Robocop and the Ageless Masterpiece

A deep, guttural blast of sonic fury emanated from the 18 foot speakers in Robocop's band's warehouse practice space. Robocop growled the lyrics to "Ageless Masterpiece", the definitive track of the Ronald James Dio tribute band he had assembled, The Ageless Maestros.

There were many directions Robocop could have taken a band paying homage to man who cut such a broad and accomplished swath through the popular music landscape. In this instance, Robocop decided that he could best honor the memory of Dio the Master by emulating the violent, psychically assaulting musical mood set best by the likes of Al Jourgensen of the industrial rock pioneering band, Ministry, as well as his pet side project 10,000 Homo DJs, rather than the powerful yet soulful and perhaps equally appropriate blues inspired rhythms of George Thorogood and the Delaware Destroyers.

In any event, Robocop and his band were practicing and they were totally fucking loud. Normally that is just how Robocop likes it. The louder the better to drown out the nagging worries, doubts and insecurities that perccolated through his addled brain, and the better to chase away the persistent notion that Robocop's life was just a big fat fucking waste of time, which glommed on to Robocop like an irritating rash for which really fucking loud music was the only balm.

But now, lacking a salve for this frustrations, Robocop applied pressure to the microphone he was snarling into until it popped, crumbling into a pile of worthless dust.

"Robocop, are you all right?" Asked the Ageless Maestros drummer, John Stanier, legendary drummer of alternative metal band, Helmet, known best for his speed, endurance and precision as a performer.

"Yes, John Stanier, everything is fine. Why would you think I am not fine just fine?" Robocop punctuated the end of his sentence by picking up a guitar and chucking it through a window and out of the warehouse.

"Robocop," continued John, "my specialty may be awesome drumming with a super tall splash cymbal, but it definitely seems like something has got you upset."

"Nope, I am fine. No need for it, your concern." Robocop then kicked his foot through a speaker.

John was skeptical of Robocop's insistence. "I don't understand, Robocop. Didn't you just get a new day job? One pays well and doesn't drive you crazy? You also moved into a sweet new apartment and have been dating a girl for a few months. It's like you've got everything going for you but your still miserable."

"Could it be," interjected Rex Brow, formerly the bassist of Pantera and one of the driving forces behind the power groove metal phenomenon, "that Robocop is only truly happy when he's crushing Hurricane malt liquor in his basement, smoking cigarettes and listening to Tool?"

"I think you have nailed it, my problem, Rex Brown. God fuck it all."

The end.

Robocop in the Club

Robocop sauntered up to the renowned Washington DC live music venue, The 69:30 Club. It was nine pm on a Saturday night and he was sufficiently sloshed to enjoy a nice loud, throbbing, pulsating set by Robocop’s favorite power rock group, Mr. Roper and his Frayed Knots.

Before Robocop could get his half human, half machine hand stamped, inside and holding a tall cold fermented adult beverage, he noticed an altercation brewing near the entrance. The bouncer was in the midst of fracas with an anxious gentleman attempting to get inside.

“Sorry pal, you aren’t getting inside without a ticket,” the burly tattooed door man growled.

“You don’t understand, I need to get in there,” protested the equally tattooed by considerably thinner man.

“Then you should have gotten a ticket. The only people who get in for free are club staff members and the band. And I know you don’t work here. So unless you’re in the band...”

The anxious man starred at the bouncer and than yelled in an exasperated tone, “I’M AFRAID NOT!”

“THEN YOU’RE NOT GETTING IN!” the bouncer snapped back.

Robocop, being a law enforcement officer trained in forensic detective work, problem solving and dispute resolution, recognized the issue and immediately identified the appropriate remedy with laser like precision and robotic efficiency.

“Come with me, anxious gentleman,” Robocop said as he picked up the man being barred entry by the collar and carried him to the alley behind The 69:30 Club.

“Thanks, Robocop! You’re a real friend for taking care of this,” shouted the bouncer.

“Than you know you are to call me my name, Murphy, as my friends do, my friend!” Robocop shouted back.

“Hey man, what are you doing?” Asked the Frayed Knot.

“Do not worry about it, the situation. I know what is going on, the misunderstanding, and will take care of it.”

“Oh great, thanks, Robocop!”

“By the way, what is it that is causing so many people to line up outside The 69:30 Club? I very much enjoy them, Mr Roper and the Frayed Knots, but they do not normally pack them in, so many people.”

“Oh that’s because of the opening band. They call themselves Two Dollar Red Bull and Vodkas and they always draw huge crowds, even though, to be personally honest, they suck pretty bad.”

“That is very clever on their part, the name $2RBVs. OK here we are, where I will solve the problem.” Robocop pulled out an enormous gun from his robotic thigh holster and blasted a truck size hole in the back of the club. Debris lie strewn across the alley and a billowing cloud of dust enveloped the horrified band member.

“Robocop, what the fuck did you just do!?!”

“Solved your problem.”

“You stupid dick, I’m in the band. I didn’t want you to wreck the fucking club to get me in. Now our gig is ruined! And you also killed a couple people!”

“If you are in it, the band, why did not you just say so.”

“I fucked did! I’m a Frayed Knot!”

Robocop paused.

“Well I guess I will be leaving now, the club.”

That’s when the now out of breath bouncer rounded the corner and saw the destruction.

“Robocop you just fucked up the whole club! You are no friend of mine. You are a fucking piece of shit! Get the fuck out of here and never return!” he admonished.

“Yes, yes, I am already making like it, a drum, and beating off.”

And so Roboocop rocketed away and his jet powered boots, never to return to The 69:30 Club, because he had just totally fucked it all up.

The End.