The Archies' "Sugar, Sugar": Difference between revisions
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As for me, I own a record shop in Downtown Riverdale. I was inspired by the success of the Archies to pursue my own musical dreams, but my psychedelic disco-punk band failed to chart after I farted during our first live performance on the Ed Sullivan show. Dejected, I became an addict to gin-and-tonic an started selling used cars to hookers before recalling my first love: vinyl.
My store does an okay amount of business, though much of the time, people just stop in to use the bathroom. I guess it all started one day while I was sorting a stack of Aardvarks records. A customer unlike any I had ever seen before. Orange hair, bushy eyebrows, googly eyes,
I have brain problems. I tried to join the army back during the Vietnam war, but they wouldn't take me. Said I was too 'disheveled'. This left me with lots of free time, which I used to develop my band's sound. I guess the real trouble began when I started recruiting members. It was hard to find a drummer, 'cause everybody wanted to sing or play guitar. Almost gave up and considered quitting my day job and becoming an itinerant homeless man who told scary stories about real life consequences, '
Junkhead was big into candy. Nose candy. That's why they called him junk head. In return for playing drums in concert, I would supply him with blow. "It isn't that I don't like girls", the jocular young man would proclaim. "I just like drugs better." Our band was named after me, but our other
Until one
The manager told us that Junkhead couldn't go. He couldn't perform. He couldn't be there. And no one had the slightest clue why. Well, we didn't have drum machines back then, so I went off in search of Junkhead. I went to his house,
I knocked on the door. No answer. I yelled out his name. No answer. I yelled that I brought over hamburgers and crack. Still nothing. I considered calling the police, but then I remembered in the movies about how they often have the key under the doormat. I looked,
I found pixie dust. Cocaine powder. I followed the trail where it would take me. Into the backyard. Across the bottom of a swimming pool. Up the ladder back out of it. Into hot dog's doghouse. And there I found a handwritten note. "I'm at the concert, now.", it read in a handwriting style that closely resembled an italicized, size 12 comic sans font, but written in blood. Didn't that just beat all? Realizing that everything had straightened itself off, I brushed the cocaine powder off of my sweatpants and headed back to Riversdale High for the show.
I was backstage, looking for the fellas, but then I
"It's all just a bunch of cables, Thomas", a hypnotic voice in my head proclaimed. I was scared. This wasn't like any dream that I had ever dreamed before. Everything around me was colored like a spiraled, fluorescent kaleidoscope that rotated full circle. I reached into my pocket to pull out a cigarette, but to my shock + awe, what was actually in my hand was a candy cigarette. "How sweet is it?", an ominous voice boomed from above. "Was it all worth
The doctor told me that I had been out of it for several weeks. It was a miracle that I survived. Turned out that the guy from earlier had caught up to me and whacked me in the head with an ax. I had forgotten who I was. What I did for a living. What my background was. But just like
Sugar, sugar.
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