Video; un: rtozier

[summertimeblues]

[The feed begins with a man in his late thirties, one hand welded to his forehead in consternation. Adjacent is a swanky looking turntable, and stacks of records can be seen on a table behind the sofa. The titles are indiscernible but it looks to be a ballpark of about fifty albums.

He stares into the camera, desolate.]

All right kids, I'll concede: my folks would have cracked my radio if they heard how much I let The Doors holler out of it. I know it's a pattern and every generation thinks the one after it is a tasteless pack of miscreants. And I've been keeping an open mind. I can't afford not to. Music was my job, and for the most part the stuff hitting the airwaves had been pretty solid. Whoever's been picking out tunes for me up above has been doing pretty damn swell so far, too. Soundgarden was great, Lauren Hill, the Alabama Shakes — there's a lot of good shit I've missed out on because my apocalypse hit so early.

[He takes a deep breath.]

But today, I need an explanation.

[He takes a record out of a sleeve. Sets it on the player and closes his eyes in bitter resignation as the thing gets rolling.

His jaw clenches tight as the music starts.

"Hiya Barbie!"
"Hi Ken!"
"Do you wanna go for a ride?"
"Sure Ken!"
"Jump in!"
"I'M A BARBIE GIRL! IN A BARBIE WO-O-ORLD! LIFE IN PLASTIC, IT'S FANTASTIC!!"

A comely but irate redheaded woman stomps into the background.]

If you don’t shut that off, there’s going to be cats clawing at our window to check out who’s dying!

[Richie rips the record off, vein pulsing in his forehead.]

Music is dying, Bev! It's over! We've lost the war!

[She scoffs, disappearing once more. Richie looks to the camera.

He snaps the record in two with a malicious crack and tosses the pieces behind him.]

I don't know who allowed this to happen, but you ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

[The video cuts out. Please deposit your apologies and condolences below.]

Comments

[summertimeblues]

[Richie cuts him a grin.]

Are you sticking up for me now? That's so cute!

[He then slips away to nab a record from the stack on the table. It's deftly slotted into place and the needle dabs down to somewhere at the centre of the record.

A funky chord strums, then comes the electric blare. "Well I stand up next to a mountain and chop it down with the edge of my hand..." Richie lights a cigarette with a pleasant hum.]

If it's good enough for Jimi, it's good enough for me.

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly sighs heavily. ]

Can't you put Ken and Burby back on?

[ He doesn't actually prefer Aqua. But he does like being obnoxious. ]

[summertimeblues]

[If it weren't for J.J. he might be the actual worst.

In one of those phoney commercial voiceover tones:]

The KLAD request hour is now over. Up next: I play what I want until you hang up.

[vorrutyer]

[ A light groan - ]

Oh, heavens, not more pretentious nonsense. If you're going to give me poetry, give me a dirty limerick. None of this artistic nonsense. What about a mazurka?

[summertimeblues]

[In that same tone.]

Mazurka? We ain't got no stinking mazurkas!

[what the fuck is it]

[vorrutyer]

A polonaise?

[summertimeblues]

[Germanic.]

Sprechen Sie Englisch?

[vorrutyer]

Konechno zhe. Though it's not my mother tongue. Don't you know what a mazurka is, you barbarian?

[summertimeblues]

[That must be Russian or something. With how much he slung out le français Richie had begun to doubt whether he knew the language his own accent came from at all.]

Oooga-chucka, don't know mazurka. Can you eat it?

[vorrutyer]

No. Although you can eat a polonaise. Delicious. Topped with hen's eggs and seasoned bread.

[summertimeblues]

Mmm. You've reminded me of the appetite all that rage worked up. Got the recipe on hand?

[vorrutyer]

Do I strike you as the sort of man who cooks?

[summertimeblues]

Right, I forgot. You're useless in all practical manners. I'll make something up. It rhymes with Bolognese so I'll just go Italian.

[Also the track is ending, so he'll reach for a replacement from the pile. This time it's one of those future records, albeit with more bite than sweet young Burby.

"Straight outta Compton
Crazy motherfucker named Ice Cube"]

[vorrutyer]

Heavens. This song is...different.

[ Hm. ]

And since it hurts me to have you think it's Italian - cook a vegetable of your choice quite lightly, so it retains its crispness. Chop an onion, saute it in butter, add in bread crumbs and cook until they're crisp, then then boil an egg, chop it rather finely, and put all that on top of the vegetables. What would you like next - Nyanya's recipe for jellied pork?

[summertimeblues]

You likey?

[Not that he'd change it if the answer is no.

The recipe gathers more consideration.]

Well bless my stars. After all the moaning you'd done about the lack of meat in huevos rancheros the last thing I thought you'd give me is a vegetarian recipe. Sounds good though, and I'll pass on the jellied pork. People have pushed too much aspic on me lately, and it never was my favorite.

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly would break out in hives if he admitted he liked something, so instead: ]

Who on earth pushed aspic on you? I didn't think there was someone here with taste.

[summertimeblues]

[You're so stubborn. That's cute.]

Didn't you hear? It won some damn bake sale down in Wyver. King Shanrian was wild about it. That little knight girl, Clair, she made it with a pal apparently.

And a guy named Percival bought a bunch and brought them to me for quality checks way back when. I'd shown him how to smoke weed and now I'm something like his Comestibles Guru.

[vorrutyer]

Would I'd heard in time. It's marvelous stuff. Such a delicacy. And with such eye-appeal. We used to have it every year at Winterfair.

[summertimeblues]

Would that I'd known you'd eat it. I'll point him in your direction next time. Or Clair, next time she gets in the kitchen. She's a sweet girl, be nice to her.

[vorrutyer]

Ugh.

[ He clucks his tongue. ]

Just have her send it to me. I'd sooner gouge out my eyes than have to be nice to someone. And sweet people make me nauseated. It's like you don't even know me.

[summertimeblues]

A little sugar might do you good, By-By. Don't be such a sourpuss.

[Though he's not sure if he would bring Clair around their patron saint of debauchery. She really is pure as the driven snow.]

[vorrutyer]

My sourness is my most charming aspect. And it's not as though you're precisely a font of good cheer yourself.

[ It's a front, of course. Byerly tries hard to be a monster, but he has a deadly soft spot for virtuous, honest young ladies. Call it old programming. ]

[summertimeblues]

Heavens to Betsy! What do you mean? I'm the cheeriest damn motherfucker this side of the cosmos!

[He suspects as much — but even so he's grown a mite protective over the little lady. She's been through a lot, with and without him. One of those precocious Storm orphans with no elders and too much heart to stand idle in wartime.

No offense to you, By-chan, it's just those latent paternal instincts kicking in.]

[vorrutyer]

Like a sweet wine half turned to vinegar. Left to sit too long in the sun.

[summertimeblues]

Well shit, it ain't my fault this cruel world left me hanging high and dry.