Note: Sick as hell today so I’m reposting an old myspace blog story about how Justin Caesar and I almost saved Aerosmith.

Saturday night. Los Angeles.

The New Order Nation had made it’s move. The oppressive dictatorship had taken over the country and were quickly enforcing their policies on the people. On top of the list: No rocking.

Justin and I rushed down to club X with our machine guns after hearing that Aerosmith was playing a gig. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out NON would want them out of the picture. We get to the club and are swarmed by hundreds of identical NON agents in yellow jumpsuits and rollerblades. With inexplicably limitless ammunition and hundreds of CDs at our disposal, we fight our way into the club.

Aerosmith is on stage, rocking hard in spite of the fact that the club has literally turned into a warzone. We take out all the NON agents, fueled by the knowledge that Aerosmith is the key to winning this war for some reason but it’s too late. Aerosmith has been kidnapped.

With the information from a cleverly hidden tape in Steven Tyler’s dressing room, we travel the world from the jungles of Africa to the Middle East and finally, NON headquarters. This is where the fight really begins. There’s only one problem. Justin’s running low on CDs.

I lay down cover fire as Justin picks up CDs found in broken light fixtures, Orwellian posters featuring NON leader Mistress Helga displaying phrases like “SUBMIT” and “SHUT UP”, trash cans and conveniently placed crates. After killing literally thousands of identical foot soldiers we make our way up to the boardroom. A lone figure that fucking looks exactly like every single goddamn character we’ve come across so far sits behind a desk, waiting. If only by reflex we shoot him down and his desk converts into a giant robot with machine guns and rocket launchers for arms. I fall after about 10 rockets to the face. Like Obi-Wan Kenobi, the disembodied voice of Steven Tyler shrieks “Don’t give up!”.

Knowing that Justin isn’t far behind. I race to the change dispenser and deposit my only 10 dollar bill. Quarters in hand, I run back to the game but it’s too late. The screen only reads “Enter Your Initials”. It’s over. They’ve won. Kiss loud music, video games, Coca-Cola and everything associated with youthful fun goodbye.