by CORIANDER NEUMANEIMANAYMANEEMAMANN, Alternate Reality News Service Urban Issues Writer
The Ball and Chain dance club on Richmond Street was not doing well. Its one claim to fame was that the Rolling Stones were set to do a surprise show there, but, mere seconds after walking in, decided it was too clean for them and walked straight out again. And, that was in 1973. The owners have since slathered toxic waste on the walls, but rock music historians (and Mick Jagger) agree that the moment was definitively lost.
Out of desperation, club owner Souza diFonney bought an exoskeleton.
“Desperation is such an ugly word,” diFonney demurred. “A more appropriate way of describing what I was going through would be utter panic. Sheer terror would work, too.”
diFonney thought that a military-grade exoskeleton would attract young men to the club by enhancing their [straightens face] physical endowments. Unfortunately, he bought a used exoskeleton on ehBay without reading the fine print; if he had, he would have known that the device had been designed by Jerry Atric and Co. to simulate old age.
“Who knew that young people don’t want to experience what it is to grow old before their time?” President Gerald Atric rhetorically asked at his company’s bankruptcy hearings.
The spine of the suit is curved and there are weights on the arms and legs; the helmet muffles sounds and the mouthpiece slurs and heightens the pitch of the user’s speech. Rather than enhance the user’s [self-botoxes to keep face straight] natural physical attributes, it detracted from them.
“Young people are always trying new things – I thought we could make physical deterioration and hearing loss fun,” Atric stated. When the judge suggested that the obvious market for such an experience would be sensitizing volunteers at old folks homes to the reality of their patients, Atric slapped his forehead and said, “It’s a fine line between clever and…and…and…”
Bankruptcy?
“Okay, I deserved that.”
Desperation or panic (I would say pansperation, but readers might confuse it with the theory that life on earth originated from microorganisms or chemical precursors of life that travelled here from outer space) can inspire genius. Or, a life of crime. Or, a life of criminal genius. Comic books wouldn’t exist without this last one; still, since no superheroes were available to be interviewed for this article, let us assume that it was plain genius that ensued.
The Pete Townshend Experience level genius.
A couple of weeks after the exosuit was placed in the club, it stood in a corner collecting dust, beer caps and dents from the occasionally really, really, really, really, really poorly aimed dart (the board being on a different floor). Then, One of the Ball and Chain’s customers (later identified as Paul One, an unemployed career counselor) commented, “Sounds like what I imagine Pete Townshend is living through, and he is a musical legend. Who wouldn’t want to experience that? Suit me up!”
I didn’t say the genius belonged to diFonney.
When he started promoting the suit to young people who wanted to know what it would be like to be their favourite classic rock heroes, the number of patrons doubled within a week. Okay, four doesn’t sound like a lot, but it almost paid for the electricity to run the suit. In any case, as word of the rock star experience spread, young people who were traitors to their generation’s music flocked (the intransitive version of the verb to Flockhart – yes, I went there!) to the club.
“What?” said Ball and Chain patron Garvin Perfervid. “I can’t hear – were you trying to ask me something? What?” In retrospect, we should probably have interviewed him after he had taken the suit off.
“It was like seeing the world through the eyes of Diana Ross!” enthused Franchot Uber-Tonne, benefitting from our experience. “The rheumy, near-sighted, cataracty eyes of the greatest female vocalist of our great-great-grandparents generation!”
“No, seriously,” Perfervid insisted. “I can sorta see your lips moving, but all I hear is a dull roar and the word “essentialism.” What are you trying to say?”
Thanks to its initial success, the Ball and Chain now owns five previously loved (in a purely euphemistic sense) exoskeletons. In addition to Pete Townshend and Diana Ross, people can experience what it is like to be Paul McCartney, Jimmy Page and Alice Cooper. But, what will happen when the classic rock stars die?
There is a plan, diFonney informed us: offer club patrons the experience of what the lives of dead musicians would be like if they were still alive today. His first subject would be Jimi Hendrix (“Experience the Experience if Jimi hadn’t died and stuff!”).
diFonney was enthusiastic about the possibilities: “As long as there are dead rock stars, we’ll keep the experience alive!”