Blue Cords: An Intimate and Interactive look at Dave's Pants
PROLOGUE:
Once upon a time, long ago in a land far away Mr. and Mrs. Corduroy (in an amorous
mood, no doubt due to a poison that can only be described as "not water") begat a bouncing
baby corduroy. As Young Master Corduroy grew up to be a strapping piece of fabric the
spotlight beckoned and he began to find "Corduroy" much too cumbersome as a stage-name,
much like Makowy/Makoway (potato/potatoe) and decided on the much less ostentatious
"Blue Cords" instead. His life's dream being nothing more than to be a long-haired-
skinny-half-a-sissy-radical rock star's pants (to be saved, that is, from the malignancy
and torture of being just a regular rock star's pants) he went in search of the man who was
destined to be the above mentioned rock star aka one-pair-of-pants-kind-of-guy and found
him in all his resplendent glory (most likely in the midst of a blind, mind-shrivelling bender),
smelling like the bottom of a Vancouver Canucks laundry bin, sorely in need of a good pair
of lemony-fresh pants. So the two became one. The following is a completely fictitious
(and yet frighteningly believable) account of 24 hours in the life of Mr. Blue Cords
aka International Pants of Mystery (known hereafter as "THE PANTS").
ROLL TAPE...
With the last notes of the infamous and incomprehensible Kid Conductor fading away, the heaving
moshing mass settling, the embittered "Take me I'm the one you want to try your new amateur proctology degree on"
Guitarist (hereafter known as Mark) ripped into the opening notes of Break Her Down (Note: I know this is not usually the way the set goes but it's my story and I'm exercising quite liberally my
artistic license). The band played on as the half-skeletal/half-Thai "I wear the same pants every day because I obviously have some issues I haven't dealt with yet" lead singer (hereafter known as David) lulled the crowd with a little Morphine (the song not the
drug), and since it's the cruelty that he likes, approached two jaded front-row fans, his being the carnal weakness (and an easy target I might add) for a friendly game of
"Hey hoist me into this crowd of psychotic fans and let us see if I come back with all my hair".
Suddenly, the jaded yet secretly embittered and itching for revenge front-row fans (hereafter
known as Kate & Sarah (Names have been changed to protect their identity) stripped David (from
the bottom up) of The Pants! Sacrilege! It was an outrage! A hush fell over the less than mighty
and David ran screaming "I'm the victim, you goaded me into spite, you're to blame!" from the
stage, as the omnipotent-"Come here let me give you some affection before I invent you a new orifice for my drum-stick" drummer (hereafter known as Paul) took a sinful swig of "not-water" and continued his
un-called-for drum solo, not aware of his bandmate's near nakedness, or perhaps (more than likely) not giving a shaved-laminated-rat's-ass about it.
The rest, ie. the sweet-lovable-satanic-four-star-hotel-for-pestilence Bass player (hereafter known
as Jeff) and the "Oh my god do you think I left any heavy machinery or vibrating appliances on in the bus" Keyboardist (hereafter known as Kevin) avec Mark fled the stage to comfort
David...On a scary note, the "Why can't I find a sturdy phone these days and I told you the show is on Wednesday you moron" road manager (hereafter known as Stan) were also in pursuit,
with The Flashlight...Back to David, who was found lying on the floor rotting (down inside) from
the loss and muttering maniacally "See my honest smile, my pretty face, and all my gentle ways...I
wanted more than this...I'd kill for you...and Fuck you Paul!". When mother-figure-and-sucker
Stan was finally able to calm Dave (he of the broken spirit and stolen pants) most likely with a
sound thrashing, the proverbial excrement hit the ceiling-mounted-air-circulator and the following
argument ensued (tape-recorded no doubt for the pleasure of fans and included on a
soon-to-be-released fan club special edition CD):
DAVID: Why ME!?!
MARK: (Trying to avoid David like a border guard with a gross o' rubber gloves) Gone quietly,
Gone Completely!
JEFF: But Dave, the belt was cracked, The Pants did fade...
PAUL: Worn clear through from his disco days...TEE HEE HEE!
KEVIN: Oh my God! The Shop-Vac...
DAVID: (Mumbling) I'll find you scattered by the highway side, the parts unrecognized. My
reconstruction will be the only way for one last look at you...AHHHHH! (Slipping into hysterical
fits of uncontrollable sobbing)
MARK: Tisk Tisk...always bowing down to your addictions!
JEFF: You can get another pair- it'll be so goddamn easy for you!
PAUL: Halcion come take me under (or is that Calgon...Take Me Away) TEE HEE HEE!
KEVIN: Oh My God! The Shop-Vac...
DAVID: You! All of You! It's all a plot...(slipping into mutterings again)...Gasoline is in my head!
PAUL: Just one match, it would be so easy...TEE HEE HEE!
DAVID: Fuck you Paul!
KEVIN: Oh My God! The Shop-Vac...
(Sounds of pummelling, moaning, grunting, sobbing, interspersed with the odd !@$%&* from
Stan, nothing you wouldn't find in the average Moist song).
EPILOGUE:
So...what happened to The Pants? Well, it seems that Kate and Sarah WERE paid off by...Death,
Famine, War, and Pestilence (sorry, that's the four horsemen)...uhhhh...Matthew, Mark, Luke,
and John (oops, wrong again, but getting warmer)...of course, Mark, Jeff, Paul, and Kevin.
However, shortly thereafter The Pants went missing and were have found to have simply gotten
up and walked away, refusing to return, petulantly insisting that they were on strike and were
holding out for higher pay, less fan molestation, and new and improved extra-lemony Sunlight.
But, after many hours of painful negotiations, and a few excruciating seconds of negotiations with
Stan, they ratified an agreement and Dave and The Pants lived happily ever after!
...OR DID THEY?...
Here's the interactive part - if you would like to submit a short "Continuing Adventures of Blue
Cords, Pants of International Mystery" feel free!
