Yes, a rhythm guitarist would help, but it is not vital.
It was an ordinary day, except that I had just invented it and therefore it was entirely fictional and the roads were a curious shade of mauve, there was a murmuring from a crowd of people… hey were all seemingly rather happy, except the one in the middle who was being ridiculed for asking if the roads weren’t normally coloured a kind of black rather like the colour of tarmac. Obviously this was not the case.
The crowd parted to reveal an old poster, well, old compared to the really new one next to it, but to tell the truth the supposedly old one was only put up yesterday, which when you think about it isn’t that old at all, unless you’re a dying fruit fly in which case it’s probably about the same age as you, but then again you might have just been swatted for buzzing around someone’s front room.
Anyway, one of the posters, I’m not going to divulge which one because quite frankly they aren’t very relevant to the story and I’m not too sure why I keep going on about them, was pointing but that the god forsaken white stripes were playing at the local music venue on the night following the rest of today. This usually confused most of the townies and they didn’t go which was nice for the clever people who could speak English properly and therefore got to see some cracking bands without the interruption of complete losers.
Anyhow, since Natalie lived in the area, who I might point out is a character in this story, though I might not, she had bought some tickets, one for herself, one for her remarkably pleasant friend Gabi, one for her American friend Bill and finally one for her other friend Martin, who you may recall had recently fought Johnny Depp and kicked his, if I may coin an American phrase, candy ass.
Natalie spoke up to ask a particularly relevant question.
“Martin do you White stripes, the white stripes about ever white stripes going on white stripes so that white stripes And I can white stripes white stripes white stripes white stripes white stripes white stripes white stripes white stripes”
Yes unfortunately over the last few weeks these seemed to be the only phrases you could get her to say.
So the support bands left the stage, who quite frankly were rubbish and since this didn’t actually happen in real life I’m surprised I didn’t make up better bands to support them, I mean really, these guys were awful. So the white stripes came on, the usual line up… one guitarist/singer and an excuse for a drummer. Then they suddenly realised that all of their songs would sound much better if only they had a bass player and even perhaps a rhythm guitarist, they asked the crowd and got a bass player, then looked straight at Martin to join them on stage (what? this is my story in which everyone knows how much I rock!), he of course said no, he’s better than that. So they had to cancel the gig until they’d had some proper practices and everyone went home, except for Johnny Depp who was still sulking.