"I just called some guys," Jake told his assistant managers. "They'll be along to provide some music in a minute."
Elsewhere in the bar, our hero had slipped away from the very inebriated Otto and Wulf and was perusing the crowd, searching for any prospects.
"But seriously," a nasal, whiny voice came from his right, "who reads G'nort, anyway? Nobody. Obscure waste of paper."
"Not quite the 'obscure waste of paper' Vext is, but that is a tough act to follow," another voice chimed in from his left. BHAGHHH-RUPTH turned to see two acne-plagued, twentysomething guys, one short and rotund, one tall and wiry. The tall one continued. "Obscure comics aren't that bad. Look where Sandman started!"
"I don't care," the first one said. "Gaiman is God. G'nort, on the other hand, is crap."
"Shut up, Ferris," the thin fanboy said.
"After you, J-Man," the heavier one replied.
BHAGHHH-RUPTH was in hell. Scratch that - hell had nicer upholstery, and the fanboys were locked away in rooms and forced to watch Action Comics #1 repeatedly burned before their very eyes. He had to get out of here.
Just then, the doors opened, and Grimm the Avatar of Death pushed a piano into the room. He was followed by Priest, who was carrying an upright bass, and Michael Ringo, who was wheeling in a disassembled drum set.
BHAGHHH-RUPTH shook his head. "I never did finish State of Mind..."
