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

[dontgiveabuckland]

[I mean, fair.]

So what are you going to do with the broken pieces?

[summertimeblues]

A kindly lady is offering to eradicate them from the face of Nysa for me. Since burning them would make a powerful stink.

[dontgiveabuckland]

...Can I have it instead?

[summertimeblues]

It's broken.

[dontgiveabuckland]

Doesn't mean you can't use it. Arts and crafts or something.

[summertimeblues]

For-get it. I'm shipping it off to be disposed of.

Why not try macrame?

[dontgiveabuckland]

[He sighs. The biggest, deepest, most put-out sigh he can manage. How could it be?? His super clever, secret, well-thought-out plan to get the broken disc and cast a mend spell on it has failed.]

Fiiiine, I'll just ask JJ to sing it for me.

[He wanted! To hear! The rest!]

[summertimeblues]

[Thank god for Olivier Armstrong then. Yeesh.]

Should I connect you two? He's trying to serenade me from his shower and I am loathing every minute of it.

[dontgiveabuckland]

Oh, is that what that sound is?

[And there's the sound of Cam getting up from wherever he is and walking closer to where JJ is currently serenading Richie from the other line. There is no escape for Richie.]

[summertimeblues]

I'm going to hang up if you try to give me this crap in stereo.

[dontgiveabuckland]

[As Cam gets closer, he starts singing along (poorly), making up words as he goes,]

Plastic girls... all in the... imagination. Lets go party!

[summertimeblues]

You two are made for each other.

[Half happy that JJ found someone as odd and oblivious as him. Half dismayed that their powers are now combined.

Richie groans long and weary.]

Auf wiedersehen, Herr Buckland.

[There is a click. The other line has cut off. He told you, man. Enough is ENOUGH.]