Dan & Dan: The Scourge of The Bieber.

    The weather was overcast, as usual, as Dan and I sat inside the booth at the Cafe on Jefferson St. The weather seemed to turn rainy and damp whenever we hung out together. He never notices, though, whenever this transition happens. It's as if he's bored with it, like it follows him around wherever he goes. I saw the same bored expression on his face as he played with a sugar packet.

   "When are we gonna get some a-ction, girl? I'm sick of just sittin' 'round," Dan groaned out, tossing the sugar packet at my face.

   "There's a shit-ton of people we can fight, Dan," I said to him, deflecting the packet with a spoon. "We can literally open the nearest magazine, throw a finger down without looking, and find someone who is destroying music as we know it." As if he had read my mind, Dan ran outside to grab a magazine from a nearby street vender. I followed suit, and was getting anxious at the coming battle. I caught up to Dan and noticed he was reading the newest issue of Spin Magazine. While feverishly digging through it, I stuck my hand in between two pages and said stop.

   "This is the kid: he is fucking music hard, right in the ass, with no lube whatsoever. He used to be just a kid putting shitty videos up on YouTube, but now, now he's famous. As in, won-best-artist-of-the-year famous. He must die." I said to Dan.

"But brother, this is ... "

"Yes, Dan. Justin Bieber."


Yup, this kid. Fuckin' Artist, of, The Year.

   "I don't know about this, dear brother. He's just a kid, maybe  he doesn't know any better?" Dan asked, probably to himself more than me.

   "Look, you know I wouldn't be suggesting this unless it was absolutely necessary. I mean, have you heard any of his, music? It's terrible, even for a fifteen year old d-bag like Justin Bieber. Ugh, and can you imagine?! I give it within the frame of six months that he has his own reality show."


Oh dear God, no.

   Looking into my eyes with renewed vitality and hate, Dan said "Let us go, bay-bah, you know what it takes."

   Dan and I had traveled to L.A. in hopes to find Bieber there. The trip was perilous, as both Dan and I were completely wasted on a bottle of Night-train, but we made it in one piece. We had acted on a tip from a Bieber fan website that he was playing a secret show in L.A. at some unknown dive-bar. Dan and I couldn't resist, so we arrived just enough time before the show to make a quick stop. Dan said we needed something, mystical. Fierce. Incredibly powerful. He spoke in hushes when I prodded him for information about this awe-inspiring item during the walk to an old house that looked abandoned. As he reached out to knock on the door of this dilapidated house, he said to me, "It is not an item we seek, it is a man." Just then the door flew open, without Dan ever having to knock once. That's when we heard him, "Come in, gentlemen."


Probably in the middle of doing something cool, like always.

    I walked in to see Josh Homme, sitting in a chair with a back that was, at least, eight-and-a-half feet high, covered in the finest blood-red suede, and adorned with gold trim and golden lions legs to support it. He was wearing all black, and sipping on a glass of red wine while reading a Judy Blume book.

"Gentlemen, please, come in and sit down. Dan, I haven't seen you in a while. Tell me, what brings-you-by?" Josh crooned, while handing us glasses of wine.

   I took a long sip from the glass and responded: "We were on our way to destroy Justin Bieber. We were wondering if you wanted to join us, Josh."

"Yes, brotha, this is tr-ue, yeaaah." Dan said.

"Hell fuckin' yeah, I'll help. Let me put my shit on!"

   Then we geared up to "You Think I Ain't Worth a Dollar, But I Feel Like a Millionaire," this badass song by Queens of The Stone Age, and walked out the door to find Justin Bieber and put an end to his mockery of music.

    Day had turned to night, and a rainy one at that. Josh Homme, Dan Auerbach and I stood outside of a warehouse in the downtown industrial district. Drop after drop, the rain poured and assaulted us from every direction in a flurry. We all knew this was going to be dangerous, the air itself contained a haze of electricity and excitement. And the stench of blood. After staring at the giant rusting doors for a good five minutes, Dan stepped forward and, without a word, kicked them open.

"Lets get the fuck outta the rain, my brothas. Lets find us that Bieber clown and get outta here. I gotta ba-ad feelin' about this." Dan said over his shoulder to Josh and I while walking inside of the warehouse.

"Check corners, it is way-too-quiet for my liking." Josh muttered to Dan and I.

   Dan and Josh scanned the room, taking up defensive positions amongst the barrels and boxes, I turned and looked toward them both. "Are you serious, guys? No one is here, at least, not anymore. We must've missed our chance."

"But all of the gear is still set up. Wouldn't they have taken it when they were done?" 

"Sure, bu- ... " Suddenly, my world turned into that one boat ride in Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory. You know, the bat-shit crazy, Grateful Dead boat ride that Gene Wilder used to freak everybody right-the-fuck-out? That's what I was seeing at this very moment.
   


Make sure you eat all of the mushrooms I handed out, now.

   My world then turned to black temporarily, the light whooshing in just as soon as it had left. Coughing, I had gathered my strength enough to sit up against the wall I just face-planted into. Only to look up at one Justin Bieber, laughing maniacally with his tiny little girl-hands dug deep into his girly little girl hips. The stage lights flooded the room with colors of red, green, and blue. Justin lifted his hands from his hips and started to clap, sarcastically, clap ... clap ... clap ...

"Oh-hahaha, oh my. And who might you all be? Wait a second ... You're Dan Auerbach. And you must be the illustrious Josh Hommy."

"It's Homme."

"Haw-mmy."


"Ho-Mm."

"Whatever, what do you old fucks want? An autograph? Sorry, I don't do autographs."

   Standing up, I raised a finger in Biebers direction and shouted, "Justin Bieber, we are here to fucking kick your lilly-white ass!"

"Hahaha, do not make me laugh with such threats. I am Justin Bieber!"

   At that moment, Bieber transformed into the more tortured version of himself. And with a poof of black smoke and the screams of angels, he turned into ...


Bad Boy Bieber!!!

   "Now, prepare to die you fools!"

   The room started to shake, like, T-Rex from Jurassic Park shake. Josh, Dan and I all looked and listened, trying to determine what we were in for. Our answer came in the form of a near never-ending mob of pre-teen girls, sobbing and screaming for Justin Bieber.

"You shall see the extent of my powers! Ki---ll the---m!!!"

   The mob turned on us, growling and screeching like freshly made zombies. We knew what we needed to do. Josh, Dan and I gathered up and turned our backs to each other, took a deep breath, and raised our weapons. Josh was carrying his trusty MotorAve BelAire, with the Dark Powers of Blues located within the guitar, bestowed by Master Necromancer Mark Fuqua. Dan was using his beloved Ivory, a Lawsuit SG Custom. And I was using my trusty Katana Of Light.

   The first wave came in on us, and it didn't stand a chance. Josh lurched back and started to absolutely fucking shred on his guitar, all the while screaming "Metal heavy, soft at the core! Gimmie toro, gimmie sommore!" The girls immediately in front of him burst and shredded into a large, puffy cloud of skin, bone, and blood. Dan threw one arm up, spread his legs into the well-known "Rock Stance" and lucked out a savage and sad hook about losing his girl, and getting a new girl. The screaming, seething gathering of angered pre-teen girls in front of him combusted, and fell as ash. I got through by methodically slicing in one direction after another. I simply, more or less, stood in one place as the maddened girls rushed me, turning my portion of the fight into what looked like a meat plant: chunks and lumps, eviscerated bits, littered the floor amongst gurgles and last gasps of air.

"You're good, I'll give you guys that."

"We were just warming up, baby-child!" Dan shouted at Justin Bieber, then lunged at him, guitar-shredding fury manifesting flames shooting out all over the stage where Bieber stood. The stage engulfed, Dan backed off, only to be knocked across the room into a pallet. Bieber stood up in the dust cloud, only to disappear in a flash. This time I was the one to get hit by Bieber. He came in from the right, kicking my legs out from under me while elbowing downward into my ribcage. A deafening crunch sounded from my torso, only to crunch once more when I landed.

"Space flunky, four on the floor!!! I gotcha, bitch!" Josh Homme belted out, before opening up a sequence of notes. Bieber turned to run and get cover, except I had grabbed onto his leg with the last ounce of strength I had.

"Sh-shit!" Bieber screamed it, loudly.

   It was at that moment that Dan had come up next to Josh, and joined in on his riff. The two stood side to side, with teeth clenched so tightly you could hear them grind and crack. The notes all coalesced into a dark red mist, that took on the form of fire. This fire-mist then reared up, and came down on Justin Bieber. In a daze this fire-mist put Bieber into, long enough for me to stand up and cut him into little quivering chunks. Beiber stood for one last second, looked up before falling a part. Josh and Dan picked up the intensity of their musical assault, and turned the pile of meat into nothingness.

   Dust filled the now blood-spattered warehouse, the three of us caked in it, and standing in a circle around a smoking crater of what, used to be, Justin Bieber. We all lowered our weapons after a moment, and took stock of the situation. No one else was left, alive anyways. Before we could say a word, Beibers head rolled over, sputtering and coughing up blood while croaking, "I'll see you all in hell!" His eyes rolled back, and just like that, all of the air in the room starting sucking in toward his severed head. Hell fucking yes, his goddamn head was going to explode.



I'm going to work this photo in as much as I can.

   Josh, Dan and I glanced at each other and nodded: running to get the fuck out of this warehouse was essential. As soon as we cleared the kicked-in doors it happened, a loud and commanding POP. Everything was instantly hot, and it was impossible to breathe. We were all blown clear into the next building across from us.


Fuck yeah! Explosions!

"At last," gasped Dan, getting back on his feet, "music is once again saved. Oh baby, I got mi-ine."

"We did a good thing here today, gentlemen." Crooned Josh Homme.

"Yes we did, Josh. Yes we did. Hey, " tossing Homme a cigarette, "do you want to join up with Dan and I? We make a pretty fucking good team."

   Taking a breath after using his lighter he said "Sorry, I got-to go make music with John Paul Jones." Then walked away.


That fucking asshole.

The End.