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December 2, 1984
Home. Finally home.
Ride the Lightning had been recorded in full and released. The European tour was finally over. So naturally- between all the raw exhaustion, jet lag, and pressure- of course a celebration of some sort was in order.
Kirk was high on LSD when he came up with a crazy, kooky idea for a fun night involving one-piece pajamas made for adults. That man was always thinking up something wildly interesting, it seemed.
“We’re having a fucking party, tonight.” He was grinning like a goof ball into the phone.
It was as if Lars could actually feel Kirk’s unique, crooked teeth scraping against him through the speaker. He repeated in questioning, “Tonight?” Kirk could make out the rumble of Motorhead sounding from his stereo in the background.
“Fucking tonight,” was repeated right back with much confidence. “Just the four of us.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a party.” Lars complained. “That sounds like a fucking business meeting.”
“You two got anything better to do?”
There was silence for only a moment. Kirk could hear Lars inhale on the other line, but he cut him off before the words could even leave his lips.
“The four of us. A slumber party. A boy’s night in. Whatever the fuck you wanna call it.” Kirk spewed with way too much enthusiasm. “Junk food. Booze. Weed. What else?”
“What else ?” Lars repeated.
A fun-filled time, that’s what!
Kirk let loose boyish laughter. “Just have to wait and see!”
“What are you, gay?” Lars cackled. “Gay? High? Delusional? Which one is it?”
“I’m serious, man. It’ll be fun.” Kirk brought a more down to Earth tone to the phone call. “Come on. We all worked fucking hard on this tour.” He kicked back in his chair, propping his legs up. “Don’t you think we deserve a night to just goof off and have some good wholesome fun?”
Good wholesome fun, you say?
Lars wondered what exactly was so wholesome about sitting around and getting fucked up, obliterating their digestive systems with junk food. But he wasn't stupid. He knew Kirk was definitely gonna have something unexpected up his sleeve.
His heart skipped beats with every passing second of awkward silence. His fingers were intertwined with the curl of his phone cord. “It’ll be like we’re boys again.” His tone went flat, with a hint of melancholy his dear brother and band mate could make out almost perfectly.
Kirk was stressed.
"The age of innocence is history, Lars. Everything's changing.”
Ah . So he was feeling nostalgic. Probably anxious about the future, as well. That explained a lot.
"Is that really a bad thing?"
There was a minor pause. "No."
Kirk swallowed back his ever growing anxiety, when all he wanted to do was scream that he was scared. Scared of what the future had in store. This was only the beginning for Metallica.
Still, Lars was puzzled at this conversation. All four of them were still relatively young men. They had plenty of time to fuck around in their lifetimes. He couldn’t help but wonder if Kirk was experiencing some sort of identity crisis.
A quarter-life-crisis? Is that even a thing?
Lars finally spoke. “Alright then. Just be sure to bring lots of booze.”
Kirk instantly grinned again.
That and more, my friend. That and more.
Jackpot.
It was just barely five in the evening as Kirk pulled up to the house.
The good 'ol "Metallica Mansion" , they deemed it. This was where they loved to jam; to hang out and cause mischief all-around.
That's where the magic was made. Four young men with enough energy to light up a whole city street, and a house full of booze and instruments; It was every thrasher’s dream. There was no telling what could happen.
Kirk couldn't help but carry a smile, exiting his car. It was a chilly evening. The perfect weather condition for the surprises he brought with.
"It's open!" He could hear Lars' distinct accent ring in response to his knocking.
He entered their front room with a smile, setting his various plastic bags down on the old beat up sofa cushion. Lars immediately crept over to his side, snooping through the contents.
"Alcohol," was all he muttered, sifting through snacks, candy and comic books; All irrelevant to him. If they were gonna have a night in together, then he wanted shots, for damn sure.
"Here." Kirk emptied the contents of one bag, loaded with alcohol galore. Smirnoff, Jack Daniel's, Jägermeister.
"Oh fuck yes!" Lars pulled out all three of the bottles, hugging them to his chest as if they were a dear child. Two six packs of Coors beer were dug out of another bag. As if they already didn't have enough of that in the house.
Into the room sauntered James, looking a mix of dazed and confused. It was obvious he was still adjusting back to the normal Californian time zone. Being in Europe for so long can really mess with one's internal clockwork.
Kirk was one of the lucky ones. Fortunate enough to surpass jet lag with little effort.
That happy-go-lucky, wah-pedal-pressing asshole.
"How you feeling?" He offered a thoughtful smile to the frontman.
James shrugged. A loose grunt rising from his throat. "Tired."
"You mean drunk?" Lars, laughed and motioned to the usual can of beer held in his hand. That cheeky bastard.
"Yeah. Basically." Normally James would just tell him to fuck off, but he was just too lazy to deal with an arguement, right now.
There was a sigh.
"What the hell is that ?" Lars' voice was animated with inquisitiveness, picking through what Kirk brought as a surprise. He rubbed his fingers against multicolored fleece-like fabric. "A blanket?"
Hell yeah! Were they gonna make blanket forts, or something? That would actually be epic.
"Oh, I'm glad you asked!" A grin spread against Kirk's face. A certain special grin that only made its way to his facial features when things were about to get-
interesting.
Shit. James and Lars both knew that look.
They watched as Kirk pulled out four costumes. These crazy animal one-piece outfits that looked like they were actually meant for kindergarteners. Preschoolers, even.
Double shit.
They exchanged a certain look; A concoction of bewilderment and generalized weariness. Both men were wondering if Kirk had actually lost his fucking mind. The day finally came.
That's it. The LSD finally scrambled his brain to a milkshake consistency. And now, they would have to scour the streets for a new guitarist with a sound mind.
No sane man of twenty-two years would come up with an idea so immature. They just knew they were in for a night of tomfoolery with these laughable outfits.
"You're the dinosaur." He handed the outfits off to their designated recipient. "And you're the lion, James."
Kirk was obviously overjoyed with his purchase of these pajamas. They could just see it plastered across his dumbass face.
"First of all- what the fuck were you thinking?" The frontman's words were laced with confusion. He held the lion-themed onesie out with some hesitation. His eyes scanned the outfit head to toe.
"Were you even thinking?"
Lars asked this in the middle of undressing himself down to his underwear. He was actually willing to put this thing on. It seemed warm enough, and comfortable to lounge around in. Better than a ratty old tee shirt and those ridiculous tennis shorts.
December evenings in the bay area could go one of two ways; unusually cold or unusually warm. There was no in-between.
This whole day had been leaning more toward "too fuckin cold for comfort" - in Lars' words. He took any extra warmth he could get.
"It's not that serious," Kirk admitted. "I bought them as a joke, at first. But then I figured it would be- I don't know- fun to wear them for a night in, I guess." He looked slightly nervous that James was angry. It was clear that Lars wasn't.
But surprisingly, on the contrary. A grin soon spread across James' features.
This was going to be a fascinating evening.
Lars was chortling the entire time James slipped into the massive one-piece. He looked himself over, partially in a self-conscious way.
Lars sneered. "You look like the cowardly lion."
"Yeah? Well you look like a green rectangle." The frontman pulled over the lion face hood, speaking as if it were a competition between the two.
Actually, that idea wasn't half bad.
Who wore the onesie better? Winner gets free beer!
"Don't make me whoop your ass with my tail! It's tiny, but mighty!" The dane whipped the plush tail from his outfit against James' leg. In turn, James did the same to him with the lion tail hanging from his back end.
Amazing. Not even ten minutes of wearing the pajamas, and they were already acting like hyperactive children.
Lars stopped mid-thump, turning to look at his behind. “Hey wait, where the fuck is the butt-flap? There’s no fuckin butt-flap!"
Right. Leave it to Lars to feel cheated over a loose square of removable fabric. That man always had something to complain about.
Kirk laughed. "A kigurumi doesn't have a butt-flap, doofus."
"A what?" James raised an eyebrow in confusion.
"A kigurumi. That's technically what it's called." Kirk's words were informal. He finally took a seat on the couch, lazily crossing his legs.
"I thought it was a onesie"
He shrugged. "Same thing, basically"
Potato, potato.
"You mean to tell me I gotta take the whole damn thing off if I gotta shit?" Lars sounded like a spoiled pre-teen. It was even funnier with the accent. His accent always seemed to thicken with any little irritation.
James grinned from ear to ear. “Want me to carve one for you, Ulrich?" He motioned to grab a random pocket knife from the cluttered end table.
“Hey, I paid good money for these! Don’t ruin them!” Kirk ripped the knife away from the front man. That didn't stop James from tittering with hilarity.
"Sure are testy over these gay lil outfits."
Lars was snooping through the other two outfits. "A unicorn? Is that supposed to be yours?"
Really, it was fitting.
Kirk's features darkened for a split moment. He clicked his tongue in a chuckle. "Actually, I'm the bat"
Oh. Oh no.
That meant-
James let out a holler of boisterous laughter. This was too good to be true. “Oh shit, Cliff is gonna be piiiiissssed .” Those words sounded dead serious, but the look on his face, along with his tone of voice, they roughly translated to: "Get me a fucking camera when Cliff puts this thing on."
Indeed, he was gonna want to remember that moment for a lifetime.
Kirk was admittedly excited about that, as well. While he was close with all three of his fellow bandmates, he'd always felt a little extra closer to Cliff. They enjoyed a lot of the same things and they got along really well, right from the start. They were like two peas in a pod, so to speak.
"Hey where is Cliff, anyway?"
What a dumb question. Everyone knew Cliff was a homebody.
James responded. "Home. He's been sleeping so much since we got back. Jet lag got him bad."
"Well maybe this'll make him feel better.” Kirk knew he might've been walking on eggshells when he decided to call.
As the phone rang, James whistled with awe. "Man, you've got balls ."
You wake Cliff up, you're gonna have a bad time.
The other line finally picked up; An annoyed and groggy-sounding Cliff answered on the opposite end.
"Hey, man. How're you feeling?" Kirk played it cool, gripping the phone with nervousness. His knuckles were damn-near turning white.
A stony chuckle of sarcasm sounded. " Gee , I don't know. I'm trying to take a nap, and I've got assholes like you callin me left and right." He breathed out, "How you think I feel?"
Ah, Cliff. Good 'ol Cliff.
"Right, right. I'm sorry, man, I'm sorry." Kirk repeated his words.
Cliff's voice softened. "It's fine. What's up?" Truthfully, he should have woken up hours ago. He still wasn’t fully unpacked.
"We're having a little-" Kirk paused for a moment.
What the hell did he wanna call this, anyway?
"Shindig." No. Absolutely not. Lars and James were both squawking with laughter behind him, repeating such an uncanny word. "Shindig." It just didn’t sound natural coming from Kirk’s mouth.
"Sleepover, boys night in, kinda thing."
James yelled loud enough for the man to hear. "Yeah, he's got a surprise for ya, Cliff!"
“Boy does he!” Lars peppered in. Of course he did .
Cliff just knew he was shooting himself in the foot by agreeing. A small groan was made out through the phone. "I'm guessing you want me over?" His voice rang with apathy.
The redhead wasn’t exactly looking for a party. “Look, we’re finally finished touring, you guys know how homesick I was. I really just wanna relax. Take it easy.”
Kirk was lying through his teeth. “That’s what we’re doing, man! Come on over and take a nap here, we don’t care!”
Oh right , like Cliff would much rather crash anywhere but the nice warm bed he’d been missing for months. Go figure.
After much hesitance, Cliff tiredly sighed into the phone. He’d probably never hear the end of this minor inconvenience, if he decided to skip. Especially from Lars. That hot-headed dane would often dig under his skin by running his mouth too much.
“Alright, fine.”
He just hoped he wasn’t gonna regret this. Boy, was he gonna be surprised.
Kirk grinned from ear to ear like a mad man. “Cool, we’ll see you in a bit!” He rolled his eyes at the sight of Lars. He opened a foil bag of chips so forcefully, it sent some flying to the floor. “Nice going, asshole.” James grumbled.
It was no wonder their house could be such a pigsty.
Lars yelled from nearby. “Bring weed!” His mouth was already cram packed with potato chips.
“And lots of it! We’re gonna need it!” James followed his remark with beer-induced belch. Oh, funny coming from him. He didn’t even like weed.
Cliff heard this and said not another word. He set the phone back on the hook with a shake of his head.
The redhead rattled through dressing himself in his usual outfit: bell bottoms, a tee shirt, a denim jacket that was definitely not weather-appropriate. He shuffled through his belongings, making sure to grab aforementioned marijuana and rolling papers. And of course, his Marlboros.
He couldn’t go without those.
Managing to drag his way out to his old Volkswagen, where he sat in the driver’s seat, just contemplating. A wide yawn fell from his lips, while rubbing his still tired eyes.
Cliff really was exhausted. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so tired in his whole twenty-two years of living. As much as he enjoyed touring with Metallica, he always dreaded the aftermath of it all. But there was no denying- he loved the feeling of coming back home to his closest friends and family.
“What the fuck am I doing?”
He sighed and put the key to ignition. Stalled. He tried again.
Fucking stalled.
Cliff cursed a short “ fuck ” while beating his fist against the broken steering wheel. It’s not like he was surprised. Everyone had been telling him to dump this car and get a new one. But he insisted there was still life left in the ‘ol Grasshopper. He loved this car too much to part ways with it.
Cliff was wondering in the depths of his mind: What was this “surprise” James was blabbering about over the phone? Guess he would have to get his ass over to the mansion and find out.
That is, if he could just get his damn car to start.
The familiar slamming of a car door was sounded outside the house, indicating Cliff had finally arrived just after six. Kirk was all winded up like a kid in a candy store. “He’s here! He’s here!” He eagerly repeated himself, bouncing out of his seat. This was truly unusual.
Just let him have his moment.
Lars’ fabric spiked hood kept falling into his face, from practically drowning in the huge pajamas. He pushed the hood from his face, looking perplexed. “Wait, should we hide?”
James had his feet propped up against the sofa, showing off his poorly socks. They were chock-full of holes from wear, and frankly, could have used a good cleaning like, months ago. “We’re not having a surprise party, fuckin dimwit.”
Of course, this remark only made Lars throw an M&M at him.
Kirk gleefully answered the door when the redhead knocked.
"Right, so what's the big ide-"
Cliff stopped mid-sentence when he saw what Kirk was wearing. His brow furrowed with total confusion raiding his brain. The shorter man before him held his arms out to his sides, showing off the big red bat wings sewn into his onesie; A doofus smile plastered across his face.
All he could ask was, “What do ya think?”
Cliff had to take a moment to process just what the hell he was wearing. He looked over to where James and Lars sat, cheesing like little kids who knew the great secret to life. A strand of his hair puffed out just barely with a breathy chuckle.
“You have gotta be kidding”
There was hesitation in his voice. He didn’t know whether to laugh at them, or be scared. He made eye contact with James for some kind of explanation. This was some shit he would pull, no doubt.
The frontman may be shy and quiet when he was sober, but the moment alcohol made contact with his system, he was a complete goofball. Nobody could take him seriously. Cliff would bet money it was him.
"Don't look at me! It was his idea." James nodded over to Kirk. “Oh, but wait! There’s more!”
“You don’t wanna miss this.” Lars was covering his mouth. His nostrils were flaring as he held all the laughter inside.
Kirk unveiled the pastel unicorn onesie, bought just for him. “Voilà!”
It was time to be scared.
“Oh. Oh no, no, no, no.” How many “no’s” were too many? Nah, fuck it. More importantly on Cliff’s mind: How many “no’s” would it take to verbally slap some sense into Kirk?
James wasn’t being helpful. “I fuckin told you he wouldn’t like it, man.” He threw up his hand and smacked it back down to his thigh, trying to get his point across.
There was no way Cliff was going to join in on their weird little kiddy clothes nonsense. Especially not as the unicorn. What the hell was this, anyway? A cult meeting of the freak animals? He almost felt insulted that he had to be the unicorn.
Almost.
Couldn’t he be something mythical that was cool? Like Cthulhu? A fire-breathing dragon, perhaps?
“I’m not fuckin wearing that”
“Oh.” Kirk looked rather disappointed by Cliff’s less than impressed response. He was really hoping for an old-school “pajama party” “Are you sure?”
What the fuck do you mean “are you sure?”?!
James snorted. “Oh please! C’mon and be a unicorn, pussy!”
He was trying to make things difficult, and Cliff wasn’t having that shit. He was already peeved that they talked him into coming over, in the first place. “How about I punch you in the jaw?”
The frontman was trying to sound serious in such a funny situation. “Oh yeah? You’re gonna punch a lion? Go ahead, I fuckin dare you. Lions eat people.”
Lars exclaimed an “ooh” like he was watching a trainwreck on a daytime talk show. “Cat and horse fight!”
Cliff rolled his eyes so hard, he was sure they’d get lost in the back of his skull. “Dumbass”
“Guys, stop it. Shut the fuck up.” Kirk sounded defeated. This all wasn’t going the way he hoped.
The redhead clenched his jaw. He was trying to keep his cool, when all he wanted to do was lecture Kirk and ask, "You woke me up for this stupid shit?" He had half a mind to leave; Go back to his house, drag his ass back to his mattress, and sleep like a bear.
But he also had half a mind to listen to what Kirk had to say.
Oh Kirk. Wild, kind, eccentric- Kirk Hammett .
“Listen, if Cliff doesn’t wanna wear the pajamas, he doesn’t have to. I won’t be offended.” Kirk’s face held the indistinct look of hurt, despite his statement.
“I just wanted to do something silly.” He sat down in the armchair, “Something out of the ordinary.” Each word he spoke was prominent in a way to make the others understand.
Sure, maybe they didn’t understand right now-
but they would. In time, they would.
Cliff relaxed himself and sighed through his nose. Well fuck.
By some miraculous gift from the Gods- or just pure dumb luck- Cliff did not end up leaving. In fact, as seven P.M. started rolling in, all four men found themselves passing a freshly made joint amongst each other.
Yes. All four of them. A dinosaur, a lion, a bat, and-
A very grumpy unicorn.
They didn’t pass it to James, of course. They all knew he didn’t enjoy smoking; He was much more interested in their vast spread of alcoholic beverages, as per usual. Diamond Head echoed from the cassette player across the room.
The ambience wasn’t nearly as tense as it was, twenty some-odd minutes earlier. It was a lot more laid back. Cliff figured the weed was to blame for that.
Being truly honest with himself, he kinda felt like a complete jackass.
“I don’t know how the fuck you talked me into this. We look ridiculous.” Cliff shook his head with his words. His feet rubbed over each other, as if in self-consciousness. This made his socks appear to flop around his ankles.
They were black, and printed with generic white skulls and crossbones. Typically, an unusual style for Cliff, but just the perfect one for Kirk. He was the horror-obsessed nerd everyone wished they knew during the Halloween season. That man was always searching for something visually appealing and spooky.
Hair fell into his face while peering over. “Nice socks.” His eyes were wide with interest.
“Thanks.” Cliff really didn’t have the heart to admit that all his usual socks needed washing. He had yet to do any laundry, since his return home. These were just last-choice, bottom of the barrel socks he threw on that he didn’t even know he had.
Kirk responded to Cliff’s previous statement of annoyance. “Well either way, I appreciate the participation. You didn’t have to.” A thankful grin stretched across his jaw.
Yeah, yeah. Sure he didn’t.
The redhead wanted to roll his eyes, but refrained from doing so. “Just pass the joint.”
He leaned forward, reaching for Lars to pass it in his direction. The way he removed himself from his place on the sofa made the drop-crotch of his pajamas puff out. Of course this made James titter with amusement. “Hey Cliff, your diaper’s full.”
“Fuck off.” Cliff pulled the joint to his lips and took a long inhale. The very end of the tightly rolled blunt flared with ash and smoke. On condition that he was gonna have to deal with being dressed up like a unicorn for the night, he might as well deal with it while as stoned as he could possibly be.
If anyone knew how to be high, it was definitely Cliff.
The frontman threw his head back with an eye roll at Cliff’s barking. "Laaaaaame."
"Yeah I mean, I know these are pajamas, but I kinda feel like I'm wearing a weird dress. Why's the crotch so low?" Lars was tugging the green fabric between his fingers.
"Who cares? They're comfortable." Cliff finally admitted.
Oh, look who’s talking! Mr. “I don’t wanna be a unicorn” Burton.
“Aha. Oh really?” James was really grinning ear to ear now. Cliff was about to tell him to shut up, when Kirk gave his own sunny response.
"And cute!"
There was a pause. All three men seemed to stare at him with pure skepticism.
"Uhh, sure" Smoke fell from the redhead’s lips before finally passing the joint to Kirk, who relaxed beside him. He almost didn’t want to, seeing as to how deranged Kirk was acting. Maybe he needed a straight jacket more than illicit substances.
Laughter rattled around in Cliff’s head, over that one.
Lars gave his typical smug smile. “I think we look fuckin cool!”
Time to see how the night plays out.
While eight o’clock soon crept up on them, all four men were quickly starting to realize that attempting to have a “fun-filled time” was proving to be futile. They were worn-out, tired, drunk and stoned. Everything seemed to be far too underwhelming. Some party this was.
Lars’ chin rested against his hand, in boredom. He was more than willing to complain about the situation, while the others suppressed their vexation. It was all about getting a rise out of someone.
"See, I told you this wasn't much of a party, man."
Even chick’s had better slumber parties than this! But Lars, James, Kirk, and Cliff were all in agreement; They would not be having any pillow fights, or make-out sessions with one another. The four were lazily taking turns playing an exceptionally half-assed “game” of beer pong. If one could even call it that.
It looked more like they were taking turns throwing a crumpled ball of aluminium foil into Dixie cups simply for the fuck of it.
"Shut up and take another shot" Cliff set the bottle of Smirnoff down in front of him.
Well, can’t go wrong with more alcohol.
In reality, they weren’t sure whether to be completely pissed off at Kirk or not. It’s not like he forced them into this predicament- or did he? Maybe he sweet-talked just a little more than he should have, in order to sell the idea of having fun. Too much excitement was probably the last thing they needed, in actuality.
Truth be told, the band was pooped beyond belief.
Kirk was rooting around in the side table’s drawer of clutter. Why not alleviate any excess hostility with a nice card game? “Uno or Poker?”
James finally sat up in his chair, with interest, after laying across it like a deflated balloon animal for so long. “Uno. I ain’t playing Poker with Cliff. He took all my money last time!”
Cliff looked over to the frontman, carrying a suggestive smirk. The bold expression on his face read with confidence, “and I’ll fucking do it again.”
"Dawn of the Dead?" His gaze shifted to the television set while Kirk started to shuffle game cards.
James responded with a shake of his head. "Tape player's still busted."
Oh yeah, that’s right. One of the last ragers they threw here in the good ‘ol Tallica Mansion, some drunken asshole decided it was a brilliant idea to take a leak inside the VCR. The tape player wasn’t in the greatest shape, to begin with- but the pungent yellow piss seeping out if it the next day was just the icing on the fucking cake. Cliff still didn’t understand what would compel a person to do such a thing.
Whether the unknown VCR-pisser did it as a joke, or something else, the band would never know. Either way, they did know this: It was a dick move.
“Still?” Cliff spoke under his breath. But it didn’t matter. They’d been gone for so many months anyway, getting a taste of fortune inside the motels that were lucky enough to have gold-package cable television.
He cracked open a cold bottle of Coors, sending the metal cap right into Kirk’s lap. “So you got money for stupid one-piece costumes, but none to pitch in for a new VCR?” He set his annoyance aside, revealing a playful smile.
Kirk laughed. “Oh fuck off, you know you like it.”
”Like” was a daring choice of word. The onesie sure was warm, that’s for sure. Cliff truly hated being too cold. While taking the extra warmth into account, he really did appreciate it. So I guess that did mean he liked it, and Kirk was correct.
Touché. That bat pajama bitch.
James made his displeasure heard while rearranging the two TV antennas for a better signal. “Come on, you ball-licker!” At this rate, they may as well be watching static for the rest of the night.
Just when all hope seemed lost, Lars erupted from his seat. His eyes were wide with energy. “You know what? I think I have an idea.”
Oh goody. Just what they needed, more ideas.
By eight-thirty, they were all sitting on the floor playing Uno, barricaded by a poorly-made blanket fort. Lars was sure he emptied all the beds and closets of any excess blankets he could find. That seemed to do the trick. The atmosphere instantly became cozier by comparison, thanks to the plush pillows and throws surrounding them.
This was actually starting to become a more pleasant experience for the four. Especially Cliff.
He remembered making forts like this as a kid, getting lost in the books he loved. Back then, he didn’t give a shit about what the other kids were doing. He preferred to hide away in his own little cave of quilts and do his own thing.
Those were the days.
“Hey, how’d this pillowcase get a burn hole?” Kirk inquired once his turn was over. He ran his fingers over the fibers that frayed and hardened from the contact of flame. It was almost a perfectly rounded hole in the fabric. Let’s see, what did it remind him of?
He looked over to the redhead laying out a classic draw two card for Lars. “Draw two, pussy.” There was a cigarette gripped firmly between his lips. Smoke puffed from his nostrils while pulling it between his fingers. Kirk immediately remembered as he watched Cliff pat the ashes into a chipped ashtray.
Oh. Right.
Don’t fall asleep with cigarettes.
Kirk’s question went unnoticed, of course. He shrugged it off and sifted through his cards while the next turn landed on James.
He laid out a reverse card with a grin of triumph. That left a single card in his hand. “Fucking uno! I’m about to win again, motherfuckers!”
Oh, but see- that’s where James was wrong. Kirk had a few good cards up his sleeve. Gameplay went back around the opposite direction, meaning James was greeted with the dreaded card of draw four. “Like hell you are!”
Lars sneered at the frontman’s misfortune, behind his massive collection of cards. “Ha-ha, you lose.” It was a funny comment to make, considering he was on the losing end more than anybody else. He must’ve had twenty cards in his hands. Uno just wasn’t his game.
James groaned, but kept a straight face. “Okay, well you know what I think?”
He shifted himself to blow gas right in Kirk’s direction. “Take that!”
Boys will be boys.
One would think Kirk would be grossed out, but he’d been cramped into a tour bus with this buck wild blond for nearly a year’s time. Farting was nothing to him. All he could do was bust a lung and howl with laughter like a savage hyena.
Even Cliff laughed alongside him. “That’s real mature.”
James bounced back after pulling his cards. “Says the guy dressed up as a unicorn.”
Cliff should’ve shoved his onesie’s gold stuffed horn up James’ ass when he had the chance. Metal up your ass? Fuck that. Unicorn horn so far up your ass, you spew rainbows .
“Settle down, fart boy.”
Being able to mimic the sound of a trumpet with one’s ass could be quite impressive. Perhaps James deserved a trophy-
or maybe an antacid.
Cliff finally stamped out his cigarette. “Come on, there has to be something to watch on TV.” There was no way they could sit there watching the TV Guide channel’s endless loop all night. There had to be another channel where they could get a clear picture.
Kirk took it upon himself to go about adjusting the antennas, once again, while surfing through the limited channels. The frontman took Kirk’s absence as an opportunity to peek through his stack of cards.
Cliff smacked his hand away. “Stop cheating, dick.”
Kirk was about to give up, until-
“There we go!” He gave the old box television a few forceful knocks down on the top with his knuckles. The picture was miraculously clear as a man and woman were passionately making out on the screen. Lars muttered another “ooh” at the spicy lovemaking scene before him.
“Someone get the popcorn!”
“Hey, are they speaking Spanish?” James tilted his head in puzzlement.
Uh-oh.
9:15 P.M.
Metallica has officially been introduced to telenovelas.
The four friends were now reclining in a partially collapsed blanket fort, with all eight eyes glued to the screen. Due to the lack of subtitles, none of them were fully aware of what the hell was going on. But there was definitely a love triangle involved- a very disarray one.
Oh brother, was it cheesy.
Cliff had made the decision to start rolling up another joint, while watching. “I’m confused. What’s going on?” He ran his tongue along the edge of the rolling paper.
James shrugged and leaned back against a mountain of pillows. “Beats me.” He interlocked his fingers behind his head.
“Hey quit hogging the pillows, asshole!” Lars complained with a mouth full of Red Vines.
The frontman whipped a throw pillow at the dane, knocking the licorice right out of his hand. “Stop hogging all the snacks, fatass.”
Kirk wrapped one of the many fallen blankets around him, as he cozied up in the place beside Cliff. He ignored the two’s bickering and went on to explain to Cliff what was happening. At least, it was what he thought was happening. “That dude with the hideous goatee doesn’t realize he’s fucking his wife’s twin sister.”
How conniving.
He brought a Red Vine of his own up to his mouth, with eyes still fixated on the soap opera. Watching non-English television programs was probably more interesting than watching the English speaking ones. They both carried the same cliché plotlines, but the Spanish programs were somehow more appealing.
Once the joint was ready, the redhead did not hesitate bringing his lighter to the end, with a snap of ignition. He gave a short hum full of indifference. Smoke once again wafted from his lips and nostrils in a fluid motion. This was some good shit.
“What a dumbass.”
10:05 P.M.
“I think I missed something.”
Cliff didn’t know if he was just too stoned to follow along, or not. James was equally just as confused.
“Yeah, how the fuck did she end up in the hospital?!”
“Her sister tried to poison her in the last episode” Kirk shushed their questions. As if their silence would somehow aid in his own understanding, despite the language barrier.
Cliff narrowed his reddened eyes, as if he personally knew that despicable woman. “That bitch.”
It seems the drama had reached a boiling point. The band appeared to leap up from their seats in total interest. Playing out before them was a heated argument between mother and daughter. Of course at the bedside of the comatose twin- of fucking course.
“Fuck! Her mom just slapped the shit outta her!” Lars stated the obvious. They watched as a fight broke out on the screen, between mother and evil twin daughter. “She’s calling her a puta!” Kirk added. Finally, the action they’ve all been waiting for!
Puta, you say? Cliff was right. What an evil bitch .
James’ grinning grew wider with every angry slap the mother character gave. "Damn she's fucking her up!"
Cliff nodded in agreement. “She had it coming.” It was good to see someone so wicked get what they deserved. That’s karma at its finest.
“She’s ripping out her hair.” Lars and Kirk were both giggling like school boys, at this point. “She needed a new hair-do anyway.”
The fight abruptly ended, thanks to an unwanted commercial break. Disappointed groans hollered from Lars and James, alike. But all four men were thinking the same thing: Fuck commercials. The breaks always had to happen at the worst possible time.
Kirk picked up the stack of cards from earlier, running his thumb up the edge. This motion created a familiar shuffling noise. “Wanna play another round of Uno?”
None of the other three seemed very interested. The redhead’s features wrinkled with an iffy facial expression. “A third?” Everyone knew he'd rather play poker. In fact- that gave him an even better idea. “You guys wanna make a bet?” His lips curled into a smile full of mischief.
James threw his head back dramatically again. As if he really had any money. But more often than not, he couldn’t pass up a good bet. “Fine. What ‘cha got?”
“I’ll bet you ten bucks there’s gonna be a murder, at some point.”
A murder? Gimme a break! This was a love drama!
Lars threw his dinosaur hood back. “I’m all in!” He put on his best look of ambition. That Danish rat.
“Sure, me too.” Kirk added.
The frontman raised his eyebrow at Cliff. “And if there’s not a murder?” He was determined to win this thing. The plot already put a woman in a coma, there was no way there could be a murder, on top of that!
Cliff thought briefly. “If not, you get the ten bucks. Plus I’ll buy us pizza.”
Thank god they lived near a pizzeria that had open hours until two in the morning. It was every late-night stoner’s paradise.
Suddenly, a pizza sounded especially delicious. “Deal.” James laid back with a sound of pure elation, throwing his hands behind his head again. He suddenly felt cocky. “I’ll take the meat lovers pizza, by the way.”
Free money and food, here he comes.
Roughly twenty minutes later, James and the others would be proven wrong. A surprising new scene in the drama was focusing in on the aforementioned evil twin sister- now laying motionless at the bottom of a staircase, in a pool of blood. Karma finally got her good.
There had indeed been a murder plot twist. The pothead unicorn won fair and square.
Cliff slapped his thigh with triumph. “I called it! I fuckin called it!” He cheered. Meanwhile James was very unhappily probing around for his wallet.
“This is a stupid show, anyway.” He mumbled. He was always a downer after losing competitions.
“Oh, shut up and take the loss, puss.” Cliff gladly took the money that was given. James just flopped back down to the sofa, too tired to complain any further. Why not drown his miniscule sorrows with another drink?
That’ll do the trick!
Lars wandered back from the bathroom. “Wait, what the hell did I miss?” The dead body scene had since changed to something more joyous.
Kirk was cheesing with interest. He didn’t give a shit that he lost ten precious bucks; He was much more absorbed in the drama. “There’s been a mystery murder.”
“Now we’re talkin!” Lars sat back down before it finally dawned on him. He lost the bet. “Oh. Wait .”
Cliff grinned. “Pay up, dickhead.”
Guess being a unicorn was lucky, after all.
11:18 P.M.
Light scatters of snowflakes began to fall outside.
The low sound of snoring could be heard behind Kirk and Cliff. The two continued to watch the drama unfold for the past hour, just assuming the other two were continuing to sulk from losing the bet. Kirk turned his head and smirked at the sight of their sleeping bodies propped against each other.
James was still gripping a half-empty can of beer. He was inevitably spilling against his thigh, in slumber. Lars’ mouth was wide open, spilling drool and crumbs from the corners. Gross . All they needed now was a camera.
“They fell asleep” Kirk tapped Cliff’s arm for attention.
They two looked at each other. The expressions they shared asked the age-old question.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Confidence coursed through Cliff while pulling another square to his lips. He lit up the end and cleared his throat. He exhaled. “Find me a magic marker” His smile was wide and broad.
That was so much better than a camera.
It was midnight.
One telenovela marathon, one bet, one family pack of Red Vines, two bags of chips, two joints, three cigarettes, four shots, four stupid outfits, and an ungodly amount of beer later.
The marathon had since ended, leaving the two to figure out just what the hell else they could do. Kirk burrowed himself into the mass of blankets that were still piled around on the floor, with a comic. Cliff was counting through the money he made, along with what he already had in his wallet. Smooth jazz from the TV Guide channel was once again humming from the television speakers.
The night didn’t exactly pan out the way Kirk was hoping. But overall, he was just grateful to spend some time with his bandmates, and not have to worry about autographs and gigs, or having equipment stolen.
Oh, that was a nightmare.
His eyes scanned the cash in Cliff’s hands, remembering the promise of pizza. It still sounded good, even though that wasn’t part of Cliff’s winning end of the bet. It turns out that junk food doesn’t actually count as a meal.
“Wanna order a pizza?”
The redhead paused, in thought. After two joints, he was virtually famished. He could go for a pizza. Hell, he could go for two . “Fuck it, sure” He pulled himself up to his feet to go to the phone.
“Wait, should we wake up the others?” Kirk’s bat hood flopped away from his bouncy curls.
The two looked over toward the sofa, where James and Lars were both slumped against each other. Each of their faces were scribbled foolishly with marker mustaches, profanities, and forehead penises.
They broke the golden rule of partying.
Everyone knows: You don’t fall asleep at parties. No matter how small.
Cliff smiled and shrugged. “More pizza for us.”