The stage shook as Robocop plugged in his axe. The stadium was packed to the rafters and going berserk. It was time for Robocop’s band to raise the roof.

“Are you ready to rock?!” Robocop yelled in to the mic. The audience answered affirmatively. “Are you ready to roooooooll?! Rock! And! Roll!”

The stadium thundered along in unison.

ROCK! AND! ROLL!

Robocop’s first licks of the guitar sent the audience into a frenzy. The monstrous riff bellowed from the 90 foot high wall of speakers. Eardrums began to bleed.

“I would like to thank everyone for coming out to see us tonight in support of our new album.” Robocop’s address was swallowed by the roar of the crowd that only grew once the drummer began to keep tempo with a massive bass kick. The pace increased and the volume crescendo’ed until a thousand incandescent bulbs exploded at once behind the band.

“I am Robocop and this is Farthammer!!!!!!!!”

Pandemonium ensued.

Well you can taste it.
Totally fart hammer yeah!
Well you can take it.
Totally fart hammer yeah!

So you can taste it.
Totally fart hammer yeah!
So fucking taste it!
Totally fart hammer yeah!

Cause I’m a real fart hammer tonight!

Robocop’s piercing guitar solo cut thru the din of the heaving stadium. The first fifteen rows of spectators were literally blown away. It was later reported that the police were called on a noise complaint in he next state over.

Cause I’m a real fart hammer TONIGHT!

“Thank you! And make sure you pick it up our latest and greatest debut CD, Farthammer, by us, Farthammer! From the entire band, thank you again for coming out. I am Robocop, but my friends call me Murphy!”

Robocop left the stage having not felt more like a man than since the day he was reconstructed and became a cyborg. Backstage, however, the groupies reminded him that he would forever remain a dickless cyborg.

Robocop killed the rest of his band and never again played another song, tho for just that one night, he truly was… a totally fart hammer yeah!

The tires on Robocop's police cruiser squealed as he slide to a stop in front of an escaping burgler. Robocop threw open his door and picked the criminal up by his collar.

"What is it that you think you are doing?" Robocop asked in his stereo-robotic voice.

"Wha?" the burgler replied.

"Can you not see that I am serious?" Robocop said. He then pointed his gun behind him without looking, fired, and blew up HIS OWN squad car. The flaming wreckage shot into the air and landed just to the right of the visably shaken burgler. He tried to scream for help but all that came out of his mouth was gibberish.

"You do not even know what it is that of which you speak!" said Robocop and he tossed the beaten criminal into an alley only after first recovering the stolen diamonds from the would be theif.

Lacking automotive transportation, Robocop used his built in rocket jets to fly the diamonds back to the jewlery store from whence they came. Without stopping, Robocop crashed straight through the window, breaking in right next to where the diamond thief had busted a hole, and landed directly in front of a severely upset jewlery store manager.

"What the hell are you doing you stupid Robocop?!?" The store manager yelled.

Robocop tried respond that he was merely following proper protocol, only he found himself completely dumbstruck. As the manager continued to upbraid him for smashing her window, Robocop simplely stared dreamily into her eyes. He was entirely smitten.

Finally the exasperated manager asked, "Well, aren't going to say something?"

The only thing Robocop managed to produce from his cybernetic mouth was "Can I push it up in?"

"Excuse me?"

The still befuddled Robocop replied, "I want to sex it, the pussy."

The store manager stood still but reared her head back away from Robocop and, after taking another second to collect her thoughts, said, "My pussy? Sex it with what you no dick having, no door using, dumb ass talking, inorganic, metallic cod-pieced motherfucker?"

Robocop then needed a moment to process the toungelashing he had just recieved before realizing he actually had been rather cloddish latley. Instead of risking further bumbling with his dream-woman, Robocop decided he could more effectivley comomunicate his feelings through song. He stepped back from the counter, held out his index finger.

"Perhaps this will explain to you what it is that I am feeling."

Speakers automatically ejected from his shoulders and a robotic guitar was retreived from his thigh where he also holstered his gun. Robocop inhaled deeply, squinted his eyes and belted out: "Cause youre a real farthammer, tonight!!!!"

On the last syllable of the first verse, Robocop brought his robo-pick down hard on the guitar strings. The insturment wailed the most powerful of all chords and inumberable decibles spewed forth from his shoulder mounted speakers.

Unfortuneltey, a tune of such magnitude is only mortally perceptable to cyborgs with superhuman volume thresholds. When the full force of Robocop's song, Real Farthammer (tonight), hit the poor store manager her face exploded and all the skin and flesh on her body was completely stripped from her bone.

Robocop finished the first chrous in piercing falsetto and finally opened his eyes, discovering to his dismay his beloved store manager had turned into a rather unattractive skeloton. Realizing he had done it again, Robocop threw his guitar to the ground in disgust and blasted out another hole in the jewelery store window using his booster jets.

"Women," Robocop thought to himself as he flew away, "can't live with 'em, can not handle it my totally farthammer yeah."

It has been two years since Farthammer's last preformace, and Robocop was getting bored.

"What is it that I shall do with myself today?" he asked himself.

Knowing that as a dickless cybog he couldn't simply idle away his time frigging himself off to Cinemax OnDemand, even though he did pay for that extra in his cable package. Instead, Robocop decided he would flip through the OnDemand music channels in hopes that something would ignite his fancy.After several aborted efforts in the hip-hop category, Robocop found what he was looking for. The band was DragonForce and the song was Through the Fire and the Flames and Robocop's experience was transcendant. Robocop immidiately googled DragonForce and found that they indeed were fan-fucking-tastic and that also they were in the midst of a European tour.

"The Band Dragonforce is perhaps the only band that can shred it thier guitars as hard or as fast as my band Farthammer once was to rock out. " Robocop thought to himself. "The double bass drum blows away that which is one of the last organic parts of my body and is my mind."

It didn't take long for Robocop to make up his blown mind and travel to see DragonForce's next preformance. He blasted out of the roof of his house with his rocket jets and flew all the way to Trevesio, Italy, and got their just in time to see DragonForce start the first set of their Inhuman Rampage World Tour. But even before the first lick of Herman Li's thrashing solo Robocop knew soemthing was wrong.

It some became appearant that something was more than wrong, it was Robocop's worst nightmare realized. It was the Mezzogiorno.

Robocop's greatest weakness is exposure to the culture of Southern Italians, and forwhatever reason, Niapoltians and Sicilians were flocking to the Veneto region to see the same show as Robocop.

Overcoming this nightmare scenario wasn't easy, but Robocop formulated a plan that would solve his problem. He would exterminate every last single one of the sleasy dago greaseballs.

Reaching for his gun, Robocop suffered his second terror of the day. His gun was missing. Not wanting to countenance the subhuman slime surrounding him any longer than absolutely necessary, Robocop quickly retraced his steps to the last time he had seen his gun.

"Ah ha! It was to my ex-bandmate and former lead guitarist of Farthammer to which this gun's possesion was last given. From he who is the guitarist known as P.P. Pylman is from where I shall next extract it my gun," Said Robocop and he rocketed back to the USA.

Robocop burst into P.P. Pylman's bedroom where he found him frigging himself to Nickolodeon OnDemand.

"How is it that you have done what has happened?" Robocop asked.

"Oh, you probably mean your gun that I borrowed 2 years ago after our last show. Well look, I didn't even use it," said P.P.

"So?"

"So nothing happened to it. Besides, I forgot to give it back to you."

"So?"

"So, I can get it back to you. It's just been missing for 2 years and I never told you about it. Big Deal! God, what is your problem?"

"Your complete lack contrition flys in the face of common decency is it my problem. Also a problem for me is your inability to admit you fucked it up like an idiot. For these crimes you will taste it what a real Farthammer is."

Robocop than grabbed the scrawny P.P. by the neck and placed him his head between his legs face up.

"What are you going to do, fart on me? You don't even have a real butt!" said P.P.

Then Robocop crushed P.P.'s head into oblivion with his powerful robotic thighs, grabbed his gun and spirited back to Italy. Robocop was still able to watch the entire second half of the DragonForce show and murder 30,000 Italians.

"This was a day of perfection," Robocop said to himself. "Nearly perfection."

Having not played together for over two years and with their lead guitarists head crushed into oblivion by their singer/songwriter, heavy metal super group Farthammer went on hiatus. Members took the time off to go on separate holidays to recharge their batteries and bowels.

Lead singer/songwriter Robocop chose to vacation at the Jersey shore, which may sound counterintuitive given his worst nightmare in the world is to hang out with Italians. However, Robocop spent his time playing skiball and shooting Jersey guidos in the face and throwing their dead lifeless bodies off of piers, so it ended up being quite relaxing for him.

Front man to true metal group Manowar, known as Manowar, took the opportunity of his own bands hiatus to try and poach some of Farthammer’s former members for a side project he called Doctor Thunder/Mountain Lighting. He knew P.P. Pyleman was a deadman, crushed to death by Robocop’s thighs for wanton incompetence, so he instead searched for his younger Brazilian cousin and rhythm guitarist, Junior Pinho.

Manowar found Junior Pinho (peen' hoe) jagging off to the Discovery Channel in his tidy two bedroom apartment in Sao Paulo. Junior covered up (but continued jagging off) and the two began discussing the idea of forming a band. Unfortunately for them the conversation was interrupted by a load crash which was the wall collapsing.

“How did they find me here?” shouted Junior.

“What are they?” asked Manowar.

“Robot Cavemen from the Amazon! Quick let’s get out of here!”

Junior led Manowar out the back door and the managed to escape down the alley, though the Swarm of Robot Cavemen were hot on their trail.

“You’ve got to help me, Manowar.”

“You got us into this mess, Junior, I suggest you get us out.”

Though they parted on amiable terms, Junior didn’t want to have to call Robocop. Thankfully for Manowar, survival trumped potential awkwardness and Junior paged Robocop with a 911 emergency.

After taking the call, Robocop reluctantly blasted off to the Southern Hemisphere with his rocket boosters and locates Manowar and Junior. He arrived with a nice tan, though is annoyed that neither Junior nor Manowar notice.

“What is it the big fucking deal?” he asked.

“We were just talking and Robot Cavemen came after us!” said a panting Manowar.

“From the Amazon!” added Junior. “We managed to escape them for now but they’ll be back. You have to save us Robocop, save us from the Caveman Robots!”

“Well which is it? Caveman Robots or Robot Cavemen?” asked Robocop.

“There’s a difference?” asked a puzzled Junior.

“Yes there is an implied difference you boob. A Robot Caveman would suggest an advanced robotic humanoid that looks and acts like a primitive caveman and considered very dangerous. A Caveman Robot suggests a robot constructed by a caveman which means it is likely extremely crude and composed of twigs and bones and leaves.”

“Um, then I guess it’s the latter.”

“So what is it you need me for? Throw rocks at them and they will fall to pieces.”

“Um, okay.”

The search for rocks was interrupted by an explosion as a laser beams shot through the air amidst a din of grunts and ‘ooga boogas’.

“Oh no, Robot Cavemen!” Yelped Junior.

“Well why did you not say the fuck so? There is but one way to take down Robot Cavemen.”

“We blast their asses with some blazing hip hop and R&B?” suggested Manowar.

“No, we pound them into smithereens with heavy metal thunder.” Declared Robocop.

So the spontaneously reconstituted Farthammer started playing their heaviest song to date which the all made up on the spot in unison: The Fart (The Fuck Fat).

The Robot Cavemen were vanquished and the scenery reduced to rubble. Robocop and Manowar looked satisfied but something appeared to be up Junior’s ass.

“What is it up in your ass?”

“The music we played.”

“Continue.”

“It rocked hard and all, but it wasn’t good enough. I think it’s too main stream. I prefer really boring obscure music that no one likes. That way I can feel superior.”

“You dolt,” said Robocop, “music is not about feeling superior. Judging music in general is stupid. Would you carry this logic to other forms of art, such as painting or sculpturing? You confuse someone’s personal proclivities for pop music with narrow mindedness, but in doing so your own prejudices are illuminated.”

“You know, Robocop, you’re right, I never thought about it like that.”

“And let us not forget your irrational disdain for electronically produced music, which you erroneously think cannot produce the same organic vibe as a redneck with a banjo.”

“Good point. I suppose if the great classical composers were alive today they would create music with electronically enhanced instruments, as it affords a broader sonic palette and would continue in their tradition of pushing the orchestral boundaries established in their time.”

“Now you are starting to get it the picture.”

“Gee thanks, Robocop, now let’s go make some music. Yea Farthammer!”

“Are you kidding me? You are the fuck fired, son. We will be hiring Mike Borden formerly of the band Faith No More to form a power trio to rock off your face like it has never been rocked off before.” Explained Robocop.

“Yeah you fucking faggot,” chided Manowar.

And so Junior left a salty trail of defeat as he cried himself all the way home.

“That may have been a tad harsh, Manowar.”

“I’m sorry Robocop, but each day I wake up and get out of bed knowing that there is shit waiting for me. Each day is a struggle, a battle, and I must prepare for these battles, these wars. I either fight to win or I throw up my hands and admit that I’m fucked. In this spirit I chastised Junior.”

“You have made it well your point. Which reminds me of it a new song to be called Fat Fart Fuck Factory.”“

Let’s do it, Murphy.”

The End.