Quid Pro Farthammer

Having not played together for over two years and with their lead guitarists head crushed into oblivion by their singer/songwriter, heavy metal super group Farthammer went on hiatus. Members took the time off to go on separate holidays to recharge their batteries and bowels.

Lead singer/songwriter Robocop chose to vacation at the Jersey shore, which may sound counterintuitive given his worst nightmare in the world is to hang out with Italians. However, Robocop spent his time playing skiball and shooting Jersey guidos in the face and throwing their dead lifeless bodies off of piers, so it ended up being quite relaxing for him.

Front man to true metal group Manowar, known as Manowar, took the opportunity of his own bands hiatus to try and poach some of Farthammer’s former members for a side project he called Doctor Thunder/Mountain Lighting. He knew P.P. Pyleman was a deadman, crushed to death by Robocop’s thighs for wanton incompetence, so he instead searched for his younger Brazilian cousin and rhythm guitarist, Junior Pinho.

Manowar found Junior Pinho (peen' hoe) jagging off to the Discovery Channel in his tidy two bedroom apartment in Sao Paulo. Junior covered up (but continued jagging off) and the two began discussing the idea of forming a band. Unfortunately for them the conversation was interrupted by a load crash which was the wall collapsing.

“How did they find me here?” shouted Junior.

“What are they?” asked Manowar.

“Robot Cavemen from the Amazon! Quick let’s get out of here!”

Junior led Manowar out the back door and the managed to escape down the alley, though the Swarm of Robot Cavemen were hot on their trail.

“You’ve got to help me, Manowar.”

“You got us into this mess, Junior, I suggest you get us out.”

Though they parted on amiable terms, Junior didn’t want to have to call Robocop. Thankfully for Manowar, survival trumped potential awkwardness and Junior paged Robocop with a 911 emergency.

Robocop reluctantly blasts off to the Southern Hemisphere with his rocket boosters and locates Manowar and Junior. He arrives with a nice tan, though is annoyed that neither Junior nor Manowar notice.

“What is it the big fucking deal?” he asks.

“We were just talking and Robot Cavemen came after us!” said a panting Manowar.

“From the Amazon!” added Junior. “We managed to escape them for now but they’ll be back. You have to save us Robocop, save us from the Caveman Robots!” cried Junior.

“Well which is it? Caveman Robots or Robot Cavemen?” asked Robocop.

“There’s a difference?” asked a puzzled Junior.

“Yes there is an implied difference you boob. A Robot Caveman would suggest an advanced robotic humanoid that looks and acts like a primitive caveman and considered very dangerous. A Caveman Robot suggests a robot constructed by a caveman which means it is likely extremely crude and composed of twigs and bones and leaves.”

“Um, then I guess it’s the latter.”

“So what is it you need me for? Throw rocks at it and they will fall to pieces.”

“Um, okay.” The search for rocks is interrupted by an explosion as a laser beams shot through the air amidst a din of grunts and ‘ooga boogas’.

“Oh no, Robot Cavemen!” Yelped Junior

“Well why did you not say the fuck so? There is but one way to take down Robot Cavemen.”

“We blast their asses with some blazing hip hop and R&B?” suggested Manowar.

“No, we pound them into smithereens with heavy metal thunder.” Declared Robocop.

So the spontaneously reconstituted Farthammer started playing their heaviest song to date which the all made up on the spot in unison: The Fart (The Fuck Fat).

The Robot Cavemen were vanquished and the scenery reduced to rubble. Robocop and Manowar looked satisfied but something appeared to be up Junior’s ass.

“What is it up in your ass?”

“The music we played.”

“Continue.”

“It rocked hard and all, but it wasn’t good enough. I think it’s too main stream. I prefer really boring obscure music that no one likes. That way I can feel superior.”

“You dolt,” said Robocop, “music is not about feeling superior. Judging music in general is stupid. Would you carry this logic to other forms of art, such as painting or sculpturing? You confuse someone’s personal proclivities for pop music with narrow mindedness, but in doing so your own prejudices are illuminated.”

“You know, Robocop, you’re right, I never thought about it like that.”

“And let us not forget your irrational disdain for electronically produced music, which you erroneously think cannot produce the same organic vibe as a redneck with a banjo.”

“Good point. I suppose if the great classical composers were alive today they would create music with electronically enhanced instruments, as it affords a broader sonic palette and would continue in their tradition of pushing the orchestral boundaries established in their time.”

“Now you are starting to get it the picture.”

“Gee thanks, Robocop, now let’s go make some music. Yea Farthammer!”

“Are you kidding me? You are fucking fired, son. We will be hiring Mike Borden formerly of the band Faith No More to form a power trio to rock off your face like it has never been rocked off before.” Explained Robocop.

“Yeah you fucking faggot,” chided Manowar.

And so Junior left a salty trail of defeat as he cried himself all the way home.

“They may have been a tad harsh, Manowar.”

“I’m sorry Robocop, but each day I wake up and get out of bed knowing that there is shit waiting for me. Each day is a struggle, a battle, and I must prepare for these battles, these wars. I either fight to win or I throw up my hands and admit that I’m fucked. In this spirit I chastised Junior.”

“You have made it well your point. Which reminds me of it a new song to be called Fat Fart Fuck Factory.”

“Let’s do it, Murphy.”

The End.