts at us which increased in size. Noting that my own special abilities seemed to be failing me, I rifled through my utility belt. I found little more than condoms and pickle-relish. With a shrug and a groan, I started pelting the Champagne Supernova with relish-filled prophylactics.
Paydirt! With an explosion of latex and dull-green wetness the Champagne Supernova was out of commission, short-circuited and lying uselessly on the ground. With a quick spring forward, I charged at the members of the band as if I were a tornado of flying fists. I caught Noel with a strong right hook to the jaw and for good measure, kicked away at the groin of the unconscious Liam.
Suddenly, it occurred to me that, while incredibly satisfying, fighting with the members of Oasis was completely unnecessary. They would gladly do the work for me!
“Hey! Which one of you is the talented one?” I cried to the members of Oasis.
“I AM!!!” they all cried. They stopped and made angry stares at eachother before all jumping at eachother and forming a large, rolling pile on the floor. Fists flew and teeth flew further, until finally, the whole bunch was unconscious.
“Okay Journey, grab your instruments, you’ve got a concert to get to.” I yelled to my compatriots.
The band members excitedly ran up and retrieved their instruments. Steve Perry seemed to illuminate briefly as he grabbed hold of his cosmic microphone. I walked outside the warehouse and waited by the cosmic tour bus. Soon, the band members joined me and they loaded their instruments into the bus, meanwhile, I sealed the exits to the warehouse with my atomic vision, hopefully sealing Oasis inside forever.
Steve Perry opened his lips to sing me thanks.
Quickly I covered his mouth, “Your happiness is my reward.” I told him, shoving him onto the bus. The cosmic tour bus then lifted from the ground and flew off into the sky, off towards the space-concert.
And there you have it. That was my New Years / Spaceslut and Robot Day. I hope yours was as productive. I’m off now to participate in the Fellowship of the Drunks. Happy Hobbit Day!
The Virgin Prince
