New, long-ish chapter. The second half wasn't originally in my outline, but I thought I might need something that would potentially be funny.
Chapter 6: Karate
“Alright, so it goes, C, then D-sharp, then G-sharp and B?”
“Yeah. Strumming pattern is a little weird, but it's not too hard.”
It was a few days after Logan and Dimitri had gotten their guitars. The two were, again, in Dimitri's garage, showing each other various riffs and scales with their new instruments. Since receiving their guitars, Dimitri and Logan spent the vast majority of their time playing them, and understandably so, as the guitars seemed to almost be custom-tailored for their owners' respective playing styles.
“You know,” Logan said, “I think we should maybe try the whole band thing again. These guitars would make it go a lot smoother than last time.”
Dimitri nodded in approval. “I was thinking the same thing, man. We should probably change our band name, though.”
“How come?”
“'Cause Project Bargo already has a bit of a reputation. I mean, people know we were never able to even finish a show, so they probably wouldn't be too excited to go see a band that sucked so much.”
“True.” Logan thoughtfully rolled his guitar pick in his hand for a moment. “I can't think of anything right now, man. I'm kind of . . . bagel-brained at the moment.”
Dimitri raised an eyebrow at Logan's strange word choice. “'Bagel-brained?' That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth. I kind of like it.”
This time, it was Logan's turn to raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? You're suggesting we call ourselves 'Bagel-Brain?'”
“Why not? It's a catchy name.”
“I guess. We kind of need a bassist and drummer, though.”
Dimitri sighed, taking off his guitar and resting it against the wall. “True. We're not going with Calvin again. That guy was a grade-a prick.”
“Yeah, seriously. You think I should give TJ a poke?”
“Are you kidding me?”
Logan sat back in the wooden chair that they had brought out to the garage and hung his arm over the back. “Why not? Look, the dude can sing, I don't care what you say. And he already knows all our songs. Just as long as we don't let him light up, we're good.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
The two bickered for a few minutes, until Logan was holding his phone to his ear, trying to ignore Dimitri silently rubbing his forehead. After a few rings, TJ's voice came through the phone's speaker. “Hello?”
“Hey, TJ, it's Logan.”
“Hey.”
Logan sighed. Obviously, this wasn't going to be easy for him. “Look man, I'm just going to be honest with you here. I was a douchebag. We all were. I honestly don't even know what we were thinking, but I really regret being such an ****. The thing is, me and D wanted to maybe get the band back together. And, well, you're honestly the best bass player we know.”
There was a short pause, as TJ seemed to mull over what he'd just heard. “Dude,” he finally said, “I appreciate the apology. I really do. But it's gonna take a lot more than just that to get me back in the band.”
“Alright. I didn't want to do this, but you forced my hand.” Dimitri was silently mouthing “no,” at Logan, but the latter continued. “I found a shiny Nosepass yesterday. Thing is, I really want a Gligar on my team. You wanna hook me up?”
Again, another short pause. “Hold on, I'm gonna catch the bus. I'll be there as soon as I can."
* * *
Daytime. Dimitri and Logan stood on opposite sides of their street, staring each other down. Logan honestly couldn't believe what he saw. Dimitri holding his own guitar . . . and Logan's. Logan crossed the street, never breaking eye contact with his supposed friend. “Hi, Dimitri,” he said, venom spewing forth with every word. “How's the guitar playing coming along?”
“I swear, it's not what it looks like.” Logan wasn't about to believe that, though. Dimitri set the two instruments down on the sidewalk, as Logan started to break into song:
With karate, I'll kick your ass,
From here to Tienanmen Square.
Oh yeah, mother****er,
I'm gonna kick your ****in' derriere, yeah.
You broke the rules,
Now I'll pull out all your pubic hair!
You mother****er. . . .
Logan jumped toward Dimitri in a gravity-defying flying kick. His foot connected directly with Dimitri's face, sending his head flying into a garbage can. Dimitri stumbled around for a moment before retrieving his head from the trash receptacle and replacing it upon his shoulders. He then proceeded to elbow Logan in the ribs, sending him careening backwards.
“Magic flying fast food sack!” Dimitri said, pulling an empty paper bag out of the garbage can. After inflating it with his breath, Dimitri hit the bottom of the paper bag, sending him into the air to land just behind Logan. He failed to capitalize on this advantage, however, as Logan reached into his pocket, only to pull his hand out after mere seconds.
“Magic spinning loose change!” Logan threw the coins at Dimitri, which became lodged into Dimitri's shirt, pinning him to a telephone pole. This only served as a small hindrance, because when Dimitri tried to move forward, the shirt simply ripped off, revealing a garment identical to his now destroyed shirt underneath.
Suddenly, Logan noticed something. A man in a ski mask, holding a gun against his beloved guitar. “Don't you dare touch her!” he screamed. The masked man turned the gun on Logan, and it was at this moment that everything seemed to slow down. He pulled the trigger, but at that exact moment, Dimitri dove in front of Logan, taking the bullet for him. After realizing that he was, in fact, not dead, Logan raucously laughed at the shooter. Upon noticing Dimitri laying motionless on the pavement, this laughter quickly turned to sounds of mourning.
“Oh, no! Dimitri, NO! WHY!?” This last word rang in the air. As the sound reverberated, it seemed to be mixed with the blaring of an alarm clock. Slowly, Logan realized, it was an alarm clock!
Logan suddenly sat up in his bed, shaking off his sleep. “What the hell,” he mumbled to himself, reflecting on his odd dream.
Source for that second half. Sorry, I know it was almost a direct rehash of the skit, but goddamn, that skit was funny as hell. . . .
