“Hey, Ass! Where’s Fucky?”
Fucky?
“Ding Dong Doodle.”
Who?
“Mister Clothes.”
Oh, Josh. I have no idea. Has he still not shown up for rehearsal?
“Nah, and my accountant’s getting worried.”
Not you, though?
“Nah, fuck him. But he’s gotta be here for us to get paid. It’s in the contract.”
You read the contract?
“I shoved it in a chick that works at a Dollar Store. Same thing, legally.”
I’m not a lawyer, so I can’t refute that.
“Seriously, where is the kid? At least when we used to go missing, we had good reasons.”
Such as?
“Rehab. Jail. Had a fight with the keyboardist and got on a plane 15 minutes before the show started.”
Right.
“What’s he doing?”
Twinks, I think.
“Twinks? Is that like Fortnite?”
No. They’re kinda like skank. But with dicks.
“Hey, some skank has dicks. They should tell you upfront, but they don’t. Some guys freak out, but not me.”
Because you’re open-minded?
“Shit, no. Because I flip ’em over and do my work in the backyard.”
Always a pleasure, Billy.
“I’M DRUMMING!”
You, too, Mick.
Billy is faced with the Drummer’s Dilemma – so many drums, but which one to hit first? Which one, to set the right tone, the right feeling. Which one? Which one!