The Music Competition
The cogs had been set in motion. I had entered myself in a music competition with exactly no musical talent whatsoever. I wanted to see if I could get in through my excellent writing skills but without actually talking about any instruments I play. Instead I listed "I'm a Guitar Hero" and "I'm pretty good at drums in my Rock Band". They may have made a mistake and thought I was actually good at guitar and that my drum kit were part of a real rock band, but who's fault is that. Either way, I recieved my invitation to compete today and a plane ticket for myself and my parents to London to compete. At first I wondered why my parents recieved tickets, then I scrolled through the letter to find out that it was a children's competition. Okay, no big deal, except that I'm twenty years old.
I had been accepted though, their loss. Well, I had a few weeks to get up to par so I decided on the best possible next course of action: play some Guitar Hero. That got old quickly, as well as rock band, so the day before the competition, I forked over the dollars for a Fender Stratocaster and amp... except not made by Fender. This guitar was a Tensor, and I'm pretty sure that spells quality in some other language. I practiced furiously until I came to the conclusion that I was the master. Noone could beat me. Why? I could rock a custom version of Twinkle Twinkle Little star, play Taps if I wanted to and I almost had power chords down for Smoke on the Water. It was obvious that my Guitar Hero expertise had carried over well into my electric guitar career. It was time to get some rest, I had a big day tomorrow.
I was greeted at this competition with many, many children.
Needless to say, I felt a little awkward arriving to the competition only to be greeted by hordes of child trolls and goblins. And the parents didnt help either when I rolled up in my rental car and drifted into a booth of young violinists. They shouldn't have been practicing on the sidewalk anyway. I grabbed my guitar and walked in, when a portly brit with really fucked up glasses stopped and ask why I was here.
G'day portly old chap! Might we partake in a bin of tea and krompets?
He looked outraged for some reason and I couldn't help but get the feeling that he was a homosexual. I told him I was here for the Musical Competition and that my parents were getting their faces painted across the way. I soon found out that his glasses are magic and can detect liars. He must use these to target real homosexuals instead of ones that fake it to become friends with ladies then move into more than friend status, like Ross did on Friends. So instead, I took the more practical route and just showed him my acceptance letter. He let me pass, but only after a long glare and a little bit of attitude. I walked inside, and took my seat. I sat for a few hours, wondering what I was going to do when I looked down on stage and saw a drum kit. Sweet, I'll open with some Neil Pert drum solos, borrow a violin and play a modified version of the Devil Went Down to Georgia, then finish them all off with a shred-fest of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Happy Birthday. When everyone had come in, the same portly chap announced himself to everyone as John Lennon, who I had thought was dead but must have been mistaken. He said he was going to first pick a few select individuals for special awards right off the bat, and those persons were to go sit on the other side of the theatre. I love the British, they hide their racism so well. They were just clearing the minorities out of the competition. Then I heard it. My name was called. Immediately I jumped up shouting about this racist bullshit and that the theatre was being biased towards American's. Then the fat man said that it was because my letter was so wonderfully written that I deserved a special place in the final show. I inquired as to what this final show was. He said all these individuals who were called are going to play together to wrap up the day. Oh, okay. I can do that fat man, if you wish.
Children started to play their instruments soon after that, one kid tried to steal my show on drums, but I picked up a drumstick I found and started helping him out with his snare and bass drums. His mother immediately looked at me and gave me a peace sign but with a look meaning anything but peace on her face. I took it she thought I was her kid and she was pointing out the mistakes he made. So I threw the stick at her and went back to enjoying the show.
Gotta give the little shit mad props, he was rockin'.
My turn came next so I grabbed a little girls violin and pushed that kid off the seat of the drums, grabbing the sticks in the process. Noone was ready for the ammount of rock I was about to bless this theatre with. I opened with the aforementioned Neil Pert drum solo, moving right into a rendition of Tom Sawyer, singing included. I then started rolling the double bass drums for the bridge into my violin where I grabbed the peice, placed it to my jaw and started to jam. Let's just say the devil would not be coming back to the United Kingdom anytime soon. Transitioning from the fiddle to my guitar was a little more difficult, so assuming that I had already sealed the deal on 1st place, I just threw the shit back out into the audience as a souvenir. Whipping out the guitar, I opened with Smoke on the Water, moving into a pretty good attempt (if I do say so myself) at Through the Fire and the Flames and finally finishing with Twinkle Shits (the newly titled remix by me) and Taps. Needless to say, the crowd went wild, but it definitely wasn't even close to the scale I had pictured previously. The mother that had given me the peace sign threw her son at me, which collided with my skull and bounced onto his own snare drum. I bolted for the exit, throwing Sir John Lennon out of the way and making for my rental car. Luckily I made it out just in time, I decided to catch some Z's on the drive to the airport. I had a long trip home.
Another successful day at life.