Danzig/Epic Fail

The great purge of the archives continues. This is a completely failed attempt to write a 10+ page story in under 24 hours. As one might expect, it is full of grammatical and typographical erros that I never bothered to fix. Not really proud of this one at all, yet here it is, so I must like it a little. Maybe just the line about filthy flesh sacks. Or the bit about 'the ratio.' Hope you are well versed in late 70s/early 80s rock icons. See if you can count the blatant ripoffs...

“I don’t think it’s supposed to bend like that.”
“Yes, I know, I’m just trying to fix this paper jam.” Peter Quistgard didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that the aloof, nasal voice belonged to his obnoxious coworker Donald Mason.
“Well, you’re never going to fix it that way. I don’t even think it is a paper jam, Peter. It says here on the display ‘PC LOAD LETTER’.”
“Yeah I don’t know what the hell that means, Donny. I can see the jam right--” Just then the plastic spoon Peter had taken from the office’s mini-kitchen snapped in two, leaving one half in his hand and the other lodged deep in the printers gears.
“I told you it’s not supposed to bend like that.”
“Shut the fuck up Donny! I’m down here on my knees trying to fix this paper jam that Kelly caused because she can’t fucking lay off the goddamn ‘print screen’ button and you just stand there giving me shit. Why don’t you do something useful for a change and get down here and help me fix this worthless piece of shit?”
“You’re language is atrocious, and juvenile Peter. You should do yourself a favor and grow up. And I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Donald.” With that Donald Mason turned and walked back to his cubicle.
Just as he was sitting down Peter muttered “I’d appreciate it if you’d go straight to hell.” loud enough that Donald could just barely hear it.
“What was that Peter?”
“I said ‘I’ll just stick with it since it’s going so well,’ that’s all.”
“Whatever.”
Peter returned to the paper jam. He rolled the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow and reached into the bowels of the machine, desperately attempting to wrangle the broken spoon free from its metal bindings. “C’mon you dirty bastard, come to daddy.” He grasped the jagged end of the spoon between his thumb and index finger and gave it a hefty tug. Nothing. He put his free hand up against the outside frame of the printer and twisted his body, using his shoulders for added pulling power. Still nothing. In a final act of desperation Peter sat down, placed both feet against the printer and gave the spoon a vicious pull. The spoon exploded from the depths of the printer without warning and the excess momentum deposited Peter flat on his back. The printer immediately began spitting out page after page with a heavy mechanical rhythm. Peter got to his feet and looked at the papers flying out the mouth of the machine and into the collection tray. One of them caught his eye. He grabbed a handful of the finished still-warm papers from the tray and thumbed through them quickly. Soon he found what he was looking for; a single paper that lacked the black-and-white spreadsheet present on all the others. In it’s place were two words, printed dead center on the page in twelve point Times New Roman.


HELP ME


Peter tossed the rest of the pages back in the collection bin and walked over to Kelly Preston’s cubicle with the anomalous page clutched in his right hand.
“Kelly, I fixed your paper jam, again. And by the way, what the hell is this?”
“What the hell is what?”
“This!” Peter held the paper out in front of Kelly’s face.
“A piece of paper with words on it. I’m really busy, Peter.”
“This came out in the middle of your print job, is it some kind of joke? I don’t get it.”
“I don’t know, Peter! I didn’t fuckin’ do it, all right? Now could you please leave me alone, I am really busy.”
“You’re such a bitch, Kelly.”
“Go fuck yourself ,Peter.”
Peter walked away from her cubicle, paper in hand, cursing under his breath. He made his way though the office maze to his own cubicle and sat down at his desk. He opened a random document on his computer and told it to print twenty-seven copies. He could hear the printer coughing out the pages as he walked across the office. By the time he made it to the printer it had finished its task and twenty-seven freshly inked spreadsheets were lying in the collection bin. He picked them up and sorted through them page by page. Sure enough, three-quarters of the way to the bottom of the pile was another anomaly.



HELP ME, PETER



Peter let out a sigh of frustration and stood up on the table the printer was on so that everyone in the whole office could see him.
“all right, which one of you fuckers is playing with the printer?” No one so much as looked up at him so he stepped up on top of the printer itself and shouted a little louder.
“I said which one of you stupid bastards is playing with the fucking printer!” As with his first outburst, no one in the office reacted. Except for Donald.
“Peter, is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes Donny, there is. I want to know who had been screwing around with this printer and I want to know right now.”
“It’s Donald, and I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Shut the fuck up Donny! These papers, why are they coming out with every print job? Who is doing this?”
“Why don’t you come down from there and we can talk about it.”
“Yeah, why don’t I come down and talk about it.” Peter took one step off the printer, misplaced his foot and fell off the table. He slipped through the air awkwardly, couldn’t get an arm out to brace for the impact and crashed onto the thinly carpeted floor head first. Though his motionless body was sprawled out on the ground, in his head Peter was still f
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he abruptly came to a stop. Peter looked around but it was like staring directly into the sun
or a fluorescent light bulb--he couldn’t see a thing.
He tried to move but none of his limbs would cooperate.

“Hello, Peter Quistgard. It is good
to finally meet you in person.”

“Who said that? Who’s there?”

Peter tried to again to look around, but he could still not see. He could not get
a feel for the space he was in, but the strange voice he heard sounded like it was
coming from his right.

“I have been watching you for some time now.
It is good that you have come, we must begin soon.”

Out of the corner of his eye Peter caught a faint speck of red
moving toward him out of the distance.

“Who are you? What are you?”

The speck got bigger and bigger as it approached until Peter could
see it clearly amidst the fluorescent whitewash. Before him stood
a three foot tall, manlike creature clad in a tall pointed hat, long
red coat and shiney black boots. A brilliant white beard adorned
the creature’s face and blended in with the background.

“I am 1988 Glenn Danzig, I have come
with a message.”

“What the fuck? Glenn Danzig?”

“1988 Glenn Danzig.”

“But you look like my neighbor’s yard gnome.”

“To your eyes perhaps, but this is really
one of the spacial representations of the standard
uniform we must wear in order to successfully
step through the portal.”

“Portal?”

“Look, this is no time to play Twenty Questions,
all you need to know is that I have come from 1988
with a message, an important message.”

“What’s the message 1988 Glenn Danzig?”

“You can call me 1988 Danzig.”

“Oh, sure. What is the message 1988 Danzig?”

“I was going to get to that.”

“Right, sorry.”

“It’s okay. Anyway, the message. I have come from
1988 to give this message to you. It is very important
that you listen carefully.”

“Okay.”

“Right. The message is this: I need your help Peter,
I can no longer maintain this disguise. Soon they will
know my true identity and after that it won’t be long
before they destroy me. You must defend me, Peter Quistgard,
until I am able to make my full transformation.”

“That’s it? What the hell is that supposed
to mean? Who is transforming? I don’t get
it.”

“David. You are supposed to defend David.”

“Who the fuck is David?”

“Language, Peter.”

“Sorry. Who the crap is David?”

“Sebastian the Great Diamond King.”

“Who?”

“Your printer. David is your office printer. Or at least
that is the form he took on when he came through the portal.
Either way, there is no time for this! You must go back now
and save the Diamond King from certain demise!”

“But who am I saving him from?”

“Everyone. You will see. I’d start with
that chump Donald. What a douche.”

“Tell me about it. Can you do one thing
for me 1988 Danzig?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Sing ‘Mother’ for me.”

“No.”

“Please? I will only defend David
if you sing me ‘Mother’.”

“How about ‘She Rides’?”

“Mother.”

“Oh all right. But you better do a brilliant
fucking job protecting David.”

Mother. Tell your children not to walk my way. Tell your children not to hear my words, what they mean, what they say, Mother. Mother!

“Mother!”
“Christ, Peter, you scared me half to death!”
“What?”
“We were just about to call an ambulance!”
Peter blinked several times in quick succession and let the soft light of the office illuminate his surroundings. He was half-sitting on the floor near the printer, his coworkers gathered around him in a semicircle. Donald Mason was sitting next to him.
“Whoa. What happened?”
“You fell down and hit your head. You must have been unconscious for, I don’t know, ten minutes.”
“Uhhh, that would explain the headache and 1988 Glenn Danzig.”
“1988 Glenn Danzig?”
“Yeah, I must have had this crazy dream while I was out. Glenn Danzig came to me only--”
Donald cut him off. “Then you must know by now.”
“What?”
Donald stood up and motioned for the other employees to stand back. “I’m sorry that you had to find out, but you must know it is necessary.” He walked over to the printer and placed both hand on top of it. “We cannot have them here, it is not their place.”
“Shut the fuck up, Donny.” Peter was on his feet now, his left hand gripped tightly around a silver letter opener.
“Peter? Don’t you understand? The ratio must be preserved!”
“I said shut the fuck up, Donny.” With that he leapt at Donald and the two crashed around the office struggling to gain control of the letter opener. Peter had little problem gaining the upper hand and he was able to pin Donald up against the printer. He held Donald down with one arm and brought the letter opener over his head with the other.
Donald cried out in desperation. “Peter, think about what you are doing!” But it was no use. Peter brought the opener down on Donald's head with all his might. The blade penetrated his skull easily, so much so that Peter was startled. He stumbled back from Donald, who seemed to be suprisingly not dead. In fact he was getting bigger, inflating like a balloon. He let out a low howl as his bloated body kept stretching until it burst like a water balloon full of blood and entrails. The concussion of the explosion knocked the printer to the ground, where it sparked ferociously until it too exploded in a tremendous cloud of smoke and lightning. As the smoke cleared Peter could see the shape of a man walking towards him. Peter peered through the haze and could just barely make out the frilly spandex leotard the figure wore.
“Holy shit! David Lee Roth! No way!”
“Thank you Pete, I owe you one. And please, it’s 1979 Diamond Dave.”
Peter stood completely still, speechless. The shuffle of feet behind him broke his trance and he spun on his heel only to find the rest of the office employees moving towards him. He looked back at David Lee Roth.
“It’s not over yet, 1979 Diamond Dave. You with me?”
“Fuckin’ A right, Pete.”
“It’s Peter. Now let’s do this.” Peter faced the approaching horde, fists clenched for battle. “All right you dirty flesh sacks, who’s next?”