creepy and hatboy – the dangers of illegally downloading music

to everyone who remembers napster – lucas

powerslave

today i added a few new cds to our music collection, courtesy of online retrievals.
hatboy looked nervous. “what are you doing?”
i slipped the cd into the mouth of our stereo of much-disc-swallowey and grinned. “buckle up, i’m introducing you to a whole new lifestyle.”
the opening chords made his toe tap. the following rhythm made his head nod.
i told him i had a flanno he could borrow. he shook his head. “no,” he said. “i will . . . resist . . .”
i turned the volume up a notch. “resistance is futile.”
“. . . must . . . hold . . . on . . . sanity . . . failing . . .”
up another notch, and his head really began to nod. his belly rippled in a manner i normally would have found amusing, but this was a battle of wits, so i afforded myself no luxuries.
“i’ve got a flanno you can borrow,” i said again.
he gritted his teeth. “never!”
and then the chorus roared out through the speakers, chewing off the top of his head and spitting his brains onto our coffee table.
“damn you, creepy!” he screamed. “damn you to somewhere bad!”
i smirked. “i’ll go get that flanno.”
“what evil thing is this that ruins my balance, co-ordination, and taste in clothing? i feel like i want a pair of sheepskin moccies.”
“it’s iron maiden,” i told him.
“iron maiden?” he clenched his teeth, but the word forced itself across his lips. “excellent.”

the online corporate cops

“you know they could find you?”
i shrugged, sipping my coke. “i’m always careful.”
“how? you’re no hacker, creepy.”
“true. but i have a dastardly plan with which i thwart them. i always log in with your account.”
“my account? my god, creepy! what have you done!?” he leapt to his feet and ran to the front door, bolting it shut, pushing a bookcase against it and nailing the windows tight. “they’ll track me down! they’ll come here and do, oh, hideous things to my corpse!”
“so what? you’d be dead. you won’t feel it.”
“but it’d be voodoo, creepy! dark and dastardly voodoo! they might dye my hair, shave my eyebrows, or even worse! they might make me wear trousers! i’d look awful in trousers!”
i glanced at his kilt. “it’d be really strange not being able to see your knees.” i took another sip. “i could live with it.”
“but i couldn’t! what if they find me? they’ll think i’m you. they’ll think i’ve been stealing the oysters from the mouths of starving corporate executives. oh, god, what if lars finds me? he’ll nail me to a wall, or drive over me in his limousine of hatboy-crushy!”
“will you relax? they’ll never find you. i mean, with all the accounting fiends pilfering from their bank accounts, you don’t think they’d be interested in the two or three thousand files you’ve downloaded, do you?”
“you think so? really? hang on, i didn’t download them! you did!”
“it’s only music, hatboy. it’s not like you held up a pizza shop, you know.”
and that’s about the moment the online corporate police used explosives to blow open hatboy’s nicely-barricaded front door. they burst into the room dressed in black army gear and balaclavas, siezed hold of my quivering super-sidekick and fled the building with him.
i sat in the dust and debris, my coke somehow still intact in my fist.
i took a sip and brushed some plaster flakes from my jeans.
“well,” i said. “that settles it. it’s obviously time for action. time for deeds which speak more powerfully than yoda himself.”
so i turned on dark angel.
max’d know what i was talking about. she could explain it to me.

ninjagirl’s plan of sneaky attack

first, she said, we should attack them in the morning.
i told her that was ill-advised, foolhardy, and definitely wouldn’t work.
“why not?”
“because i can’t get up in the morning. you know that.”
we set the new attack time for just after breakfast.
“three o’clock it is, then,” she said, sharpening her sword.
she has named her sword after something cruel, barbaric, and yet delightfully optimistic. it’s in japanese, so i don’t understand it, but she assures me it’s very sincere.
the blade glitters in the candlelight.
she looks up at me and frowns. “do you think i should wear my ninja outfit, or my schoolgirl uniform?”
i had to think about that one over a nice hot cup of colombian blend goodness.

don’t be so reckless

ninjagirl wore her schoolgirl uniform.
i wore my mambo shirt of much-eye-blindy. i also wore my torn blue jeans of white-knee-shiny. completing my super-sidekick uniform was a marvin the martian cap.
that was a costume sure to strike fear into the hearts of all badguys.
ninjagirl carried her katana in her fists. “we’ll sneak up on them,” she giggled. “then, once we’ve slaughtered them all, we’ll carry our comrade out to freedom. they’ll never know it was us. we must be stealthy, creepy, so quit humming the axel-f tune, okay?”

swift rescues are best

i quit humming and showed her my weapon of corporate cop-smitey.
she shook her head at me.
“creepy, i may be a master of the killing arts but i know, as you should, that there’s no way, unless you’re something more special than the idiot i took you for, that there’s absolutely no way on this goofball planet you can kill anyone with that there sandwich.”
“it’s got vegetarian ham in it.”
she looked at the sandwich. “then you are indeed a master ninja, creepy. i salute you.”
i hefted my sandwich and tried to look stealthy. “right,” i said. “let’s break hatboy outta this joint. we’ve got to get home before voyager starts.”

dirty deeds done to creeps

the guard cop was dressed in a simple uniform consisting primarily of frilly lace and fishnet stockings. very evil.
ninjagirl crept up behind him and let him have it with one of her patented ninjagirl-type sword stabby techniques. he went down with an appropriate gush of red gushy stuff.
“pretty pattern,” i said, walking across the corpse, careful not to dip my sneakers in the pool of wet stuff.
“i was trying for a pentagram,” she growled.
i stared at the lovely teletubbies-type thing on the wall. “never mind. you’ve got plenty more to practise on.”
“creepy, i’ve killed thirty-five of these spooky-clad walnuts and all you’ve done is wave your sandwich at one of them until he ran away.”
“next time, i’m going to bash their face in with it,” i told her. “i didn’t want to use it too early. a sandwich like this could get soggy if used it too often.”
she sighed and moved toward the main gate which was by now stuffed choc-full of corpses. “you know, creepy. i think you probably should have brought something a little more useful in the long term than a simple sandwich.”
i gave her my best i’m-shocked look. “what? like a biscuit?”
“jam filled or creamy?”

the corporate prison for convicted copyright criminals

the prison was brightly lit and smelled like hospital-grade detergent. ninjagirl appeared not to notice. her schoolgirl shoes click clacked on the white tiles which led like a yellow brick road through the prison.
now and then she’d pause mid-stride, put her finger to her lips for silence, before sneaking forward to take some unsuspecting guard’s belly out with her pointy thing.
we went floor by floor up through the evil place of squeaky-cleany. when we got to the top floor, ninjagirl sniffed. “i can smell that awful kilt of his,” she said. “he’s on this floor. you stay here, i’ll have a look around.”
“uh, what if someone sees me?”
“you’ve got your sandwich. feed it to them.”
i held up my sandwich in a defensive manner. “right on.”
she disappeared into the shadows and i crouched in the bright light of the hallway, my sandwich held out in front of me. when one of the guards suddenly stepped from the elevator, i began to wish i’d bought some crackers instead. i might’ve been able to take out his kneecaps with them. then i could have plucked out his eyes with some cheese before toothpicking him to death.
“ah,” the guard smirked. “an urchin. how delightful.” he hefted a giant battleaxe and i rather liked the way it glittered in the same way ninjagirl’s katana glittered.
“that’s a nice axe,” i told him.
“all the better to cleave you with, my urchin.”
i held up my sandwich. “stay back. i’m not afraid to use this.”
he glanced at my sandwich. “bah, you don’t have the guts!”
and he leapt at me, swinging that giant metal thing with most of his strength.
i wondered, in that split second, what it would feel like to get split in two.
nasty feeling, i imagined.
oh well.

soggy sandwiches

ninjagirl stepped from the shadows.
“what happened?”
i showed her my new battleaxe. “i call it bob!”
she looked down at the guard who now had a soggy sandwich in his throat. “bob?”
“as in, good ol’ bob.”
“not a very auspicious name, creepy.”
“what do you mean? bob’s a good name for an axe. it’s better than joe.”
“why not neck-biter? or soul-splitter? or death-bringer?”
“what kind of names are those for an axe?”
“creepy, you’re hopeless.”
i grinned at her. “did you find him?”
“last cell on the left.”
“is he still alive?”
“yes.”
“damn. it would’ve been nice to go on a rampage with ol’ bob, seeking revenge for my fallen super-sidekick!” i gave bob a swing, accidently taking the guard’s foot off.
i apologised to him.
ninjagirl rolled her eyes.

the sidekick in the plastic bucket

i stepped into the cell by going through the door, bob first. ninjagirl pointed at the handle. “you could’ve just opened it the normal way.”
“why? it’s not my door.”
hatboy sat on a chair in the centre of the room, a green plastic bucket on his head.
“my god,” i croaked. “what have they done to him?”
ninjagirl stepped up and touched hatboy’s shoulder. hatboy groaned.
“they put a bucket on his head,” she said.
“those evil, malicious, bucket-weilding demons! i should smite them! come, bob, let us-”
“creepy! let’s just get him out of here, okay?”
i grumbled about that while i helped her lift my comrade to his feet. he was a little woozy, but soon caught the hang of walking again.
“you alright?” i asked.
“i’ve got a bucket on my head, creepy. how do you think i feel?”
“wet?”
“when i get out of here, i’m going to nail some parts of you to the first convenient wall.”
“that’s nice.”
ninjagirl poked her head out through the doorway. she pulled her head back inside and kicked the remnants of the door closed. “creepy,” she cried, dropping hatboy to the tiles. “we’re gonna have company!”

hole in the wall

i dropped my half of my super-sidekick. “let me at ‘em!”
hatboy scrambled to his feet, his fingers tearing at his bucket. “get this thing off my head!”
ninjagirl patted his shoulder. “not just yet, my friend. first we must deal with these evil creatures. creepy, you take the door. i’ll cover you. together, we’ll die in a river of blood!”
hatboy screamed, flailing about until he caught hold of my mambo shirt.
“hey!” i struggled in his grip. “let go! you’ll crease it.”
hatboy pulled me close to his bucket. “if you don’t get this thing off my head, i swear to you, creepy, i’ll delete your thee headcoatees collection.”
“you wouldn’t!”
“try me.”
“i could download more.”
“tell me, creepy. how would you download without any fingers?”
“i could type with my nose.”
“without a nose.”
“my toes?”
“no toes.”
“hold still, i’ll try something.”

freedom from all plastic buckets

my super-sidekick lay sprawled on the floor at our feet.
ninjagirl looked impressed. “you could have just pulled it off for him. you didn’t have to use bob.”
“i know. but it worked, didn’t it?”
“i guess so. he won’t agree with you.”
“he won’t agree with the next bit, then.”
“what’s that?”
“you take his legs, i’ll take his arms, and we’ll throw him out through the window.”
“it’s a long way down.”
“i know.”
“you think he’ll splatter on the concrete?”
“only if we don’t throw him far enough out so he lands in the river.”
“good point. are we going to throw him far enough out?”
“i’ll give it a try if you will.”
“why do i get the legs?”
“ever see what a piper wears under his kilt?”
“nope.”
“well, i dunno what they wear, but i don’t want to learn today.”
we threw him out as far as we could then leapt out after him.
i screamed as i fell.
ninjagirl giggled, but then she’d been giggling since she’d grabbed hatboy’s ankles.

the thing that should not be

hatboy dragged me out of the river by my hair. i was still clutching bob in my fists.
“my shirt!” i cried. “it’s still okay!”
hatboy grabbed a river rock and held it over my head. “you know, i should cave in your skull now and just get it over with! then the popcorn would be mine forever. i wouldn’t have to share with you … you … you … you something awful!”
i shivered as the icy water began to dry on my skin. “what’s the matter?”
“what’s the matter?” he tossed the rock away and fell back. “what’s the matter!?”
“yessss,” a new voice hissed. “tell us, whatsss the mattersssesss?”
we spun around and there he was; a little goblin in bike shorts stooping over us.
the goblin pointed at hatboy. “bagginses!”
hatboy pointed at me. “no! you want him! he’s the culprit, i swear!”
“bagginses!” the goblin turned on me, revealing stained yellow teeth. “you have precioussss?”
i shrugged. “i guess so.”
the goblin leapt on me, its clammy fingers wrapping about my throat. “give it to usss! give it to ussss! stinky filthy thieveses!”
i used bob to quieten the little goblin and got to my feet, rubbing my neck. i looked at hatboy who was staring at the thing, his eyes wide with terror. “you know him?”
“creepy!” my super-sidekick slumped on the shore. “you know who you’ve just killed? we’re doomed! doomed, i tell you! the corporate cops will hunt us down and turn us into slaves. we’ll be licking stickers onto plastic cd cases for centuries, creepy! centuries! and all because you wanted to listen to cds without paying for them!”
i wiped the river slime from my cheeks. “they were over-priced. besides, they make the cds in third world countries, increasing the suffering of poor people and keeping them poor by paying them a wage of only two cents a day. all the while the true criminals make a billion a minute on the blood, sweat, and missing limbs of their workers whose only form of old-age pension or retirement fund is the term ‘please, sir, spare a crust of mouldy regurgitated bread for a man who lost his legs for michael jackson’s newest petting zoo.’ now, get over it.” i nudged the twitching goblin. “who did you say this was?”
“my god, don’t you recognise him? he’s the face of of the corporate cops! he’s their marketing jester. he’s lars!”
“lars?” i knelt beside the goblin. “well, well, well. so this is lars? let’s hope ninjagirl doesn’t see him.”
“what?” are you mad? i’m telling you we’re in big trouble! don’t you understand anything?”
“yep. she’ll kill him and bring bits of him home and nail them to the front door. she hates country and western music.”

covers

“but aren’t you afraid of him?”
“who? lars?” i chortled. “he’s only a drummer. come on, let’s find ninjagirl.”
“maybe lars’ friends got her.”
“hatboy, you’ve got to relax. they’ve programmed you. i think you need de-programming, and i know just how to go about that. as soon as we get home, i’ll give you a patented bob-type cranial-hurting.”
“you don’t know them, creepy. they did unspeakable things. they made me listen to the triple j hot 100.”
“icky. it’s a wonder you’re still alive.”

prelude to recovery

we scuttled through the bushes, wrapping ourselves in our shirts. hatboy’s flanno was looking a little worn and my mambo had finally gotten ruined as thorns snagged the sleeves.
my super-sidekick’s eyes were still wide with shock.
i’d seen similar stuff in ‘nam, though, so i wasn’t too worried. he’d get over it. he’d have something to tell old timers.
“i remember a time,” he’d say. “when the cops brainwashed me for many days. my super-sidekick and his ninja pal came and rescued me. it was hard going. i was scared of my own shadow, but they put me to rights. they kicked my head in until i stopped being such a wuss.”

recovery

hatboy today proved himself fully recovered by defending a schoolbus from a ravaging horde of salty potato crispies.
“you will not take the lives of innocents in my town,” he cried, leaping into battle as ninjagirl and i watched on in admiration at his potato-crispy-eaty-skills.
“it’s like watching poetry in motion,” i said.
“sure,” ninjagirl admitted. “but only if you think a sonnet is better than a haiku.”
i patted her shoulder. “that’s okay, ninjagirl. i still like your haiku.”
“get bent, creepy.”
he skipped up and down the bus, shoving potato crispies into his mouth with great vigor. he didn’t even accidently swallow a schoolkiddy.
finally, facing the horde’s king, he squared off with the standard insult preceding a battle to the death.
“yo’ momma was a prawn cracker.”

dinner

“thanks for fixing my brain, creepy.”
i raised my coke glass at my super-sidekick. “any time.”
“you know, technically, though, it was your fault. if you hadn’t been using my account to download stuff, i wouldn’t have been tortured for many days.”
“if you’d hidden your details, i wouldn’t have got them.”
“i did hide them, creepy.”
“but you always hide stuff you want me to find in the basement.”
“it wasn’t in the basement, creepy. it was in the chest under my bed. the one marked top secret, padlocked and sealed shut with lead. i’m sure i also bolted it to the floor.”
“i moved it to the basement.”
“do you know what cds taste like, creepy?”
i had to admit that i didn’t.
hatboy showed me.
cds taste funny.

Tags: creepy and hatboy, humour, music, writing