Ficlets

CeeJay walked on the stage, resplendent as a prized turkey strutting his garble for all the hens to admire.

Outfitted in tight, stretched leather pants and a wife beater; his shaved head, giant shark tooth necklace and aviator Ray Ban’s (at night time of course) perfectly hid the used car salesman below.

The bassist dropped a check-riff.

boom doop boodoobadoom

Spanelli, the drummer, started laying down a beat.

dumm tshh dumm tshh dumm tshhh

Ben jumped in on guitar.

baanaa chicwicka wooow

And CeeJay prepared to unleash his vocal instrument on the crowd.

“Feeeee fiiii foooo fummm, I can smell the blood,” he sang screamed.

“Onnne twoo threee fooour, straight delirium.”

At first his legs just looked as if they weren’t in sync. Next, he started gesticulating as if in the throes of a somewhat rhythmic seizure.

CeeJay didn’t even notice that a third of the crowd was heading for the exits. No matter. His focus was on getting attention the only way he knew how; being a fool in front of a crowd.