Hi Ol, the drummer and I have a new album ready to record, we need money for the studio.
The drummer and you? What happened to the other two?
Nothing happened. They just don’t count. The one’s a drunk, the other’s an idiot. The drummer and I make the albums, the other two just tag along. So, how soon can you give us the cash?
There’s no cash. I made no money from your last record. I actually lost a lot.
And whose fault is that, you illiterate idiot?
Not mine. The factory spoke the colonialist language of the layman instead of the superior aryan one.
You didn’t add the index numbers, you dumb prat.
As I said, not my fault. There’s no money for another record.
Guess I’ll have to call The Miskatonic Foundation then…
Ok, there might be a way to make back the money I lost on YOUR faulty CDs.
You give me two albums of your previous band to re-release, I make some sweet dough, there might be some for you.
Are you nuts? I don’t own the rights to those.
We’ll ask the label, then.
No, you have to ask the emo kid first. He has to give permission.
I don’t want to deal with the emo kid.
Well, that’s the way it has to be.
Ok, I ask the emo kid.
And what if he says no?
I do it anyway.
He’ll go nuts.
He can cry all night if he wants to.
We won’t hear the end of it.
That mexican woman got him to do worse.
She’s not mexican. And she had a powerful weapon that we don’t.
That grande panocha was really grande.
You may not have a panocha, but you are one.
You are a panocha too.
At least I’m a panocha who loves money.
No one loves money more than I do!
Really? Guess who already contacted the label and got the rights for those two albums…
Seriously? We’re in deep shit.
No shit. You’ll pretend you didn’t know either. Then you’ll handle it publicly, on facebook. Tell him some crap about getting over it and learning from it and focusing on something positive.
He’s a cry baby.
Well, let him cry.
I’m not sure about this.
Well, I lost money on your last album, so I’m doing it anyway. It’s just a case of whether you help me, and then I might help you. Make another album, that is.
Yes. Just don’t announce the CDs until they’re out and he can’t stop it.
Deal. Now tell me, was that brazilian woman’s panocha so powerful?
He used to walk around with her panties in his pocket, to sniff at if he felt lonely, or got a panic attack. The stench would clear any confined space he walked into. He was banned from shopping malls and shops and rode the bus alone, with the bus driver cursing at him. Does that give you an idea?
Oh my. Such potential. Do you think she might be interested in joining my label? As an A&R rep or something prestigious like that?
F off, Oli.
Bye, Kim. Feel free to call back when you want money for the studio, you fat twat. Ha ha.