Well, there was this one time a few years back...
This is gonna be long...

When I was traveling South America many a moon ago, one of the small countries, I forget which one cos it's been so long, I bumped into an old friend of mine, T. Now, me and T hadn't seen each other in a while, as he was in a proper job, if you can call managing a band a proper job, and I was off slumming it around the world, so it was quite a surprise to see him there. We settled down to drinking in a bar as old friends tend to do, when T tells me his problem, in between drinking and almost shitting himself.

"The bass player's sick. Got food poisoning. And we've got a gig tonight, for the President. Can you help me out? I know you used to play bass, and we can't cancel the gig, so can you stand in?"

So being about as sober as Oliver Reed at this point, I slurred an agreement and make a joke about it being his Christmas present from me, having played bass in several bands before, and we carried on drinking for a bit, until T decided to drag me back to the hotel to get acquainted with the rest of the band. We meet, and I sober up ridiculously quickly when I meet the rest of the band. For I am filling in for John Entwhistle of The Who.

Terror gripped my spine and bowels, almost changing my nice white trou into a brown mess. We chat for a bit, well, I say chat, more like they talk to me and I have a frozen rictus of a smile upon my face and occasionally "Mrrr"" a response. We have a quick rehearsal, and I find I'm still as good as I ever was, and manage to fit in nicely. And then we all start drinking and snorting coke in preparation for the gig.

By the time the gig starts, I am once again blind drunk, stumbling all over the place and barely able to stand up. Completely off my tits. We manage to get through the opening few songs, covering Eddie Cochran and Marvin Gaye along the way. The crowd are loving us. Nobody seems to notice that I'm not actually John Entwhistle, or maybe they're confusing the two of us.

Eventually, we get to the encore, and as the sounds of My Generation start to fill the venue, one rabid fan starts trying to get on stage at my end. I tell him to fuck off, shouting it eventually, but he doesn't listen, so I poke him with the headstock of the bass I'm borrowing, forcing him back off stage, until eventually, he makes one final attempt to get on stage at the end of the song. I kick him off, take off my bass, and start slamming the bass down in front of him, daring him to get up whilst I'm swinging around this weapon. The rest of the band are destroying their instruments too, so my sudden destruction isn't exactly uncommon.

But, due to me being ever so slightly inebriated, during one flail with the bass, I slip on the cable. I lurch forwards, my hands automatically unclenching and going into "SAVE THE BODY" position, and my bass flies out of my hands, and hits the rabid fan straight in the neck. He promptly goes down like a sack of shit, and instantly loads of people are surrounding him, trying to revive him. Poor bastard turns blue, and soon kicks it. By now, I'm sat on the stage, head in my hands, sobering up very quickly and having one helluva comedown, gently crying.

And then, almost surreally, everyone starts cheering. Roger Daltry and Pete Townshend pick me up from the floor and we're joined by Moon the Loon for our bow at the front of the stage. Nobody's really fussed about the corpse, having just wrapped it up in a sheet, and I'm ever so slightly confused, but say nothing. Then I'm grabbed by security guards, and dragged off stage, to the nearest court as I found out. I'm mostly sober at this point, and dragged in front of a judge. By now, my sphincter is going into overdrive with trying not to release itself all over my trousers, and my heart is going at the same speed as Keith Moon's drumfills earlier.

"You, John Entwhistle, are responsible for the murder of our President."

"But I'm not-", I start to say.

"SILENCE!", the Judge bellows, and then continues.

"As our law briefly states, 'The one who kills the leader must take his place.'"

I suddenly grin. In the space of an hour, I have managed to replace John Entwhistle, stage a coup d'état, and become President in his place. Life was good for me. I stayed there for several decades, enjoying the sunshine and women and good music, all the while pretending to be John Entwhistle.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I became President of a small South American country. Or as I like to call myself, Prez Ents.

I am so very, very sorry.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Tue 1 Dec 2009, 15:15, 8 replies)

No, you're not.
I can detect a certain pride in your work, sir.
Leave now, please.
Go on, get out with you!

clickage
(SpangoTheWonderBadger is brewing beer, Tue 1 Dec 2009, 15:21, closed)

You're right
I'm not. Spang me now.

Thanks!
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Wed 2 Dec 2009, 11:23, closed)

You
Complete. Bastard.

I must be getting old...have a click though.
( snee held his breath since, Tue 1 Dec 2009, 15:21, closed)

Hehe
Thanks!
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Wed 2 Dec 2009, 11:24, closed)

Bleedin' marvellous!
Click!
( SpankyHanky, Tue 1 Dec 2009, 16:00, closed)

Cheers Spanky!

(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Wed 2 Dec 2009, 11:25, closed)

What.
*still clicks*
(DarkLite swallowed my entire undercarriage, Tue 1 Dec 2009, 16:46, closed)

I'm so very sorry
It was the only pun I could come up with...

Thanks!
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Wed 2 Dec 2009, 11:26, closed)