Drug Crazed Rockers Attack Disabled Fan.
Comic Revenge of an Epic Scale.
Quite how the blood had become so bad, was never entirely clear, but there was no doubting that it existed by the gallon. It was said to have started the previous summer in the backstage of another festival, when a certain dinosaur UK rock band had tried to lord it over several of the younger punk acts on the bill. The dinosaurs and their crew had apparently been objectionable from the start; cordoning off and annexing various hospitality areas, demanding increased status, and generally acting like prima donnas towards several of the other bands. This had then boiled over into a music press war of sniping insults, most notably between the dinosaurs aging rock god front man, and a young punk singer called Max Splodge, from the band, Sploginessabounds.
Max Splodge’s band was destined to be a one hit wonder, but
to those who frequented the London punk and new wave scene, Max Splodge also
had a reputation as a monumental practical joker. These comic wheezes were not
simply the kind of japes that caused all concerned to roll around with
hysterical laughter at the finale, but often dangerous and vitriolic
humiliations, set up over weeks, and orchestrated to cringing effect. This was
obviously something that the rock dinosaurs where blissfully unaware of when
they had being acting like Elizabeth Taylor and calling Splodge a talentless
twat in the pages of the music papers, the previous summer.
Some months later, the dinosaur’s management received a
letter from the production office of a very popular BBC TV show. The show was
all about ‘fixing it’ for kids and hosted by a now disgraced paedophile. The
researcher’s letter appeared to be on a the shows official letter headed paper, with phone
and fax numbers, and asking the bands management to read the accompanying
letter from the family of a viewer. The letter was from the brother and sister
of a young man called Martin, and went on to say that Martin was the world’s
greatest fan of the band. He had travelled all over the UK to see them
until tragedy had destroyed his life. The letter went on to explain how the
previous year, Martin and his girlfriend had been travelling to see the band on
his motorbike, when they had been involved in a fatal accident. Martin’s
girlfriend had been killed and he had been left brain damaged and in a
wheelchair. Could the TV show ‘fix it’ for Martin to finally meet his heroes,
as it might help with his recovery?
The bands management faxed back to the researcher at the
BBC. Of course they would be more than happy to help, and did the show have any
ideas of what they wanted to do? Max Splodge then returned a fax suggesting
that maybe something could be organized for Martin to be a guest of the band at
their forthcoming appearance at that year’s Reading Festival? The show would
organize a film crew and bring Martin and his siblings to the festival, and all
the band needed to do was make a bit of a fuss of him, maybe let him watch the
gig from the side of the stage, give him a couple of t-shirts and signed
albums? Of course, the bands management were quick to spot the promo value in
it. A prime time Saturday evening TV slot and loads of goodwill for the band.
Having arranged with the band’s management for the requisite
area passes, Max Splodge (suitabley disguised) and his cohorts arrived at the artists entrance of the
Reading Festival, armed with a pair of flight-cased video cameras, all baring
the TV shows logo, a boom mic’ and their director. They were ushered through to
the band’s hospitality area where Martin’s brother and sister immediately laid
the groundwork of what to expect. Martin is a lovely lad, but he does sometimes
howl and shout out, but only because he’s happy or excited. He can walk on his
crutches for short periods, and they are not to be embarrassed if they have
trouble understanding his speech. Just nod and smile at everything, and it will
be fine.
Max Splodge was then wheeled into the bands hospitality
area, practically foaming at the mouth and screaming obscenities. The band nervously played along, getting beards
tugged and eyes gouged as they gathered around the wheel chair for a photo, in
a shower of spit and screaming. As the band prepared for the late afternoon
performance, Martin and his family were moved on to the side of the stage,
cameras rolling. As the band came to the end of their set, the lead singer
dedicated the last song to one of the bands greatest fans, Martin, who had
suffered such tragedy but still made it to the show. As the band kicked off
into the show closing number, Max Splodge came marching out onto the stage on
his crutches, screaming and foaming, and threw himself on the singer. The bands
road crew ran on to the stage to try and disengage the seemingly overwrought Martin
from his hero. However, poor Martin got scared and began to lash out with his
aluminium crutches, before wetting his jeans and leaving the singer to finish
the song standing in a huge puddle of piss.
Of course, by this point the band was wishing they had never
agreed to it, but what could they do? The poor guy couldn’t help how he was,
and they just had to keep a brave face on things until he left. The TV director
suggested they head back to the hospitality area and film the finale; the band
presenting Martin with a framed gold disc and his ‘fix it’ badge, and then they
would call it a wrap.
Through gritted teeth, covered in spit, and stinking of piss, the bands lead singer made the presentation with the rest of them gathered around the wheelchair. Max Splodge made one last gurning howl before climbing out of his wheelchair and bursting into hysterical laughter. To no surprise, the dinosaurs were not about to see the funny side of it. They had just been well and truly mugged off in front of 60’000 people, and punched, poked, and spat on, for the entire afternoon. The singer and lead guitarist waded into Max Splodge, fists flying, and proceeded to kick the living shit out of him, until they were dragged off and ejected from the tent.
Through gritted teeth, covered in spit, and stinking of piss, the bands lead singer made the presentation with the rest of them gathered around the wheelchair. Max Splodge made one last gurning howl before climbing out of his wheelchair and bursting into hysterical laughter. To no surprise, the dinosaurs were not about to see the funny side of it. They had just been well and truly mugged off in front of 60’000 people, and punched, poked, and spat on, for the entire afternoon. The singer and lead guitarist waded into Max Splodge, fists flying, and proceeded to kick the living shit out of him, until they were dragged off and ejected from the tent.
The following Monday, one of the tabloids ran the front
page; ‘Drug Crazed Rockers Attack Disabled Fan, accompanied by a photo of an
upturned wheelchair and a guy having his head kicked in by a bunch of well
known middle aged rockers.
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