March 14, 2001
Where The Hell Is The DVD? Ch.1
Hi! I'm alive! Sorry for being AWOL for a month there. I was lost in the forest.
Anyway, I'm sure you've all been wondering where this promised Nine Inch Nails DVD is. Well, I don't know, so stop asking me already. However, this lack of a DVD has inspired me to write a touching crappy story, entitled "Where the Hell is the DVD?"
It was a pleasant Monday afternoon in New Orleans, and Trent Reznor was spending the day inside, as usual, writing music for a new Nine Inch Nails song.
"Goddamn," said Trent. "All this writing is making my hand cramp up. I'm going to take a little break."
"I'm gonna go take a dump," Leo Herrera announced, and walked away down the hall.
Trent wheeled in his chair to the nearest computer, and connected to the Internet. He typed a few commands on the keyboard, then waited for a moment, staring at the screen.
"Jesus Christ!" Trent groaned. "Is Meathead fucking dead, or what? It's been, like, a month now!"
Trent scooted away from the computer and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and sighed.
Drrrraggg. Thump. Drrraggg. Thump.
That sound again. Trent knew that sound. He squeezed his eyes shut for several seconds, then opened them again, swiveling around to face the source of the noise.
"Rob!" said Trent. "What are you doing out of your room?"
"Massster", hissed Rob Sheridan.
"What? What is it? Do you need your water bowl refilled?
"Massster, the deee veee deee... it is f-f-finished", Rob muttered.
Trent bolted up from his chair.
"Are you shitting me?" exclaimed Trent. "You'd better not be shitting me! You remember what happened last time!"
Rob extended his hand toward Trent, and revealed a shiny metal disc.
"Well, it's about fucking time!" said Trent. "Gimme!"
Rob started to move toward Trent, but paused, and withdrew his hand slightly.
"What? What's your problem?" asked Trent.
"When do I get.. p-p-paid?"
"Paid?! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!" Trent guffawed. "Get a load of this guy! 'Paid.' HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
At that moment Charlie Clouser strolled into the room, and upon witnessing Trent's boisterous laughter, began to laugh a bit himself.
Rob motioned as if to turn around, when Trent stopped him.
"All right, all right. Tell you what, I'll let you eat the next visitor who stops by. Cool?"
Rob thought to himself briefly, and then passed the as-yet-untitled DVD to Trent's eager hands.
"Hold it right there!" shouted a voice from just outside the room. At that moment, a figure appeared in the doorway.
"Holy shit, it's Sting!" exclaimed Charlie.
"Sting!" said Trent, "What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in here? Can somebody please tell me why in God's name Sting is here in my studio?"
"Visitor!" squealed Rob with glee, and began to drag himself toward the former singer for The Police.
"Not so fast!" said Sting, withdrawing a pistol from his coat pocket. Rob screamed and quickly hobbled back in the opposite direction.
"What do you want?" demanded Trent.
"My associate and I are here to collect your DVD." replied Sting.
"Your associate?" asked Charlie.
"Yes.." Sting answered, then stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "Oh Goddamn it, get in here! You're embarrassing me!"
A few seconds later, Sting's associate lept through the doorway and into the room.
"Anyway, as I was saying," Sting continued, "My associate, Mr. Lesko, and I here for--"
"Did YOU know that the GOVERNMENT is GIVING AWAY THOUSANDS of DOLLARS EVERY YEAR?" shouted Mr. Lesko, jumping briskly into the air as he spoke.
Sting fired his gun into the ceiling, which caused Mr. Lesko to immediately shut up and return to Sting's side.
"Look," said Sting. "We're here for your DVD. Mr. Lesko, go get the DVD from Mr. Reznor."
Sting pointed the pistol at Trent as Mr. Lesko skipped gaily over to retrieve the DVD, then returned to his spot beside Sting.
Sting thought for a moment.
"Actually, let's take Mr. Reznor as well. Mr. Lesko, fetch Mr. Reznor."
"What the fuck?" exclaimed Trent. "Don't touch me, asshole!"
Despite Trent's objections, Mr. Lesko pulled Trent toward Sting, who immediately grabbed Trent in a headlock.
"Why are you doing this?!" cried Charlie.
"Because I'm Sting," Sting replied, casually. "Sting can do any damn thing he wants. Sting needs no reason."
With that, Sting, Mr. Lesko, and Trent were gone.
Leo returned to the room, carrying a rolled-up copy of Penthouse in his hand.
"Hey, where's Trent?" inquired Leo.
"He's gone!" cried Charlie. "Gone! Sting and Matthew Lesko came and took him away! They took the DVD too!"
"They took the DVD?!" exclaimed Leo. "Oh God, no! NO!!"
Leo ran to the telephone and picked up the reciever. No dial tone. Leo hung up and picked up again. Still no dial tone.
"There's no dial tone!" said Leo. "Did Trent forget to pay the damn phone bill again?"
"No, I paid it myself this month," replied Charlie.
"God damn it! Those bastards at Verizon fucked us again! I swear to God I'm going to kill each and every one of those motherfuckers!"
"Yeah," nodded Charlie. "Verizon really is a pretty crappy phone company. Well, who were you trying to call anyway, Leo? The police?"
"No, not the police! The police are in on it! You said yourself that Sting was here, didn't you? No, I was trying to call the only one who can help us. Meathead!"
"Right! Meathead! Well, there's a pay phone about a block from here, I'll go call him from there!"
Charlie quickly ran out the front door and down the block to the pay phone. He dialed 1-800-COLLECT, and said "Charlie Clouser of Nine Inch Nails" when the recording prompted him to.
The phone rang. The phone rang again. Finally, after the sixth ring, the phone picked up. "Hello?"
"Collect call from 'Charlie Clouser of Nine Inch Nails.' Do you accept the charges?"
"Yeah, I guess," said Meathead.
"Meathead! Is that you?" Charlie asked, frantically.
"No, it's Don Rickles," Meathead replied. "Who else would it be? What do you want?"
"Dude, Trent's been kidnapped! Sting and that Matthew Lesko guy just came and took him away!"
"Damn," said Meathead. "That's pretty shitty."
"They stole the DVD too! Rob just finished it and that bastard Sting just fucking swiped it!"
"WHAT? Holy shit! I'm on my way right now!"
Click. Meathead hung up the phone. Charlie hung up as well, and stood in the phone booth for a moment, looking around nervously.
"What a crappy week this is turning out to be," Charlie muttered, and began walking back to the studio.