Rock Music
One of my favorite things to do is listen to the music of my forefathers. George Washington didn't listen to any "Kendrick Lamar". Ben Franklin was too busy getting struck by lightning to "Ride the Lightning" with Metallica. I get down to that real old music. That shit that melts your ears with the passion of a million orgies.
My favorite song ever was what inspired Beethoven to write his first symphony. Circa 599 BC it was released to critical acclaim. The masterpiece titled "Man Banging Stick on Rock" in B Major. The passion with which the man makes the stick percuss against the rock just gets me super, well, excuse the pun but rock solid. Something about how he just hits it over and over again with such raw emotion makes me weep.
Some people say I'm an idiot for my taste in music, but I'm telling you, my infant son does the most incredible cover of this song on his highchair while he waits for his dinner using his fork. "Play it again!" I scream at him and I jump for joy when he obliges.
My happiness turns to pain the day my son turns two and no longer has time to play the masterpiece for me. Now he has grown out of his musical talents and into the music I dare not speak of. I tell him "NOT IN THIS HOUSE CHILD!!! IN THIS HOUSE WE ONLY LISTEN TO MAN BANGS STICK IN ROCK IN B MAJOR!"
"Gaga goo goo dada," he replies.
"How dare you speak to me in such a manner! You have disrespected me for the last time! Go to your room!" I yell.
He crawls off to his room and slams the door. I grab my glass of brandy off the counter and pour myself a snifter full. "Insolent child will be the death of me" I say under my breath before gulping the drink and slamming it down. I hear music coming from his room. He has recently gotten into death metal and blares it at all hours of the night.
"Turn that racket down!" I scream knowing he can't hear me. I walk up to his door and slam my fist against it. The alcohol has gone to my head a bit, because I think I hear talking, or growling. I swing open the door and to my surprise my son has a pentagram drawn on the floor with an ouija board.
"Dillon! What did I tell you about summoning the devil in my house!" I scream.
"Gaga goo goo dada" he says and points his finger at me. The devil swings his head toward me and runs toward me. He looks just like you imagine the devil would. Red skin, tall horns and fire coming out from his genetal area. I sprint away from the door to my living room.
I turn around and see him almost on top of me. "Wait!" I scream. "I know how we can settle this! You gave that fellow in Georgia a chance to play fiddle against you for his soul. I would like to have a sort of music competition of our own."
The devil looked at me, intrigued.
I opened the cabinet where I kept my liquor and pulled out my stick and rock. It was out of tune from lack of use but it tuned up nicely in a few seconds. I was probably rusty from lack of practice but I put my heart and soul into the song.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.
I had closed my eyes to push away the tears for the last verse as crescendo always gets me. I open my eyes to see the devil also with tears in his eyes. But not the same sad tears I was crying.
Tears...of...laughter?
"Hahaha, what the shit was that?" He asked in between erupting laughter.
"M...music," I replied quietly.
"No no no no no, it was a lot of things but that was for sure not music. Many man have sold their souls to me to play 'music', I friggen invented music for Christ sake. That was NOT music. Holy shit, do you have any Tylenol. My friggin head is killing me. Do u just bang on shit in your free time. Good lord, no wonder your son summoned me," he said holding his head with both hands and walking to the bathroom. I heard the medicine cabinet open. He walks out with a handful of pills and downs them with the rest of my brandy.
"But you shouldn't mix Percocet and xanex with alc..." I say reaching out to stop him from drinking before he smacks my hand away.
"Don't be a dumbass, I do this all the time. I'm the friggin devil bro." He points in my face when he says the last part. It feels incredibly condescending.
"Anyway, back to what I was saying, this is some of the worst fucking 'music' I have ever heard. And you will pay for bringing it upon my ears. Your punishment will beeee oneeee thousannnnnnddddd yearrrsssshhhh innnn theeeeeeee......" he trails off at the end and starts slurring his words. "I don't feeeeellllll soooooooooo," and he passes out and falls on the floor.
"Dillon," I yell, "did you switch my Percocet for cyanide again?" Dillon pokes his head around the corner and flips me off. "You're so grounded you ungrateful little punk!" I roll the devil up in my living room rug. "This new rug I'm going to have to buy is coming out of your allowance too!"
As I throw the rug in my trunk I can't help but grin. Even though he tried to kill me so many times in his short two years, it's that kind of ingenuity that gets music made. Real music. Rock music.
The End.
Credited to grghbbs
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