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Bond here, Jack Bond, no relation to that James character. My
last assignment really got to me. Not like an emotionally touching movie, or
a beautiful song. More like a ravenous flesh eating virus that envelops your
entire body slowly, leaving you a decaying, crippled, barely alive, biological
catastrophe movie gone wrong. I don’t happen to think that paramecium
have any sort of complex sense, such as sight or smell, but if one had been
given the assignment I just had, there is not a doubt in my mind it would have
committed single-celled organism mass-homicide. Teenage girls however, would
have flocked to the chance to do this kind of thing, which most psychiatric
professionals would consider psychological suicide. Yes my friends, to confirm
the dread that is sweeping over you right now as the blood rushes from you upper
body, I will reveal the dreadful task I had been given. My mission was to guard
the hormonally imbalanced walking Clearisil ads known as The Backhalf Boys.
If you are unfamiliar with their work, you are obviously an extraterrestrial
life form and better off for it. These talent-challenged teenage boys are part
of the evil in the world, today most popularly referred to as “boy bands”.
The premise of these boy bands is to get three or more young males together,
based solely on looks, teach them to sing, buy someone else’s bad songs,
hire a choreographer who knows four dance moves, and then sell albums by putting
steamy photos of the boys in the CD pamphlets. If done successfully, teenage
girls will flock to buy merchandise which has anything remotely to do with the
band, and you can have a least one hundred Internet sites chock full of pictures
of the boys in a week. While the majority of the universe seems to be sane enough
to resist the lure of such a wonderful corporate set-up, it is the teenage girls
who fall victim to it’s trap in hoards.
Please bear with me as I tell you the tale of this mission. However, I do warn
you that this story should not be read to any small children, and you may want
to keep a garbage bin handy.
The only reason I had to guard The Backhalf Boys in the first place was because
they were on tour and they happened to be coming through our town. I first met
them at the airport as they flew in. I was patiently waiting for them on the
concourse with a sign in my hand which read “The Backhalf Boys”.
That is until a couple of girls ran screaming at me, grabbed the sign, and ran
off again. No doubt to kiss it all over, and add it to their shrine. I did not
know what the band members looked like at the time, as I am clearly not a fan,
so I was going to have a little trouble finding them. Luckily for me, finding
them was a bit like following ants to a picnic. I just looked for the biggest
mass of impressionable young ladies I could and followed until they ultimately
led me to the most insane thing imaginable. There was an enormous circle of
girls who were all screaming and jumping around the band. The whole thing reminded
me of a pool of salmon in a fish hatchery or sharks in a feeding frenzy. In
fact, it was most like a frenzy. The girls had shut off all brain functions
for the time being and were being completely driven by pure raging hormones.
When I finally managed to extract the band members by helicopter and we had
beaten the clingers off of the skids we headed to the hotel where the band was
staying. Not before releasing a public statement that the band was staying across
town. This way, we had distracted the mob and could rest in relative peace for
the time being.
Now most people are under the impression that these kind of “music artists”
are treated royally. I have found this to be somewhat true. The Backhalf Boys
were treated to an entire floor of an underground parking lot to stay in. While
this environment may seem rather mundane, it was necessary to fit all the band
members, their roadies, their producers, their managers, their directors, their
choreographers, their make-up artists, film crews, reporters, and a few fans
who are apparently immune to pepper spray and physical pain. If it weren’t
for these “behind the scenes” people, I’m sure the boys would
have a deluxe penthouse suite.
At this point my assignment was making me rather sick. I took some time to use
an oxygen mask and slowly count backwards from ten, while The Backhalf Boys
warmed up and went over the different combinations of their four dance moves
with the choreographer. I tried to keep my mind on my actual assignment, to
protect the boys. However, it’s difficult to protect people from being
killed when you are considering doing it. So, I thought up a plan, and called
up my team.
The night of the concert my team and I stood at the entrance. We had decided
we should arrest any male, and anyone over eighteen. We had come to this conclusion
through some very basic reasoning; anyone other than teenage girls, trying to
get into a Backhalf Boys concert, is looking to kill someone or will thank us
for arresting them. As the crowd filtered through the door we grabbed anyone
who fit our suspect match.
Carter spotted for us, “Dudette... Dudette... Dudette... Dude... Dudette...
Dudette... Dude...Dudette... Dudette... Dudette... Dude... etc.”
When everyone had gone through the door we left anything that could possibly
be used as a weapon outside and went into the concert. We had to make sure the
band members were safe, but we did not have to watch when they made corny dance
moves or did the 180º point and pan.
The Backhalf Boys got out fine (unfortunately), and moved on to plague another
town. I went home and took several cold showers. I have hope that someday I
will recover most of the mental security I once had.
CASE CLOSED