The Green Day story is an evolving short story comprised of over 400 unique band and artist names. I’ve supplied links to official band sites or Myspace pages where I could, or to fan sites and Wikipedia pages if that is all I could find. Some of the links are definitely dead now.
Anyway, without further ado…
One Green Day
Once upon a green day during a mad season there were 4 non-blondes: Jane, Alice, Björk and Siouxsie. These funk junkies were tragically hip. They loved to be violent femmes and to rage against the machine.
The girls had a simple plan to have some fun. They rented one of the old B-52‘s from the Trust Company. It was outfitted with the new American Hi-Fi system which really cranks out the mighty mighty bosstones (and sounds so much better than the old Rockers Hi-Fi system). Then, they hired some stone temple pilots to take them on a journey to the notorious sound garden just outside of the ancient land of Elastica.
Alice’s beauty had been breaking Benjamin‘s concentration since he met her. She reminded him of an Osaka Pop Star. “You’re the queen,” he replied. Then he felt embarrassed. “In fact, you’re all queens of the stone age. Don’t you think, Fred?”
They landed at Voxtrot airport next to mall.
“He had bad brains,” said Bjork quietly, “and he’s dead to me now. I always was a monster magnet.” With concern, the other girls watched her muse. They knew she was an outcast and had suicidal tendencies.
“Smile, empty soul,” Alice told her.
Benjamin found he couldn’t say anything. Fred jumped in. “Uh, there’s a pub called Dropkick Murphy’s. It’s between the Culture Club and The Artificial Joy Club. There’s a black flag out front, can’t miss it.”
* * *
On level 42 of the mall they found an edgy clothing store called Static X. They marveled at the psychedelic furs, the cardigans in every living color of the rainbow, and the elegant cocktail slippers. Jane put on a pink foghat. “What do you think?” she asked.
Jane took off the hat. “Yeah, well it’s stained anyway.”
Next they visited a weapons shop named Guns & Roses. An armored saint stood right outside the doors to usher folks in and out. Inside, among the smell of bullets and octane, they found rare items like a molly hatchet, an iron maiden, and a beautiful velvet revolver.
“Geez,” said Siouxsie, “these L.A. guns are really overpriced.”
* * *
“We blew the hyper seal on the Lacuna coil,” Benjamin explained to the girls angrily with his head submersed in the bowels of their rented craft. “If I had a Tesla replacement, we’d be ok but I can’t run DMC pulses through the tubes now. It’ll hinder the flow from the alkaline trio cells.”
“And Fred‘s fluent in bionic jive,” said Benjamin. Then to himself, “Damn gravity kills, man. The crossfade is all out of whack on the Powerman 5000 unit. And it looks like the AC/DC switch on the EMF unit is fried. In, fact all the used parts we bought from Fugazi are toast. The replacements are gonna take at least a day to arrive.”
“Thanks, big bad voodoo daddy,” said Alice grinning.
* * *
“Well I’ll be a daft punk,” said the cab driver. “Don’t I know you two damn yankees? You’re the brothers from Snow Patrol, right? They used to call you the Hawaii Mud Bombers. Last I heard you were flying for the Postal Service.”
Harvey nodded knowingly, “That’s cool. And the gang can climb aboard.” Harvey pressed talk-talk on his radio mike while the girls boarded. “Local H,” said the cabbie, “this is agent Orange. Going offline with a code Seven Mary Three.”
“Full effect killswitch, engage. Check,” said Harvey. “Well, that’s still a whopping sum: forty-one thousand credits.” Fred handed him a wad of new edition credits, which Harvey counted quickly. “Hmmm, there’s a lot of dead kennedys here, but where’re the benjamins? You be forty large short.”
“Sure,” replied Harvey, “but it’s an unwritten law that it’ll be P.O.D, you dig?” Meaning payable on death. “Method Man runs the company now, and the mercy killers under his employ ain’t got no mercy. It’s a bad company to owe money to, man. Don’t want to end up dead, boys.”
“You aren’t looking at new kids on the block, Harvey. We’ve played the game before.” said Benjamin. “It’s no minor threat, I get that.. But right now, in this moment, I just want the girls to go have a day to remember.”
* * *
Among the animals on display were oddities like a white snake, some stray cats, a flock of seagulls, an exhibit of pixies, a great white Steppen Wolf, and a large papa roach with what looked like a zebra head. There was even an alien ant farm. The girls checked out the eagles, the turtles, and the monkeys swinging on the vines in their cage; but went right past the gorillas because of the swollen members they were sporting.
* * *
Jane wandered off by the Marcy Playground and came across some natives in a hole having a feast. She hid behind a bush and watched. “Oingo boingo! What a sublime spread,” she said. From her dog’s eye view she could see cranberries, electric prunes, virgin prunes, corn, warm soup dragons, some angry salad, meat loaf and lamb of God, sponge cake, pearl jam on cracker, black-eyed peas, some limp biscuits, and a huge blind melon. There were also lemonheads and sugarcubes from the Matthew Sweet candy factory. But the best part of all were the red hot chili peppers, which was Jane’s addiction. She loved to eat those in excess. In fact, she liked everything she saw but the soda because pop will eat itself.
“Iggy pop,” said Jane in disgust.
Jane stood. “Love in reverse,” she greeted in return.
“We are a tribe called Quest and this is our block party,” informed the native. “I am Hootie, and the blowfish is delightful today, especially with a little veruca salt and some April wine. It is hand-prepared by our spice girls.”
“Another fine choice is the toadies in green jelly sauce. It is the favorite of the Wolfmother and is loaded with vitamin C. But I suggest washing that down with some Everclear and tonic.” He turned and threw several sticks at a rare Sheryl crow which was flying around the food.
Jane was tempted but then recalled the string cheese incident back in blue October; the megadeath it brought to the dwarves of the town L7, and the widespread panic that affected the entire planet of Jurassic 5 . “I think I’ll just have a Fiona apple and some ice tea. That is if you are willing to share.”
* * *
“Oh, hoobastank,” she exclaimed, for the smell was rancid. Then she saw it. Among many broken jars of clay in a large puddle of mud, an ugly adult rat sat upon a candlebox. It was covered in ash and wore an old air filter as a helmet. It appeared to be counting crows that stood around him in a perfect circle. “What an enigma,” said Siouxsie.
Jane frowned. “I don’t think so. They may be giants.”
“Love equals death, ” greeted the one with the most massive head.
“Love and rockets,” answered Alice.
The leader continued, “My name is Todd Smith and I am the Godhead, or high priest, at the Temple of the Dog.” A sonic youth came to his side. “And this is my prodigy son, Rem. That’s spelled R-e-m. But lately I’ve been calling him Dinosaur Jr.”
The girls just stared at the Smiths, so Todd continued, “We and these other magnificent bastards have come from White Town, far beyond Ned’s Atomic Dustbin, stabbing westward in search of the cure for our madness.”
“We have sought the legendary magic dirt since the days of the new,” replied Todd. “The powers of this special soil are said to end Soul Coughing disease. But, alas, the mission has been a failure. We found nothing but seven dust factories run by the Chemical brothers. Those circle jerks are out there using the crystal method to crank out anthrax. We barely survived the sense field that protects their largest plant in the land of Darlahood.”
“Didn’t your senses fail?” asked Siouxsie.
“What is your name, my lucious Jackson?”
“The name’s Jane, Jane Jensen.”
“Well, Jane,” said Todd, “I’d like you to meet the head of my drill team, Geggy Tah.” Todd made a hand gesture and an ugly white zombie dressed in a deep purple gown with white stripes stepped forward. He carried the sacred tool of a ditch croaker.
“Marry me, Jane,” moaned Geggy. Jane grimaced.
“You too?” Siouxsie asked Geggy.
“Aha! Perhaps it’s a killing joke, my little jewel!”, interrupted Todd. “Listen up, for this is a material issue! I claim you meat puppets as the property of the ministry! You will serve as our gigolo aunts and provide ecstasy and porno for pyros. You will also be the breeders for the collective soul!”
“Soul asylum more like it,” snapped Alice. “I can just imagine the offspring: some serious beastie boys, no doubt.” The girls laughed. “I’m afraid you got the wrong goo goo dolls, mister mister. Ain’t no way we’re gonna be your bare naked ladies. Now buzz off, ya weezer.” The leader glared at her and removed the Rollins band from around his huge head, causing the wallflowers that had been tucked there to fall to the ground. This was obviously a signal for instantly two members of the cult, oddly dressed like crash test dummies, advanced and in seconds had Alice in chains.
“Yeah, and the dead can dance, pal,” she replied struggling in her confines.
“Only the grateful dead, my dear. Care to meet them?”
“Enough is enough!!” shrieked Siouxsie, snapping out of depeche mode and jumping into urge overkill. In a blur, she grabbed a torch and lit the godflesh of Todd’s face on fire. Quickly, she pulled a fishbone from her hair and gouged the leader’s flaming lips.
“Just strike anywhere!” yelled Alice.
* * *
“Well, that’s better than ‘Ezra’,” said Siouxsie. The others laughed awkwardly.
Full of new found glory, the girls pranced off like members of a teenage fan club as the now visible Mazzy Star rose just above the vertical horizon; completely unaware of the MC nine-hundred foot Jesus watching over them.