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

[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.

[vorrutyer]

Did it? You seem to be doing quite well for yourself in this cruel world.

[summertimeblues]

And I've had to scrap for every cent of it. But don't you worry, there's still enough sugar left behind to put a smile on my face and pass it off to crusty pickles like you.

[vorrutyer]

Scrap? Please.

[summertimeblues]

You doubt me, sir?

[vorrutyer]

People like me paved the way for people like you.

[summertimeblues]

[oh my god]

Is this what we're doing now?

[vorrutyer]

Of course. I had it far harder than you did.

[summertimeblues]

Doesn't mean everything was smooth sailing on my end, but sure, I'll pin a ribbon on you. First place for Wordly Suffering in a pool of two.

[He mimes and sounds a little trumpet. Toot-toot-alooooo!]

[vorrutyer]

What are you talking about? You don't seem like you've hit a single bump.

[summertimeblues]

That's a pretty big assumption based on a whole lotta nuthin'.

[vorrutyer]

Is it? I don't think so. You're rather transparent, dear fellow.

[summertimeblues]

You gonna lay my life out for me then, Inspector Clouseau?

[vorrutyer]

Am I wrong? Really?

[summertimeblues]

You can fill your own gaps. Whether you're right or wrong is another matter.