DETHKLOK ON ICE
Nov. 18th, 2010 09:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: DETHKLOK ON ICE
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG
Warnings: Other than gross violations of grammar laws and some violence against puppets, I can't think of anything scary.
Summary: Nathan needs to get off his lazy ass and write a new song. But instead he decides to crib the lyrics from a 12th century black magic spell. He ends up in a place with very bad internet connectivity, and it's up to the rest of the band to rescue his lazy ass so they can finish recording the song before Dick Knubbler is in parole violation over his latest weapons charges.
Notes: This came out kind of weird. Which I guess is not surprising, considering I wrote it. Unlike my last fic, it actually contains a bit of Dick Knubbler. Once again, I sincerely apologize to his many fans. On a more serious note, we just got back from Florida (Gov. Explosion rocks!) and I've been looking over some recent entries on the comm, and think I must have been inspired, consciously or unconsciously, by some other bits from devoted members here, like the Pickles/Medusa I seem to remember![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jewelabelle drew? So, there's that. Oh, also, I wrote this when I was sleep-deprived and totally sick at a Star Wars con, so if you catch any bad mistakes, please do let me know.
DETHKLOK ON ICE
Ofdensen was uncharacteristically late to the band meeting so he tucked the still slightly bloody crochet hook behind his ear and began. "Guys, we're severely over budget for the third quarter, so I'd like to talk to you about, uh, COST CUTTING."
"We is cuttings?" mused Toki, who appeared to be enthusiastically poking at something with a large needle"
"Ja, we gets rids of unneeded stuffs, like rhythm guitarists," agreed Skwisgaar.
"Not real cuttingth?" Murderface moped, dejectedly carving what appeared to be the letters PP into the table without a large, wicked-looking knife. "Why do we never focus on my needth?"
"Guys," explained Ofdensen, "I mean we need to keep focused on the BOTTOM LINE."
"Bottems glines?" mused Skwisgaar.
"He meansth a line of bottemth."
"Wait, dood," asked Pickles, suddenly looking up from his Death Metal Drummer Monthly Home Interiors magazine, "you mean we gotta look at asses?"
"WHOSE ASSES ARE WE LOOKING AT?" thundered Nathan.
"Hopefullies not Moiderface’s," sneered Skwisgaar.
"For your informathion, I have a thexy asth!" protested a deeply offended Murderface, prompting Pickles to sthcream, er, I mean, scream.
"ARRRGGGHH! Dood, don't say stuff like dat!" howled Pickles. "I need to boil my brain."
"Your brains ams already boiled, dudes," Skwisgaar snickered, fingering a particularly snotty lick on his Gibson.
"Guys, could we get back on topic...."
"TOKIIIII! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!?"
"I ams feltings," burbled the young Dethklok guitarist, excitedly stabbing a piece of material with a needle to drive the point home.
“AiiiiRRRRRggghhhh!” exclaimed Pickles, a look or sheer horror crossing his face. “Dood, dat’s SICK! Don’t do dat in da meetin’s!”
“See, I ams crafted a real cools puppet!” Toki announced, proudly holding up his creation. It was a tiny, adorable felt man with an angry felt expression and long black felt hair. “I ams Nathans Explosion puppets,” Toki squeaked, making the puppet talk in a voice that was even higher than his own.
“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” screamed Nathan. Everyone else at the table, however, was convulsed in laughter. “TOKI, that is NOT BRUTAL!”
“I t’ink it’s pretty awesome, dood,” Pickles laughed once he caught his breath.
“Ja, Nathans, ams looking pretty much likes yous.”
"Noooo, dat ams not brutals," chirped Toki through the felt Nathan.
"In thertain wayth," Murderface commented, once the ensuing wave of laughter had subsided somewhat, "that is thuperior to the flesth and blood Nathan."
"Guys, we, uh, also need to talk about the, uh, Dick Knubbler Presents Dethklok on Ice Featuring Dick Knubbler and the Knubblerettes Project. I believe this project represents a great OPPORTUNITY for exposure of Dethklok to a FAMILY FRIENDLY audience, and I think we, uh, can exploit synergies."
"Ew! Exploit what, dood? Dat's sick!"
"What ams synogergies?"
"Nathan, you're in charge of the songwriting, how are things going with the new project?"
"For the last time," growled Nathan "PUPPETS ARE NOT METAL!"
"Sygnergoggles!" squeaked the cheery Nahan puppet. The assembled, with the notable exception of Nathan Explosion, rocked with laughter.
Nathan lay sprawled on his back upon a couch in Mordhaus's living room, a thin line of spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth, as he was too unmotivated to close his mouth to stop it. If he was not pleased to see Dethklok's manager show up beside him, which was likely, he also was too lethargic to show it.
"So, Nathan," said Ofdensen, "I, uh, just wanted to check your progress on writing a new, uh, FAMILY FRIENDLY song for the, uh, Dick Knubbler Presents Dethklok on Ice Featuring Dick Knubbler and the Knubblerettes Project."
"CAN'T YOU SEE I'M DOING SUDOKU?" Nathan roared.
"Yes, but, uh, the event happens next week, and, uh, Dick Knubbler is coming here tonight, on parole from his very EXCLUSIVE celebrity rehabilitation facility for the, uh, recording session.”
"Yes I'm all prepared why don't you GET OFF MY BACK AND STOP BOTHERING ME?" Nathan whined.
"Well, I did my job," the manager huffed, toying with his bloody crochet hook as he left for parts unknown.
“Dudes,” Nathan asked his equally lethargic band mates when the bothersome dude in the suit was safely out of earshot, “do any of you guys know what the fuck ‘family friendly’ means?”
There was a puzzled silence.
Finally Murderface spoke up. “Um, no titsth?”
“DAMN!” growled Nathan. Desperately, Nathan cast around the room for something that would help, without the unwanted baggage of actually having to sit upright on the couch. "Pickles, dude, are you reading something interesting and what is it?
"Dood, dis is a book of Necronomical spells from da 12th century."
"Cool. Is it FAMILY FRIENDLY?" The phrase took on a certain element of menace when voiced by Dethklok's lead singer.
"Uhhhhh..." Pickles rifled through the pages of the dusty tome. "I don't see no tits, if dat's whatcher talkin' aboot."
"Awesome," said Nathan. "Gimme!" For he was already on his feet, grabbing the spell book from Pickles' grasp.
"Hey, dood, dat's MY book of Necronomical spells!" protested the drummer.
"I just wanna copy some family friendly lyrics," Nathan replied. He had already pulled out a notebook and was scrawling on it with a ball point pen. "Let's see, 'I call the spirit of Daedalus....'"
"DOOD! Be careful! Dat's powerful magic!"
"Pickles, don't interfere with ARTISTIC CREATION!" Nathan growled.
"You're not creating, you're just copying from my book!"
"Haven't you heard of sampling?"
"You're not sampling! Dey'll sue us?"
"Who will sue us?"
"Da Necronomical doods!"
"Copying Necronomical spells definitely falls under FAIR USE GUIDELINES. Don't you know your INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY LAW?" Nathan finished his scribbling and handed the book back to his band mate.
"I dunno," Pickles said. "I gotta bad feeling about dis, dood."
Dick Knubbler was characteristically resplendent in his white Nehru suit and matching ankle monitor. He sat in the control room of Dethklok's state of the art recording studio, his mechanical eyes starting to flash from friendly green to a warning red.
"Uh, Toki, yeah?" he spoke into the intercom at the band's rhythm guitarist, who smiled cheerfully from behind the soundproof glass and waved a precious little Nathan puppet at Knubbler.
"Toki, do you think you could, yeah, maybe try that guitar part one more time without wearing the puppet on your hand?"
"It ams not makes a damn bit of difference in his playings," Skwisgaar snorted from behind Knubbler, as he stuffed his face with cucumber sandwiches.
"I ams Nat'ans Explosions," Toki chirped through the puppet.
"Dude, dat's just getting creepy," Pickles commented between swigs of sherry.
"Uh, Nathan, yeah?" the white-clad producer inquired. "I wonder if maybe we should try recording your vocal track instead, yeah?"
"CAN'T YOU SEE I'M EATING CUCUMBER SANDWICHES?" Dethklok's leader sputtered through a spray of mayonnaise-soaked bread crumbs.
Murderface peered up from where he was carving something that looked very much like "WM + DK" in the tabletop with a large hunting knife. "I could lay down some bassth tracksth," he put in hopefully.
"Murderface, baby, you know we'll have something for you to do on this project, yeah, but not right now."
"We need someone to cut the crusts off these sandwiches!" Nathan fumed, regarding the sandwich platter.
"Yeah, ams we supposed to do everything ourselves," Skwisgaar fretted.
"And we're almotht out of therry," Murderface moped, turning over one of the many empty bottles to produce a sad few drops. Pickles, currently sucking a mouthful of sherry straight from a somewhat more full bottle, looked up, but his expression bore not a trace of guilt.
It took another hour or so of tantrums and sandwich orders, but eventually, Knubbler managed to persuade Nathan to take a break from berating the kitchen staff for long enough to record a vocal track. Nathan squinted through his reading glasses to decipher the lyrics he had cribbed from Pickles' book of black magic. He listened to the click track through the headphones, and began to let loose with his vocal.
And then, quite suddenly, everything went black.
"Dude, Nat'an is trapped in a labyrint’.” For once, Pickles was almost as upset as he was intoxicated.
“Nathan is, uh, trapped in a labyrinth?” Sitting at his customary seat at the head of the table in the band meeting room, Ofdensen rubbed his eyes, his characteristic expression of annoyance mixed with sleepiness. He was wearing an anonymous grey bathrobe instead of his usual anonymous grey business suit, as he had been roused at 3 am in order to deal with some kind of crisis. Though, so far, his inquiries as to the exact nature of the emergency had prompted only rather incoherent rambling. Which was, admittedly, pretty much par for the course when one was dealing with Dethklok.
“We have to get him out, yeah!” insisted Dick Knubbler, sitting in Nathan's usual spot, his robot eyes throbbing red. “He needs to finish his family friendly track for Dick Knubbler Presents Dethklok on Ice Featuring Dick Knubbler and the Knubblerettes! Yeah!”
“You need to get him out, uh, right now?”
“Ja, we ams getting him outs of da labyrinties nows, dudes.”
“Can’t you, uh, substitute, backing tracks, or something?”
There was a silence.
“BACKING TRACKS?” screamed Pickles, in his best Nathan imitation. “DOOD! He’s our lead singer.”
“I mean maybe you could, uh, think outside the box.”
“Outside da boxes?”
“Dood, you got a box?”
“Wait, what’th insthide the boxth?”
“Ja, why ams you keepings what’s insides the boxes as secrets from us?”
“Hims ams never tells us nothin’!” Toki said, using his tiny and adorable Nathan Explosion puppet to mouth along.
COUNCIL MUSIC COUNCIL MUSIC COUNCIL MUSIC COUNCIL MUSIC
The Council was in session. Evidently, Dethklok now had a labyrinth. They had all just sat for an inspiring lecture by Spifflegroob Grungebottom, an expert on labyrinths. Then Mr. Selatcia, as he always did, counseled patience. The assembled started to shuffle papers and look at their watches.
"Wait a minute!" The voice was that of Lester Grubble, a rather newer member. He had never spoken at the Council before, so the assembled waited expectantly to hear.
"I've been coming to these meetings for three years now, and for THREE YEARS, you've said nothing but, have patience. Well, exactly when are we gonna stop waiting and fucking DO SOMETHING. I mean, if Dethklok is really that dangerous, why don't we just explode a tactical nuke above Mordhaus?"
"I said PATIENCE," Selatcia repeated. He did not look happy.
"And another thing," Grubble continued, "Have we ever even decided what side we're on? I mean, one week we want to destroy them, the next week we're protecting them from THEIR enemies, what gives?"
"I SAID--"
But Grubble was just gathering a head of steam. "And, what's the deal with this background music? Did we pay an orchestra or something?"
Selatcia was now making an "I crush your head" gesture with his thumb and forefinger. Grubble made to continue, but suddenly began to choke. The nearby Council members gasped as a geyser of blood spewed from his mouth. And then he collapsed, face down in a pool of his own blood, on the desk.
There was silence.
"I SAID, PATIENCE," intoned Selatcia.
He looked around. No one moved a muscle.
The edge of Selatcia's mouth moved up, ever so slightly.
COUNCIL MUSIC COUNCIL MUSIC COUNCIL MUSIC COUNCIL MUSIC
Having at long last tired of squabbling, if only temporarily, Ofdensen, Knubbler, and the four non-missing members of Dethtklok had just ventured through Mordhaus' endless miles of corridors to the location of the band's state of the art recording studio, deep within the depths of the Castle.
But, instead of a state of the art recording facility, in its place was a vast, ancient-looking stone wall.
"I don't remember, uh, authorizing any new construction," a furious Ofdensen scolded. "We're supposed to be, uh, tightening our belts."
"We ams tighten da beltses?" Toki's Nathan puppet wondered.
"Are you thaying I'm too fat?" Murderface sighed. "I think you justht want to increath my thelf-loathing."
"DOOD!" Pickles explained, "We didn't build dis! Nat'an conjoored it wit' a Necronomical spell from da 12th century."
"Oh, very well then," Ofdensen replied, much relieved about unauthorized expenditures.
"We've gotta find Nathan, yeah," Knubbler urged. "I need to report to my parole officer at dawn, yeah. Stupid trumped up weapons charge."
"It's gonna be dangerous, doods! Dere's myt'ological beasts an' monsters dere," Pickles warned.
"Ja, dose beasts can't be worse dan Nathans when he don't gots his cockcumber sandwich."
"You, uh, know about MONSTERS inside?"
"Yeah, dood, I looked it up on my Klokipedia app," Pickles explained, holding up his Dethphone."
"Klokipedia?"
"Yeah, dood, our obsessed fans put it together. It's totally informative! Did you wanna know da names, measurements an' astrological signs of da last 324 girls Skwisgaar has done it wit'?"
"I ams not even remembers dat informations!" Skwisgaar averred proudly.
"Do dey have dat informations for Toki?" the rhythm guitarist put in, suddenly forgetting about his Nathan puppet.
"Nope. Sorry, dood. Dey have your last 22 craftin' projects, though." The rhythm guitarist nevertheless looked hurt.
"Come with me, boys, yeah!" It was Knubbler, now standing at the entrance of the labyrinth. He was waving a spear to emphasize his point, having just grabbed one that was lying around on the floor (this being Mordhaus, such thing were not out of the ordinary to find lying around inside a state of the art receding studio). "Monsters and mythical beasts are no match for Dick Knubbler, yeah!" And so saying, he ran off headlong into the maze.
William Murderface immediately grabbed a mace (which was also just lying there, because, as we mentioned, this was Dethklok's residence) and with a cry of, "Fuck you, mythical beasthts!" followed Knubbler. The remaining members of the band also grabbed various items of mayhem, except Skwisgaar, who stuck to his trusty Gibson, and entered as well. With a heavy sigh, Ofdensen pulled his robe closer around his neck, hefted a nearby battle axe (that was, you know, also lying around) over his shoulder and padded along behind.
The Dethklok manager rounded the first bend of the maze and found himself nearly running into Pickles, who had stopped short to once again scrutinize his Dethphone's handy Klokipedia app. The rest of the band was regarding with some interest an enormous three-headed dog, currently blocking the way. One of the dog's less friendly looking heads also seemed to want to make Dehklok's producer into a Nahru-clad chew toy. The defiant Knubbler, backed against the stone wall, was somewhat ineffectively poking at the giant mongrel with his spear. "Get away dog, yeah! Don't you know this is a $3000 suit!"
The beast looked quite close to snapping a Grammy-winner in two when it was distracted by a small object tossed its way. The head that had been menacing Knubbler eagerly snapped up the carpet slipper, and then, like any dog worth its salt, began to contentedly chew it to pieces.
Ofdensen was already removing his other slipper, which he swiftly batted over to the large Hell beast's other heads. The two immediately began fighting over the prize.
"Don't you have a third thlipper?" worried Murderface.
"Why would I have a third slipper, William?"
"Becauth there'th three of them, man!" Murderface reasoned.
"Ja, dat ams not t'inking aheads," mulled Skwisgaar, strumming his Gibson in a sarcastic minor key.
"Doods, dis is clearly a Cerberus!" Pickles explained
"A Skarborousk? What ams dat?"
"A hound dat guards da gates of Hell."
There were several exclamations of, "Cool!"
"How ams we gets around dems? What ams your Kockapedia says, Pickle?"
"Dood, I don't know, da WiFi reception in here totally sucks!"
"Ja, Nathans need to plan for internets receptions next time he ams trapped."
"A thellfish bathtard, he is."
"We need to kill the bastard, yeah," Knubbler insisted.
"We kills Nat'ans? Den how ams we finish da track?"
"No, the dog thing, yeah."
"Dood, you t'ink da dog could sing?"
"Ah, dat ams t'inking outside da boxes."
"No, we KILL THE DOG, yeah. He drooled on my $3000 Gucci!"
"That'th not a reathon to fire him asth lead thinger."
"NOOOOOooOooOoooOOO!" squealed Toki through his felt Nathan, in really not a bad Nathan Explosion imitation, albeit two octaves too high. "You ams not kill Lars!" Toki threw himself and the puppet in front of giant Hell hound in a protective manner.
"Lars? Aw, Toki, dood, you didn't name him already did you?"
Ofdensen rubbed his eyes, thinking only of bed. "OK, uh, guys, do we have anything we could use to SUBDUE the Cerberus?"
"He ams Lars the Hell Hound!"
"...To subdue Lars the Hell Hound."
"I custhtomarily carry a theventy foot chain," bragged Murderface.
"I ams brought cockumber sandwiches!" said Toki, proudly holding up a sack.
"Wait, dudes, I have an idea!" Pickles suddenly produced a rather large baggie of some unidentifiable powder.
"Dude, maybe dis ams not a good time for dat."
"No, dood, not me, we sprinkle some of my finest on one of Toki's sandwiches and feed it to Lars."
"Yeth, but how will you get Larth to eat the thandwich?" asked Murderface. Suddenly, he realized that five pairs of eyes were staring intently at him.
A minute or two later, William Murderface was cautiously approaching Lars the Hell Hound, one arm extended holding out a drug laced cucumber sandwich. Lars sniffed, but the giant dog seemed reluctant to turn his attentions from the remains of Ofdensen's slippers.
"Dood, you gotta get closer," Pickles called helpfully from a safe distance.
"What if he thnaps off my hand along with the thandwich?" Murderface wondered.
"Dat's OK, dood, you only need one hand to play bass, right?"
"You need TWO handth to play bath!"
"Hahaha, not da way YOU plays it," Skwisgaar advised, striking an especially catty chord on his guitar.
Murderface closed his eyes and made one last jab of the sandwich towards Lars. The nearest head suddenly lurched for the sandwich, and consumed it in one giant gulp, though miraculously, leaving all of Murderface's bass-playing limbs pretty much intact.
The giant hound contentedly licked his chops. Then, suddenly, his eyes wandered off into two different directions, and all three heads began simultaneously to foam at the mouths. Lars then lolled to the side, and collapsed, nearly crushing Murderface as it fell. One head stared disjointedly at Murderface, upside down, and then one huge back leg started to twitch. Its tail beat rhythmically on the stone floor.
"DOOD!" called Pickles, "I t'ink he wants ya to scratch his tummy!"
They soon had Murderface's spare 70 feet of chain fastened around one of the inebriated Lars' tree trunk-like necks.
"Is he ams find Nathans now?" Skwisgaar asked. "I ams missing my favorites telenovela on da TV."
"Dood! I dunno if Hell hounds is bloodhounds too," Pickles said. He was feeling a bit tentative at the moment, as he had somehow gotten assigned to the job of grasping Lars' giant chain leash. "Do we got anyt'ing of Nat'an's for da scent?"
"We ams got Nat'an!" Toki sang cheerfully, wielding his little cloth Nathan.
"Oh, Toki, I don't t'ink..." Pickles started, but Toki was already presenting the little puppet to a nearby Lars head.
"Here Lars, you ams find big Nathans?" Lars appeared to actually focus his bloodshot eyes for a second. He took an experimental sniff, and then expertly snatched the tiny puppet off of Toki's hand, snarfing it up whole.
"Not my little Nathans omygodohmygodohmygod..." Toki wailed, but suddenly, all three of the massive mastiff's heads shot up, nearly knocking over Pickles and Toki in the process. Then the dog was on his feet, running headlong into the maze, half-dragging Pickles along with him. Toki ran behind, continuing his cries for his lost craft project.
They scrambled along what seemed like miles of corridors, including uncountable twists and turns, Pickles struggling both for breath and to keep his footing, and Toki still muttering about his Nathan puppet, when suddenly, they rounded a corner, and there he stood, Dethklok's lead singer, in a not particularly happy mood.
"What took you so long," stormed Nathan. "THERE'S NO WIFI RECEPTION HERE!" he added, holding up his Dethphone in an accusatory manner.
He was answered by a tremendous, drooly lick from the Cerberus' friendliest and most stoned head.
"What the fuck is this?" Nathan demanded, trying to shake off a gallon of saliva.
"Dat ams Lars!" Toki explained.
"He's a Hell hound, dood!" puffed Pickles, desperately trying to catch his breath after his first exercise in several decades. "And he's, uh, kinda shit faced."
"We have a Hell hound? THAT'S AWESOME!" One of Lars' other heads was approaching Nathan, tongue poised, when Nathan growled, "SIT THE FUCK DOWN, LARS." The dog immediately obeyed.
"Oh, so dat's how you do dat," Pickles gasped, steadying himself on a stone wall.
"So," asked Nathan, "WHICH WAY OUT????"
Toki and Pickles exchanged a confused look.
Ofdensen was even more annoyed than usual. He was sleepy, and the stone floor was getting cold on his bare feet, but what's worse, he had just worked out in his head the approximate cost of rebuilding Dethklok's stare of the art recording studio that Nathan had magicked away, minus, of course, any normal depreciation value. It was a rather hefty sum.
And then, of course, there was Dick Knubbler. They had gotten separated from the others when Lars ran off with Toki. But instead of trying to find a sensible path through the vast labyrinth's stone corridors, the producer seemed more bent on charging off headlong while raving about his many foes, real and imagined.
And now Knubbler was signaling for him to stop. By waving his handgun. Which seemed a tad dramatic.
"You have, uh, a handgun?"
"Are you asking about those weapons charges? Yeah, because, they were all trumped up by my enemies! I have many enemies in this business, yeah."
"No, uh, just wondering why you bothered with the, uh, SPEAR?"
But the incensed record producer didn't answer. Instead, he pointed ahead, around the next twist in the maze. You could see the shadow of something moving: a human figure with an incredible, eye-catching hairdo. Her hair (as the figure appeared to be female) looked to be puffed and teased up a good three sizes bigger than her head. In fact, if you looked closely at the silhouette, the hair actually seemed to be moving: writhing in a most serpentine, but utterly un-hair-like fashion.
"Do you see that shadow, baby, yeah?" Knubbler whispered in a most conspiratorial fashion.
"Uh, yes."
"It can be only one thing!"
"Uh, what would that be?"
"My ex-wife!"
"Your ex-wife?"
"I'd know that hair anywhere, yeah!"
"Your ex-wife is in the, uh, labyrinth that Nathan summoned using a 12th century black magic spell?"
"That's definitely Edwina, yeah. She never forgave me for firing her from the Knubblerettes! And, locking her in our basement recording studio for 20 years. They said I was mad. MAD! Yeah."
Ofdensen didn't offer an opinion as he was currently scrutinizing the Klokipedia app on his Dethphone for the chant Nathan had plagiarized. Unfortunately, WiFi reception in that part of huge maze was balls, so the page was taking an agonizing amount of time to load.
"There's only one way!" Knubbler insisted. "Come on! We'll both rush her!
"I don't know if I would, uh, do that."
Knubbler was already on the move, "You're going down, Eddie, you bitch! Y-". Unfortunately, his final "yeah" was strangled off as the producer abruptly screeched to a halt, mid-stride.
Ofdensen peered up from his Dethphone. He cautiously approached the producer and gave him quick rap with his knuckles. Rock solid. Knubbler had been completely turned to stone. A fine white alabaster, actually. It was really quite impressive. Dethklok's manager regarded his Klokipedia app one more time. Setting down his battle axe for the moment, he pulled the handgun from Knubbler's stony white grasp. Then, facing his back to the mysterious shadow, he removed his own eyeglasses, and held them up, squinting into the reflection as he aimed Knubbler's gun over his shoulder. And then, he waited.
Toki, Pickles, Nathan and their new friend, Lars, had decided the wisest course of action was to strike out into the maze in search of an exit, or, failing that, improved WiFi reception.
They heard a grunting around one of the bends.
"Hey, Murderface, dood!" Pickles said excitedly, rounding the bend.
It was definitely not William Murderface. Even during his worst water-retention days, the Dethklok bassist was not nearly that big. In fact, the beast less resembled a death metal musician than a very large, very angry bull.
Nathan, who had just rounded the corner, turned to their Hell hound companion and thundered, "SIC 'EM, LARS!"
Unfortunately for their short term survival prospects, the giant hound merely whimpered in fright, and then attempted to hide its entire enormous body behind Dethklok's leader.
"Fucking cowardly stoner dog," growled Nathan.
The bull geared up to charge them.
"Dood! I don't wanna die now! I'm almost sobered up!" wailed Pickles.
"Eh, at least I've got three bars now," said Nathan, madly thumbing his Dethphone.
The bull monster charged. And, just as suddenly, lurched to a halt. It was surprising enough that Nathan actually looked up from his text messages for a moment. The bull didn't just stop, but in fact appeared to be frozen in mid stride.
Ofdensen, who had been standing behind them, tossed the beachball-sized object he'd been holding up over to Lars, who promptly swallowed it whole. Then he hefted his now bloody battle axe over his shoulder. "So, you guys have, uh, found Nathan?"
"Yeah, dood," said Pickles, who was slowly un-cringing. "But we forgot to remember da way outta here!"
There came a roar very much like that from an ancient V8 engine. All assembled turned again to see William Murderface drive up behind the wheel of his beloved Lincoln Continental stretch limousine. Skwisgaar was riding shotgun beside him, holding something that, for once, was not his prized Gibson in his hands.
"Can we be of asthithtance, gentlemen," lisped the bassist.
"You guys, uh, drove a Lincoln Continental through Mordhaus," worried Ofdensen, thinking of the cleaning bills for removing tire tracks from the corridors.
"We need to get to a place with FASTER INTERNET," wailed Nathan.
"Doods! Do you know da way outta here?"
"Ja, I ams play out guitar string to show us da ways back," bragged Skwisgaar, displaying the string in his hands.
"Dude, that is one long ass guitar string," marveled Nathan.
"Ja, Dunlop ams making the best equipments," grinned the Swede, always canny of a product placement opportunity.
"What'th that thing?" Murderface wondered, pointing to the frozen bull, which had somehow been completely forgotten in the space of a commercial break. The boys ventured over to check. Nathan kicked the monster with his foot. Somehow, it had been transformed into a fine black marble.
"Dood, it's totally stoned," laughed Pickles.
"Ja dat ams happens sometimes," mused Skwisgaar, still clutching his precious guitar string. "T'ings ams turned to stones."
"This is awesome! This is totally going in the living room," Nathan averred.
"No way!" protested Murderface.
“WHY NOT?”
"Becauth it will ruin the feng sthui!"
"Ams we gonna gets Knubblers and finish da track now?" Skwisgaar wondered, now attempting to finger a chord on his outrageously long guitar string.
"I am afraid there is an, um, ISSUE with Dick Knubbler," Ofdensen confessed. The band stared at him. At length, they retraced his steps to where he'd left the fossilized record producer.
Nathan was the first to hop out of Murderface's Lincoln to marvel at the alabaster Knubbler. "OK," he reasoned, "THIS ONE IS TOTALLY GOING IN THE LIVING ROOM!"
"Maybe we need to add a sthculpture garden to Mordhaus," mused Murderface, always mindful of interior decoration options. "Or maybe it could go in my room."
"Your room?" stormed Nathan. "Why would you want DICK KNUBBLER IN YOUR ROOM?"
"Uh, no reathon."
"Doods, how are we gonna finish da track wit'out Knubbler? He's da producer."
"I ams liking him betters dis way, ja," Skwisgaar mused.
"Bads Lars, dat ams not da chew toys," Toki scolded, as Knubbler got considerably more doggie drool on his $3000 suit.
"Do you guys, uh, really REQUIRE a producer to finish the track?" ventured Ofdensen, a bit callously using Knubbler's head to strike a match for his cigar.
"Nah, probably not," confessed Pickles.
"WE NEED CUCUMBER SANDWICHES WITH THE FUCKING CRUSTS CUT OFF!" explained Nathan.
"Won't we ams having da same problems when Nathan recites da spells?" Toki asked, fending off a bath from Lars.
"Nathan, did you simply copy a Necronomical spell from the Twelfth Century instead of writing, uh, ORIGINAL LYRICS?"
"I WAS SAMPLING!"
"That's not, uh, sampling, Nathan," Ofdensen explained, between puffs, "That's plagiarism."
"WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE LAW?"
"I'm a lawyer."
"APART FROM THAT I MEAN!"
"Guys, is there ANY WAY we can finish the track for Dick Knubbler Presents Dethklok on Ice Featuring Dick Knubbler and the Knubblerettes Project before dawn?"
"Actually" said Nathan, "I've written NEW LYRICS!"
"You've written new lyrics?"
"I wrote them while I was trapped with NO CELL PHONE RECEPTION. The new lyrics are MORE FAMILY FRIENDLY! 'Trapped in a labyrinth/Waiting for death/'Til your eyes fill with maggots/And worms eat your brains/The cruel gods/Demand a sacrifice/Of blood...' See? THERE IS NO MENTION OF TITS!"
"Uh, very well, but what about a studio?"
"Dat's no problem, dood," said Pickles, "I got da Pro Tools app on my Dethphone."
Dethklok's Tuesday band meeting featured two new participants: the alabaster figure of Dick Knubbler, and Lars the Hell hound, who was cheerily using one head to lick its own balls while another devotedly watched Toki, who was madly stabbing something with a needle.
"Should that, uh, Hell hound be inside?" Ofdensen inquired, busily stuffing a pair bloody knitting needles into his jacket pocket.
"Ja, Lars ams been eatin' da yard wolves," Skwisgaar volunteered. "Hims ams naughty doggie."
"Are you a bad Hell puppy?" inquired Nathan, scratching a nearby chin. "Yes you are a bad Hell puppy!"
"So, unfortunately, the Dick Knubbler Presents Dethklok on Ice Featuring Dick Knubbler and the Knubblerettes Project has been temporarily put on hold, due to, uh, a LAWSUIT by one of the ex-Knubblerettes, as well as, uh, Dick Knubbler's, uh, current INCAPACITATION."
"He ith incapathitated?" Murderface wondered. "And here I thusthpected he didn't have all hit partsth."
"I ams incastrasitated, ja!" Toki blurbled, waving his brand new Dick Knubbler felt puppet, expertly keeping it away from Lars' playful bites.
"Toki, PUPPETRY IS NOT BRUTAL." Nathan scolded.
Pickles looked up from his Heavy Metal Drummer News and Gazetteer magazine. "Doods, if we can't use dat new track for da Dick Knubbler Presents Dethklok on Ice Featuring Dick Knubbler and the Knubblerettes Project, how will we use it?"
"Can't it go on your, uh, NEXT ALBUM? Which you've all been working on?"
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“So, uh, I guess we should move on to our NEXT PROJECT. This is, uh, very EXCITING. Dethklok has been invited to appear on Safflower Street.”
“Thafflower Sthtreet? It thounds thtupid.”
“Well, William, it is a very famous program starring the much beloved MOPPETS.”
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE MOPPETS?”
“Nathan, Moppets are, um,” Ofdensen chose his words carefully. “They are, uh, SOULLESS BEINGS, woven from, um, DEAD PLANTS, and they are, uh, used by MYSTERIOUS HIDDEN operators to TERRIFY small children.”
“Oh. That sounds pretty cool actually.” Suddenly, Nathan cringed. “Oh god, Lars, what have you been EATING?” But the Hell hound had already turned his attentions elsewhere.
“Lars, I ams told you, Dick Knubbers ams not da chew toy,” Toki scolded. But, his warning came too late. There was suddenly a sickening crunching sound, and everybody shielded their eyes in horror.
“Um, does thomebody have thome thuperglue?”
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG
Warnings: Other than gross violations of grammar laws and some violence against puppets, I can't think of anything scary.
Summary: Nathan needs to get off his lazy ass and write a new song. But instead he decides to crib the lyrics from a 12th century black magic spell. He ends up in a place with very bad internet connectivity, and it's up to the rest of the band to rescue his lazy ass so they can finish recording the song before Dick Knubbler is in parole violation over his latest weapons charges.
Notes: This came out kind of weird. Which I guess is not surprising, considering I wrote it. Unlike my last fic, it actually contains a bit of Dick Knubbler. Once again, I sincerely apologize to his many fans. On a more serious note, we just got back from Florida (Gov. Explosion rocks!) and I've been looking over some recent entries on the comm, and think I must have been inspired, consciously or unconsciously, by some other bits from devoted members here, like the Pickles/Medusa I seem to remember
jewelabelle drew? So, there's that. Oh, also, I wrote this when I was sleep-deprived and totally sick at a Star Wars con, so if you catch any bad mistakes, please do let me know.DETHKLOK ON ICE
Ofdensen was uncharacteristically late to the band meeting so he tucked the still slightly bloody crochet hook behind his ear and began. "Guys, we're severely over budget for the third quarter, so I'd like to talk to you about, uh, COST CUTTING."
"We is cuttings?" mused Toki, who appeared to be enthusiastically poking at something with a large needle"
"Ja, we gets rids of unneeded stuffs, like rhythm guitarists," agreed Skwisgaar.
"Not real cuttingth?" Murderface moped, dejectedly carving what appeared to be the letters PP into the table without a large, wicked-looking knife. "Why do we never focus on my needth?"
"Guys," explained Ofdensen, "I mean we need to keep focused on the BOTTOM LINE."
"Bottems glines?" mused Skwisgaar.
"He meansth a line of bottemth."
"Wait, dood," asked Pickles, suddenly looking up from his Death Metal Drummer Monthly Home Interiors magazine, "you mean we gotta look at asses?"
"WHOSE ASSES ARE WE LOOKING AT?" thundered Nathan.
"Hopefullies not Moiderface’s," sneered Skwisgaar.
"For your informathion, I have a thexy asth!" protested a deeply offended Murderface, prompting Pickles to sthcream, er, I mean, scream.
"ARRRGGGHH! Dood, don't say stuff like dat!" howled Pickles. "I need to boil my brain."
"Your brains ams already boiled, dudes," Skwisgaar snickered, fingering a particularly snotty lick on his Gibson.
"Guys, could we get back on topic...."
"TOKIIIII! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!?"
"I ams feltings," burbled the young Dethklok guitarist, excitedly stabbing a piece of material with a needle to drive the point home.
“AiiiiRRRRRggghhhh!” exclaimed Pickles, a look or sheer horror crossing his face. “Dood, dat’s SICK! Don’t do dat in da meetin’s!”
“See, I ams crafted a real cools puppet!” Toki announced, proudly holding up his creation. It was a tiny, adorable felt man with an angry felt expression and long black felt hair. “I ams Nathans Explosion puppets,” Toki squeaked, making the puppet talk in a voice that was even higher than his own.
“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” screamed Nathan. Everyone else at the table, however, was convulsed in laughter. “TOKI, that is NOT BRUTAL!”
“I t’ink it’s pretty awesome, dood,” Pickles laughed once he caught his breath.
“Ja, Nathans, ams looking pretty much likes yous.”
"Noooo, dat ams not brutals," chirped Toki through the felt Nathan.
"In thertain wayth," Murderface commented, once the ensuing wave of laughter had subsided somewhat, "that is thuperior to the flesth and blood Nathan."
"Guys, we, uh, also need to talk about the, uh, Dick Knubbler Presents Dethklok on Ice Featuring Dick Knubbler and the Knubblerettes Project. I believe this project represents a great OPPORTUNITY for exposure of Dethklok to a FAMILY FRIENDLY audience, and I think we, uh, can exploit synergies."
"Ew! Exploit what, dood? Dat's sick!"
"What ams synogergies?"
"Nathan, you're in charge of the songwriting, how are things going with the new project?"
"For the last time," growled Nathan "PUPPETS ARE NOT METAL!"
"Sygnergoggles!" squeaked the cheery Nahan puppet. The assembled, with the notable exception of Nathan Explosion, rocked with laughter.
Nathan lay sprawled on his back upon a couch in Mordhaus's living room, a thin line of spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth, as he was too unmotivated to close his mouth to stop it. If he was not pleased to see Dethklok's manager show up beside him, which was likely, he also was too lethargic to show it.
"So, Nathan," said Ofdensen, "I, uh, just wanted to check your progress on writing a new, uh, FAMILY FRIENDLY song for the, uh, Dick Knubbler Presents Dethklok on Ice Featuring Dick Knubbler and the Knubblerettes Project."
"CAN'T YOU SEE I'M DOING SUDOKU?" Nathan roared.
"Yes, but, uh, the event happens next week, and, uh, Dick Knubbler is coming here tonight, on parole from his very EXCLUSIVE celebrity rehabilitation facility for the, uh, recording session.”
"Yes I'm all prepared why don't you GET OFF MY BACK AND STOP BOTHERING ME?" Nathan whined.
"Well, I did my job," the manager huffed, toying with his bloody crochet hook as he left for parts unknown.
“Dudes,” Nathan asked his equally lethargic band mates when the bothersome dude in the suit was safely out of earshot, “do any of you guys know what the fuck ‘family friendly’ means?”
There was a puzzled silence.
Finally Murderface spoke up. “Um, no titsth?”
“DAMN!” growled Nathan. Desperately, Nathan cast around the room for something that would help, without the unwanted baggage of actually having to sit upright on the couch. "Pickles, dude, are you reading something interesting and what is it?
"Dood, dis is a book of Necronomical spells from da 12th century."
"Cool. Is it FAMILY FRIENDLY?" The phrase took on a certain element of menace when voiced by Dethklok's lead singer.
"Uhhhhh..." Pickles rifled through the pages of the dusty tome. "I don't see no tits, if dat's whatcher talkin' aboot."
"Awesome," said Nathan. "Gimme!" For he was already on his feet, grabbing the spell book from Pickles' grasp.
"Hey, dood, dat's MY book of Necronomical spells!" protested the drummer.
"I just wanna copy some family friendly lyrics," Nathan replied. He had already pulled out a notebook and was scrawling on it with a ball point pen. "Let's see, 'I call the spirit of Daedalus....'"
"DOOD! Be careful! Dat's powerful magic!"
"Pickles, don't interfere with ARTISTIC CREATION!" Nathan growled.
"You're not creating, you're just copying from my book!"
"Haven't you heard of sampling?"
"You're not sampling! Dey'll sue us?"
"Who will sue us?"
"Da Necronomical doods!"
"Copying Necronomical spells definitely falls under FAIR USE GUIDELINES. Don't you know your INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY LAW?" Nathan finished his scribbling and handed the book back to his band mate.
"I dunno," Pickles said. "I gotta bad feeling about dis, dood."
Dick Knubbler was characteristically resplendent in his white Nehru suit and matching ankle monitor. He sat in the control room of Dethklok's state of the art recording studio, his mechanical eyes starting to flash from friendly green to a warning red.
"Uh, Toki, yeah?" he spoke into the intercom at the band's rhythm guitarist, who smiled cheerfully from behind the soundproof glass and waved a precious little Nathan puppet at Knubbler.
"Toki, do you think you could, yeah, maybe try that guitar part one more time without wearing the puppet on your hand?"
"It ams not makes a damn bit of difference in his playings," Skwisgaar snorted from behind Knubbler, as he stuffed his face with cucumber sandwiches.
"I ams Nat'ans Explosions," Toki chirped through the puppet.
"Dude, dat's just getting creepy," Pickles commented between swigs of sherry.
"Uh, Nathan, yeah?" the white-clad producer inquired. "I wonder if maybe we should try recording your vocal track instead, yeah?"
"CAN'T YOU SEE I'M EATING CUCUMBER SANDWICHES?" Dethklok's leader sputtered through a spray of mayonnaise-soaked bread crumbs.
Murderface peered up from where he was carving something that looked very much like "WM + DK" in the tabletop with a large hunting knife. "I could lay down some bassth tracksth," he put in hopefully.
"Murderface, baby, you know we'll have something for you to do on this project, yeah, but not right now."
"We need someone to cut the crusts off these sandwiches!" Nathan fumed, regarding the sandwich platter.
"Yeah, ams we supposed to do everything ourselves," Skwisgaar fretted.
"And we're almotht out of therry," Murderface moped, turning over one of the many empty bottles to produce a sad few drops. Pickles, currently sucking a mouthful of sherry straight from a somewhat more full bottle, looked up, but his expression bore not a trace of guilt.
It took another hour or so of tantrums and sandwich orders, but eventually, Knubbler managed to persuade Nathan to take a break from berating the kitchen staff for long enough to record a vocal track. Nathan squinted through his reading glasses to decipher the lyrics he had cribbed from Pickles' book of black magic. He listened to the click track through the headphones, and began to let loose with his vocal.
And then, quite suddenly, everything went black.
"Dude, Nat'an is trapped in a labyrint’.” For once, Pickles was almost as upset as he was intoxicated.
“Nathan is, uh, trapped in a labyrinth?” Sitting at his customary seat at the head of the table in the band meeting room, Ofdensen rubbed his eyes, his characteristic expression of annoyance mixed with sleepiness. He was wearing an anonymous grey bathrobe instead of his usual anonymous grey business suit, as he had been roused at 3 am in order to deal with some kind of crisis. Though, so far, his inquiries as to the exact nature of the emergency had prompted only rather incoherent rambling. Which was, admittedly, pretty much par for the course when one was dealing with Dethklok.
“We have to get him out, yeah!” insisted Dick Knubbler, sitting in Nathan's usual spot, his robot eyes throbbing red. “He needs to finish his family friendly track for Dick Knubbler Presents Dethklok on Ice Featuring Dick Knubbler and the Knubblerettes! Yeah!”
“You need to get him out, uh, right now?”
“Ja, we ams getting him outs of da labyrinties nows, dudes.”
“Can’t you, uh, substitute, backing tracks, or something?”
There was a silence.
“BACKING TRACKS?” screamed Pickles, in his best Nathan imitation. “DOOD! He’s our lead singer.”
“I mean maybe you could, uh, think outside the box.”
“Outside da boxes?”
“Dood, you got a box?”
“Wait, what’th insthide the boxth?”
“Ja, why ams you keepings what’s insides the boxes as secrets from us?”
“Hims ams never tells us nothin’!” Toki said, using his tiny and adorable Nathan Explosion puppet to mouth along.
COUNCIL MUSIC COUNCIL MUSIC COUNCIL MUSIC COUNCIL MUSIC
The Council was in session. Evidently, Dethklok now had a labyrinth. They had all just sat for an inspiring lecture by Spifflegroob Grungebottom, an expert on labyrinths. Then Mr. Selatcia, as he always did, counseled patience. The assembled started to shuffle papers and look at their watches.
"Wait a minute!" The voice was that of Lester Grubble, a rather newer member. He had never spoken at the Council before, so the assembled waited expectantly to hear.
"I've been coming to these meetings for three years now, and for THREE YEARS, you've said nothing but, have patience. Well, exactly when are we gonna stop waiting and fucking DO SOMETHING. I mean, if Dethklok is really that dangerous, why don't we just explode a tactical nuke above Mordhaus?"
"I said PATIENCE," Selatcia repeated. He did not look happy.
"And another thing," Grubble continued, "Have we ever even decided what side we're on? I mean, one week we want to destroy them, the next week we're protecting them from THEIR enemies, what gives?"
"I SAID--"
But Grubble was just gathering a head of steam. "And, what's the deal with this background music? Did we pay an orchestra or something?"
Selatcia was now making an "I crush your head" gesture with his thumb and forefinger. Grubble made to continue, but suddenly began to choke. The nearby Council members gasped as a geyser of blood spewed from his mouth. And then he collapsed, face down in a pool of his own blood, on the desk.
There was silence.
"I SAID, PATIENCE," intoned Selatcia.
He looked around. No one moved a muscle.
The edge of Selatcia's mouth moved up, ever so slightly.
COUNCIL MUSIC COUNCIL MUSIC COUNCIL MUSIC COUNCIL MUSIC
Having at long last tired of squabbling, if only temporarily, Ofdensen, Knubbler, and the four non-missing members of Dethtklok had just ventured through Mordhaus' endless miles of corridors to the location of the band's state of the art recording studio, deep within the depths of the Castle.
But, instead of a state of the art recording facility, in its place was a vast, ancient-looking stone wall.
"I don't remember, uh, authorizing any new construction," a furious Ofdensen scolded. "We're supposed to be, uh, tightening our belts."
"We ams tighten da beltses?" Toki's Nathan puppet wondered.
"Are you thaying I'm too fat?" Murderface sighed. "I think you justht want to increath my thelf-loathing."
"DOOD!" Pickles explained, "We didn't build dis! Nat'an conjoored it wit' a Necronomical spell from da 12th century."
"Oh, very well then," Ofdensen replied, much relieved about unauthorized expenditures.
"We've gotta find Nathan, yeah," Knubbler urged. "I need to report to my parole officer at dawn, yeah. Stupid trumped up weapons charge."
"It's gonna be dangerous, doods! Dere's myt'ological beasts an' monsters dere," Pickles warned.
"Ja, dose beasts can't be worse dan Nathans when he don't gots his cockcumber sandwich."
"You, uh, know about MONSTERS inside?"
"Yeah, dood, I looked it up on my Klokipedia app," Pickles explained, holding up his Dethphone."
"Klokipedia?"
"Yeah, dood, our obsessed fans put it together. It's totally informative! Did you wanna know da names, measurements an' astrological signs of da last 324 girls Skwisgaar has done it wit'?"
"I ams not even remembers dat informations!" Skwisgaar averred proudly.
"Do dey have dat informations for Toki?" the rhythm guitarist put in, suddenly forgetting about his Nathan puppet.
"Nope. Sorry, dood. Dey have your last 22 craftin' projects, though." The rhythm guitarist nevertheless looked hurt.
"Come with me, boys, yeah!" It was Knubbler, now standing at the entrance of the labyrinth. He was waving a spear to emphasize his point, having just grabbed one that was lying around on the floor (this being Mordhaus, such thing were not out of the ordinary to find lying around inside a state of the art receding studio). "Monsters and mythical beasts are no match for Dick Knubbler, yeah!" And so saying, he ran off headlong into the maze.
William Murderface immediately grabbed a mace (which was also just lying there, because, as we mentioned, this was Dethklok's residence) and with a cry of, "Fuck you, mythical beasthts!" followed Knubbler. The remaining members of the band also grabbed various items of mayhem, except Skwisgaar, who stuck to his trusty Gibson, and entered as well. With a heavy sigh, Ofdensen pulled his robe closer around his neck, hefted a nearby battle axe (that was, you know, also lying around) over his shoulder and padded along behind.
The Dethklok manager rounded the first bend of the maze and found himself nearly running into Pickles, who had stopped short to once again scrutinize his Dethphone's handy Klokipedia app. The rest of the band was regarding with some interest an enormous three-headed dog, currently blocking the way. One of the dog's less friendly looking heads also seemed to want to make Dehklok's producer into a Nahru-clad chew toy. The defiant Knubbler, backed against the stone wall, was somewhat ineffectively poking at the giant mongrel with his spear. "Get away dog, yeah! Don't you know this is a $3000 suit!"
The beast looked quite close to snapping a Grammy-winner in two when it was distracted by a small object tossed its way. The head that had been menacing Knubbler eagerly snapped up the carpet slipper, and then, like any dog worth its salt, began to contentedly chew it to pieces.
Ofdensen was already removing his other slipper, which he swiftly batted over to the large Hell beast's other heads. The two immediately began fighting over the prize.
"Don't you have a third thlipper?" worried Murderface.
"Why would I have a third slipper, William?"
"Becauth there'th three of them, man!" Murderface reasoned.
"Ja, dat ams not t'inking aheads," mulled Skwisgaar, strumming his Gibson in a sarcastic minor key.
"Doods, dis is clearly a Cerberus!" Pickles explained
"A Skarborousk? What ams dat?"
"A hound dat guards da gates of Hell."
There were several exclamations of, "Cool!"
"How ams we gets around dems? What ams your Kockapedia says, Pickle?"
"Dood, I don't know, da WiFi reception in here totally sucks!"
"Ja, Nathans need to plan for internets receptions next time he ams trapped."
"A thellfish bathtard, he is."
"We need to kill the bastard, yeah," Knubbler insisted.
"We kills Nat'ans? Den how ams we finish da track?"
"No, the dog thing, yeah."
"Dood, you t'ink da dog could sing?"
"Ah, dat ams t'inking outside da boxes."
"No, we KILL THE DOG, yeah. He drooled on my $3000 Gucci!"
"That'th not a reathon to fire him asth lead thinger."
"NOOOOOooOooOoooOOO!" squealed Toki through his felt Nathan, in really not a bad Nathan Explosion imitation, albeit two octaves too high. "You ams not kill Lars!" Toki threw himself and the puppet in front of giant Hell hound in a protective manner.
"Lars? Aw, Toki, dood, you didn't name him already did you?"
Ofdensen rubbed his eyes, thinking only of bed. "OK, uh, guys, do we have anything we could use to SUBDUE the Cerberus?"
"He ams Lars the Hell Hound!"
"...To subdue Lars the Hell Hound."
"I custhtomarily carry a theventy foot chain," bragged Murderface.
"I ams brought cockumber sandwiches!" said Toki, proudly holding up a sack.
"Wait, dudes, I have an idea!" Pickles suddenly produced a rather large baggie of some unidentifiable powder.
"Dude, maybe dis ams not a good time for dat."
"No, dood, not me, we sprinkle some of my finest on one of Toki's sandwiches and feed it to Lars."
"Yeth, but how will you get Larth to eat the thandwich?" asked Murderface. Suddenly, he realized that five pairs of eyes were staring intently at him.
A minute or two later, William Murderface was cautiously approaching Lars the Hell Hound, one arm extended holding out a drug laced cucumber sandwich. Lars sniffed, but the giant dog seemed reluctant to turn his attentions from the remains of Ofdensen's slippers.
"Dood, you gotta get closer," Pickles called helpfully from a safe distance.
"What if he thnaps off my hand along with the thandwich?" Murderface wondered.
"Dat's OK, dood, you only need one hand to play bass, right?"
"You need TWO handth to play bath!"
"Hahaha, not da way YOU plays it," Skwisgaar advised, striking an especially catty chord on his guitar.
Murderface closed his eyes and made one last jab of the sandwich towards Lars. The nearest head suddenly lurched for the sandwich, and consumed it in one giant gulp, though miraculously, leaving all of Murderface's bass-playing limbs pretty much intact.
The giant hound contentedly licked his chops. Then, suddenly, his eyes wandered off into two different directions, and all three heads began simultaneously to foam at the mouths. Lars then lolled to the side, and collapsed, nearly crushing Murderface as it fell. One head stared disjointedly at Murderface, upside down, and then one huge back leg started to twitch. Its tail beat rhythmically on the stone floor.
"DOOD!" called Pickles, "I t'ink he wants ya to scratch his tummy!"
They soon had Murderface's spare 70 feet of chain fastened around one of the inebriated Lars' tree trunk-like necks.
"Is he ams find Nathans now?" Skwisgaar asked. "I ams missing my favorites telenovela on da TV."
"Dood! I dunno if Hell hounds is bloodhounds too," Pickles said. He was feeling a bit tentative at the moment, as he had somehow gotten assigned to the job of grasping Lars' giant chain leash. "Do we got anyt'ing of Nat'an's for da scent?"
"We ams got Nat'an!" Toki sang cheerfully, wielding his little cloth Nathan.
"Oh, Toki, I don't t'ink..." Pickles started, but Toki was already presenting the little puppet to a nearby Lars head.
"Here Lars, you ams find big Nathans?" Lars appeared to actually focus his bloodshot eyes for a second. He took an experimental sniff, and then expertly snatched the tiny puppet off of Toki's hand, snarfing it up whole.
"Not my little Nathans omygodohmygodohmygod..." Toki wailed, but suddenly, all three of the massive mastiff's heads shot up, nearly knocking over Pickles and Toki in the process. Then the dog was on his feet, running headlong into the maze, half-dragging Pickles along with him. Toki ran behind, continuing his cries for his lost craft project.
They scrambled along what seemed like miles of corridors, including uncountable twists and turns, Pickles struggling both for breath and to keep his footing, and Toki still muttering about his Nathan puppet, when suddenly, they rounded a corner, and there he stood, Dethklok's lead singer, in a not particularly happy mood.
"What took you so long," stormed Nathan. "THERE'S NO WIFI RECEPTION HERE!" he added, holding up his Dethphone in an accusatory manner.
He was answered by a tremendous, drooly lick from the Cerberus' friendliest and most stoned head.
"What the fuck is this?" Nathan demanded, trying to shake off a gallon of saliva.
"Dat ams Lars!" Toki explained.
"He's a Hell hound, dood!" puffed Pickles, desperately trying to catch his breath after his first exercise in several decades. "And he's, uh, kinda shit faced."
"We have a Hell hound? THAT'S AWESOME!" One of Lars' other heads was approaching Nathan, tongue poised, when Nathan growled, "SIT THE FUCK DOWN, LARS." The dog immediately obeyed.
"Oh, so dat's how you do dat," Pickles gasped, steadying himself on a stone wall.
"So," asked Nathan, "WHICH WAY OUT????"
Toki and Pickles exchanged a confused look.
Ofdensen was even more annoyed than usual. He was sleepy, and the stone floor was getting cold on his bare feet, but what's worse, he had just worked out in his head the approximate cost of rebuilding Dethklok's stare of the art recording studio that Nathan had magicked away, minus, of course, any normal depreciation value. It was a rather hefty sum.
And then, of course, there was Dick Knubbler. They had gotten separated from the others when Lars ran off with Toki. But instead of trying to find a sensible path through the vast labyrinth's stone corridors, the producer seemed more bent on charging off headlong while raving about his many foes, real and imagined.
And now Knubbler was signaling for him to stop. By waving his handgun. Which seemed a tad dramatic.
"You have, uh, a handgun?"
"Are you asking about those weapons charges? Yeah, because, they were all trumped up by my enemies! I have many enemies in this business, yeah."
"No, uh, just wondering why you bothered with the, uh, SPEAR?"
But the incensed record producer didn't answer. Instead, he pointed ahead, around the next twist in the maze. You could see the shadow of something moving: a human figure with an incredible, eye-catching hairdo. Her hair (as the figure appeared to be female) looked to be puffed and teased up a good three sizes bigger than her head. In fact, if you looked closely at the silhouette, the hair actually seemed to be moving: writhing in a most serpentine, but utterly un-hair-like fashion.
"Do you see that shadow, baby, yeah?" Knubbler whispered in a most conspiratorial fashion.
"Uh, yes."
"It can be only one thing!"
"Uh, what would that be?"
"My ex-wife!"
"Your ex-wife?"
"I'd know that hair anywhere, yeah!"
"Your ex-wife is in the, uh, labyrinth that Nathan summoned using a 12th century black magic spell?"
"That's definitely Edwina, yeah. She never forgave me for firing her from the Knubblerettes! And, locking her in our basement recording studio for 20 years. They said I was mad. MAD! Yeah."
Ofdensen didn't offer an opinion as he was currently scrutinizing the Klokipedia app on his Dethphone for the chant Nathan had plagiarized. Unfortunately, WiFi reception in that part of huge maze was balls, so the page was taking an agonizing amount of time to load.
"There's only one way!" Knubbler insisted. "Come on! We'll both rush her!
"I don't know if I would, uh, do that."
Knubbler was already on the move, "You're going down, Eddie, you bitch! Y-". Unfortunately, his final "yeah" was strangled off as the producer abruptly screeched to a halt, mid-stride.
Ofdensen peered up from his Dethphone. He cautiously approached the producer and gave him quick rap with his knuckles. Rock solid. Knubbler had been completely turned to stone. A fine white alabaster, actually. It was really quite impressive. Dethklok's manager regarded his Klokipedia app one more time. Setting down his battle axe for the moment, he pulled the handgun from Knubbler's stony white grasp. Then, facing his back to the mysterious shadow, he removed his own eyeglasses, and held them up, squinting into the reflection as he aimed Knubbler's gun over his shoulder. And then, he waited.
Toki, Pickles, Nathan and their new friend, Lars, had decided the wisest course of action was to strike out into the maze in search of an exit, or, failing that, improved WiFi reception.
They heard a grunting around one of the bends.
"Hey, Murderface, dood!" Pickles said excitedly, rounding the bend.
It was definitely not William Murderface. Even during his worst water-retention days, the Dethklok bassist was not nearly that big. In fact, the beast less resembled a death metal musician than a very large, very angry bull.
Nathan, who had just rounded the corner, turned to their Hell hound companion and thundered, "SIC 'EM, LARS!"
Unfortunately for their short term survival prospects, the giant hound merely whimpered in fright, and then attempted to hide its entire enormous body behind Dethklok's leader.
"Fucking cowardly stoner dog," growled Nathan.
The bull geared up to charge them.
"Dood! I don't wanna die now! I'm almost sobered up!" wailed Pickles.
"Eh, at least I've got three bars now," said Nathan, madly thumbing his Dethphone.
The bull monster charged. And, just as suddenly, lurched to a halt. It was surprising enough that Nathan actually looked up from his text messages for a moment. The bull didn't just stop, but in fact appeared to be frozen in mid stride.
Ofdensen, who had been standing behind them, tossed the beachball-sized object he'd been holding up over to Lars, who promptly swallowed it whole. Then he hefted his now bloody battle axe over his shoulder. "So, you guys have, uh, found Nathan?"
"Yeah, dood," said Pickles, who was slowly un-cringing. "But we forgot to remember da way outta here!"
There came a roar very much like that from an ancient V8 engine. All assembled turned again to see William Murderface drive up behind the wheel of his beloved Lincoln Continental stretch limousine. Skwisgaar was riding shotgun beside him, holding something that, for once, was not his prized Gibson in his hands.
"Can we be of asthithtance, gentlemen," lisped the bassist.
"You guys, uh, drove a Lincoln Continental through Mordhaus," worried Ofdensen, thinking of the cleaning bills for removing tire tracks from the corridors.
"We need to get to a place with FASTER INTERNET," wailed Nathan.
"Doods! Do you know da way outta here?"
"Ja, I ams play out guitar string to show us da ways back," bragged Skwisgaar, displaying the string in his hands.
"Dude, that is one long ass guitar string," marveled Nathan.
"Ja, Dunlop ams making the best equipments," grinned the Swede, always canny of a product placement opportunity.
"What'th that thing?" Murderface wondered, pointing to the frozen bull, which had somehow been completely forgotten in the space of a commercial break. The boys ventured over to check. Nathan kicked the monster with his foot. Somehow, it had been transformed into a fine black marble.
"Dood, it's totally stoned," laughed Pickles.
"Ja dat ams happens sometimes," mused Skwisgaar, still clutching his precious guitar string. "T'ings ams turned to stones."
"This is awesome! This is totally going in the living room," Nathan averred.
"No way!" protested Murderface.
“WHY NOT?”
"Becauth it will ruin the feng sthui!"
"Ams we gonna gets Knubblers and finish da track now?" Skwisgaar wondered, now attempting to finger a chord on his outrageously long guitar string.
"I am afraid there is an, um, ISSUE with Dick Knubbler," Ofdensen confessed. The band stared at him. At length, they retraced his steps to where he'd left the fossilized record producer.
Nathan was the first to hop out of Murderface's Lincoln to marvel at the alabaster Knubbler. "OK," he reasoned, "THIS ONE IS TOTALLY GOING IN THE LIVING ROOM!"
"Maybe we need to add a sthculpture garden to Mordhaus," mused Murderface, always mindful of interior decoration options. "Or maybe it could go in my room."
"Your room?" stormed Nathan. "Why would you want DICK KNUBBLER IN YOUR ROOM?"
"Uh, no reathon."
"Doods, how are we gonna finish da track wit'out Knubbler? He's da producer."
"I ams liking him betters dis way, ja," Skwisgaar mused.
"Bads Lars, dat ams not da chew toys," Toki scolded, as Knubbler got considerably more doggie drool on his $3000 suit.
"Do you guys, uh, really REQUIRE a producer to finish the track?" ventured Ofdensen, a bit callously using Knubbler's head to strike a match for his cigar.
"Nah, probably not," confessed Pickles.
"WE NEED CUCUMBER SANDWICHES WITH THE FUCKING CRUSTS CUT OFF!" explained Nathan.
"Won't we ams having da same problems when Nathan recites da spells?" Toki asked, fending off a bath from Lars.
"Nathan, did you simply copy a Necronomical spell from the Twelfth Century instead of writing, uh, ORIGINAL LYRICS?"
"I WAS SAMPLING!"
"That's not, uh, sampling, Nathan," Ofdensen explained, between puffs, "That's plagiarism."
"WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE LAW?"
"I'm a lawyer."
"APART FROM THAT I MEAN!"
"Guys, is there ANY WAY we can finish the track for Dick Knubbler Presents Dethklok on Ice Featuring Dick Knubbler and the Knubblerettes Project before dawn?"
"Actually" said Nathan, "I've written NEW LYRICS!"
"You've written new lyrics?"
"I wrote them while I was trapped with NO CELL PHONE RECEPTION. The new lyrics are MORE FAMILY FRIENDLY! 'Trapped in a labyrinth/Waiting for death/'Til your eyes fill with maggots/And worms eat your brains/The cruel gods/Demand a sacrifice/Of blood...' See? THERE IS NO MENTION OF TITS!"
"Uh, very well, but what about a studio?"
"Dat's no problem, dood," said Pickles, "I got da Pro Tools app on my Dethphone."
Dethklok's Tuesday band meeting featured two new participants: the alabaster figure of Dick Knubbler, and Lars the Hell hound, who was cheerily using one head to lick its own balls while another devotedly watched Toki, who was madly stabbing something with a needle.
"Should that, uh, Hell hound be inside?" Ofdensen inquired, busily stuffing a pair bloody knitting needles into his jacket pocket.
"Ja, Lars ams been eatin' da yard wolves," Skwisgaar volunteered. "Hims ams naughty doggie."
"Are you a bad Hell puppy?" inquired Nathan, scratching a nearby chin. "Yes you are a bad Hell puppy!"
"So, unfortunately, the Dick Knubbler Presents Dethklok on Ice Featuring Dick Knubbler and the Knubblerettes Project has been temporarily put on hold, due to, uh, a LAWSUIT by one of the ex-Knubblerettes, as well as, uh, Dick Knubbler's, uh, current INCAPACITATION."
"He ith incapathitated?" Murderface wondered. "And here I thusthpected he didn't have all hit partsth."
"I ams incastrasitated, ja!" Toki blurbled, waving his brand new Dick Knubbler felt puppet, expertly keeping it away from Lars' playful bites.
"Toki, PUPPETRY IS NOT BRUTAL." Nathan scolded.
Pickles looked up from his Heavy Metal Drummer News and Gazetteer magazine. "Doods, if we can't use dat new track for da Dick Knubbler Presents Dethklok on Ice Featuring Dick Knubbler and the Knubblerettes Project, how will we use it?"
"Can't it go on your, uh, NEXT ALBUM? Which you've all been working on?"
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“So, uh, I guess we should move on to our NEXT PROJECT. This is, uh, very EXCITING. Dethklok has been invited to appear on Safflower Street.”
“Thafflower Sthtreet? It thounds thtupid.”
“Well, William, it is a very famous program starring the much beloved MOPPETS.”
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE MOPPETS?”
“Nathan, Moppets are, um,” Ofdensen chose his words carefully. “They are, uh, SOULLESS BEINGS, woven from, um, DEAD PLANTS, and they are, uh, used by MYSTERIOUS HIDDEN operators to TERRIFY small children.”
“Oh. That sounds pretty cool actually.” Suddenly, Nathan cringed. “Oh god, Lars, what have you been EATING?” But the Hell hound had already turned his attentions elsewhere.
“Lars, I ams told you, Dick Knubbers ams not da chew toy,” Toki scolded. But, his warning came too late. There was suddenly a sickening crunching sound, and everybody shielded their eyes in horror.
“Um, does thomebody have thome thuperglue?”
