“Wes! Wes! Wes! WAKE UP!” A familiar voice shouted as Wes rubbed his
“Huh?” Wes yawned, then looked at his watch. 11:30 AM. “Ohh…damn!” He
jumped quickly out of bed and into his bunny suit, and then pulled out a tray
full of face paints.
“Um…Wes?” His wife, Heather looked at him.
“Yeah?” He replied, covering his face with yellow paint.
She raised her eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to like, take a shower or
Wes attempted to stick his head in the sleeve of his suit to smell his
armpit. “Um…no. No time for that. Who’s going to be smelling me anyway?” He
quickly replied, knowing his wife was right, but at the same time, picturing a
very angry, impatient Fred Durst waiting at the arena where they were supposed
to kick off their show, fifteen minutes ago.
Heather shrugged as each of them grabbed a guitar and headed for the car.
Just as Wes began to pull out of the driveway, he jammed on the breaks.
“Now what?” His wife asked. “We’re already really late!”
“Lucy!” Wes cried as he ran in to get his beloved little bunny.
When they finally arrived at the arena, they ran to the door to get
backstage, only to find a huge, ugly guard standing there.
“Who are you?” The guard asked in a deep voice. “Limp Bizkit didn’t
schedule any freaky rabbit clowns at their show.”
Wes trembled. “Um…no, ya see, I’m Wes. The guitarist. They need me to
start the show.” He stammered.
The ugly guard nodded. “You look about as much like Wes Borland as I do.”
Heather began laughing uncontrollably as Wes started to panic. “That’s the
point! It’s kinda like a disguise! Ya know? I’m not supposed to look like
The guard opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Fred,
who had just walked outside. “Shit, Wes! You’re two fucking hours late! Where
the fuck were you?!?”
Wes giggled and looked at the guard. “See? I told ya I was Wes!” He
finished as Fred grabbed his arm and dragged him inside.
“Ya’ll! I fuckin’ found Wes! The guard was giving him shit, and if it
wasn’t for me, the crazy mofo would still be fuckin’ with him!” Fred told the
rest of the band as they exchanged puzzled glances. “Okay, well, anyway, we
need to get the fuck on stage! Wes, I sent your brother out there to stall, but
it ain’t workin’!”
“But, but, Fred!” Wes stuttered. “I need to warm up! I can’t just go out
“Too fuckin’ bad!” Fred replied.
“No! Noo! Damnit! I need to stretch!” Wes said defiantly as he sat on the
floor and tried to touch his toes. “Bend and stretch and reach for the stars!
There goes Jupiter, there goes Mar-HEY!” Wes screamed as Fred grabbed him by
the ankles and dragged him onto the stage while the rest of the band followed.
Wes then found himself sprawled out on-stage without a guitar, in front of about
a million crazed fans. He bit his lip nervously and crossed his legs.
“Hey, ya’ll!” Fred shouted. “It’s Limp Dependence Day!”
The crowd went wild and Wes rolled his eyes. He would rather have been home
spending time with his wife and his bunny.
“Okay, uh, we’d start this thing off, cause this is gonna be the fuckin’ shit,
yo, but Wes doesn’t have his fuckin’ guitar!” Fred scowled.
Everyone in the pit started to boo, and Wes’ face turned bright red. But then,
suddenly, a tall, skinny guy ran out onto the stage, ripping the mic out of
“Uh…hey!” It was Scott, and he was holding Wes’ guitar. “I um…wow…there is a
lot of people here…” He thought aloud. “Yeah! I got Wes’ guitar! So they can
play now!” Scott finished, throwing the microphone back at Fred and running
over to his big brother.
“Thanks Scott…I think.” Wes said.
“Anytime, Wes. Well, I gotta go now, I’m gonna go get like a beer…er
somethin’.” Scott finished, but was stopped by some kid in the crowd who was
yelling at him.
“Hey asshole! Look what you did to Fred!” The fat kid shouted angrily.
Scott and Wes both looked over at Fred, only to find him lying on the ground,
unconscious. Wes looked over to Sam for help, but he was rolling on the stage
“Scott! What the devil did you do to Fred?!?” Wes whispered. He could feel
his palms getting sweaty as he grew more and more nervous.
Scott chuckled. “I threw the mic to him. Guess he can’t catch too well, guess
it hit his head!”
“Do you think he’d dead?” Wes continued to whisper.
Scott raised his eyebrow. “Only if we’re lucky.”
“Um…so I guess we’re not doing the show then, right?” Sam ran over to Wes and
“I guess not.” Wes replied, trying to hide a smile.
“Okay then, I’m outta here. Later!” Sam said, signaling to John and Lee that
it was okay to leave.
“This is like double fudge chocolate chip cookie great!” Wes exclaimed happily.
“Um, right.” Scott said, confused.
“Okay…so…I’m gonna go find Heather and go home, and have like a hot dog or
something.” Wes said, getting up.
“Can I come too?” Scott begged.
“Yeah. Ya know, I’m kinda glad I didn’t have to spend the whole day here.”
“Why?” Scott asked. “What else would you be doing?”