Rock and Roll

[Silly Putty Clock]

There was a god. He was strong and brave and proud, and he was all energy. And man, was he ever angry. He'd break the world if he had the chance. You see, it was the bluesmen who got him started. They poured in all their pain, all their frustration, and they planted a seed. By the time the 50s rolled around, the seed had grown into a god. He looked out at the world around him, and was he ever pissed at what he saw. It would not do.

Those first channelers, they didn't know what hit them. This god did amazing things. They were more alive with him than they'd ever been in their lives. Man, he made cripples stand up. He made one-lunged men sing with their guitars. He was like an animal, and when you saw those men you could see that whatever power moved them, their bodies were barely enough to contain it. There was anger, but once the god got a-rollin', he found that there was also great joy to be had. He loved it. He let down his guard. And that's when the Colonel struck.

You see, the god had a top boy. He'd made him the king of his followers. Well, the Colonel was a crafty bastard. He caught up with the King and made friends with him. Then when he least expected it, he bound the King with a spell. And just like that, the King was a slave for a decade. Of course, all the god's followers were shocked at this. They didn't know what to do. They forgot how to have fun, and a lot of them turned to the god's older brother. Then came four dudes who remembered.

I speak, of course, of the Ramone brothers. They remembered that god, and they still loved him. It was hard at first, but they got it all rolling again. This time, there was not to be a king. This time, the god would not be caught off guard. There was a lot of rage in those days. Flags of black were raised. Flags of war. It was all coming down to a showdown. The god vs. the machine. His nemesis, holder of the Colonel's leash.

They sized each other up, crossed the city. The god knew this was what he'd lived for, his entire life. Fist struck metal as two leviathans and their armies fought in the concrete and filth. This was what he'd been created for. The bluesmen would not be disappointed. Could not. Could never.

He lost that fight in seconds. And he was replaced with an imposter. Still, sometimes you hear the rasp of a shout or the sawblade distortion of an electric guitar, and you wonder. Maybe he's just in a coma. Maybe he's still got followers.