Your Favorite Band: Amanda Palmer

For this installment of Your Favorite Band, Sarah Renfro from Dark Parker, and formerly from The Loom, imagines what would happen if Amanda Palmer was a bloodthirsty ass-kicker.

“Are you sure we’re safe?”

“I told you, son. The entrances are sealed tight. Besides, we should be far enough inland to avoid any catastrophic damages.”

The map on the wall displayed a blinking white light over an area in the ocean about a mile off the coast. He pushed a button in the middle of the table. A clock began to countdown from 5:00 minutes.

He lowered his head out of respect for those who would soon lose their lives for the greater good of all mankind. Earth’s overpopulation crisis would soon reach a breaking point. Something had to be done, he told himself. There was no stopping it. The plan had been put into motion centuries ago by members of the world’s elite bloodlines. The nuclear bomb that was set to detonate off the coast was invented for this purpose. It was never a primary goal to intimidate our nation’s enemies. Nations were not people therefore they could not, by definition, have enemies. National allegiance was nothing more than a smoke and mirrors game. However, humanity had long reveled in the nature of duality. The Earth has but one sun and one moon. Nevermind the neighboring planets as they were never of any real philosophical use to us.  They were too distant and too complex, as would be the messages of the dead.

Thus, man was pinned to his fate like a butterfly to canvas. It was us versus them. It always had been, and it always would be, except this time they would absorb the most massive blow ever dreamed. They were warned, but no one believed it could be true. Those who did believe were thrown into mental institutions to be silenced and discredited. All the while, the elite profited by selling the public the story of their own demise through movies and popular music.  It would almost be romantic if it weren’t so ironic. 3:48…

“So that’s it, huh? They’re all gonna die?” His son’s Ivy League education left much to be desired. Heir to a fortune he’d never worked for and didn’t deserve, the boy spent his college years participating in far more keg stands than study groups. However, none of that would matter soon. Survival was the only inheritance of value anymore. 2:37…

The screen displayed images from various aboveground cameras near the target. One displayed a gymnasium full of children playing dodgeball. Another showed a mall crowded with vapid, hungry shoppers. The next showed a busy intersection. There were no signs of disorder. The Politician grew nervous. He stood by the illuminated map on the wall. The underwater explosion would cause a massive tsunami to wipe out millions of homes. Cities and towns would be leveled. There was nothing to do but wait. 1:29…

“I want to see it happen. Can we watch it happen?” the boy pleaded eagerly.

“Do you really have no concept of what’s happening?!”  Rage boiled inside his chest.  “We’re murdering millions of people!  The only crime they’ve committed is the crime of existing!”

“You pushed the button…”

“Yes, but at least I know I’m a monster!!”  0:46…

The light changed from red to white. “What’s happening?! Why did it change?! You saw it, didn’t you? What could possibly…?” Could it be that one of them had escaped, knew the coordinates of the base and remotely disabled the bomb?

Something banged against the door.

“What’s that?!”

The door flew open.

“No! No! It can’t be!”

“That’s right, bitches!  It’s Amanda Fucking Palmer!  I’ve come to play the ukulele and kick ass! And I left my uke at home!”

“But I thought you were…”

“Dead? Nice try, assholes!”

The politician’s son jumped from his chair to attack. Amanda sent a hitch kick straight to his nose. He flew backwards in agony and split his head open on the corner of the table in the center of the room. The young man slumped to the floor.

The politician cried out in shock and dove to check for his son’s pulse. Nothing.

“What have you done?! You killed my boy!”

With a cat-like quickness, she whipped out a small coil of piano wire and wrapped it around the politician’s neck.

“You cry like a little bitch. Now it’s time for you to die like a little bitch!”

He kicked the air and clawed at her face. Her grip tightened. Blood dripped down his collar bone. Blood dripped from her palms. His body tensed and twitched. He writhed on the cold tile floor in a growing puddle of his son’s warm blood. His eyes bulged from his face. Amanda grunted and screamed as she tugged with all her might. Finally his body relaxed and his head fell limp in her lap. She ripped strips of fabric from his shirt to bandage her hands and took out her phone.

@neilhimself? Success!!!  Twin Peaks later?”

Previously: Your Favorite Band - Martin Rev