Last time we saw our dynamic duo, they were busy getting a tour
of a major movie studio, only to find out that there are no great
comedic stars left in movies.
The studio boss leading them around had two ideas to get around
the problem. The first was to create a genetically enhanced comedic
superstar using a nose hair from Jim Carrey, a toe nail from Bill
Murray, some of Eddie Murphy’s phlegm, etc. The second idea
was to put Donald and Double themselves in a screwball comedy the
whole family could love. Opting for the latter, D and D went on to
huge international success, their film grossing over $425 million
worldwide.
Cut ahead to the present time, and after various publicity tours
around the world, outrageous after-parties and TV appearances,
Donald and Double have ended up back in their Westwood apartment
for some much-needed rest. However, Donald’s rest tonight
will not be a peaceful one.
Now, if only the great guitar pick of George Harrison will give
me the strength and fill me with the words, I’ll tell you all
about Donald’s strange dream.
Cut to Donald asleep in bed.
Slowly, as he begins to enter REM sleep, the quieter of our two
heroes begins to toss and turn in, thrashing under the covers and
giving the bed bugs a general scare. It’s not a stomach ache
that’s keeping him up, but strange visions. A vision of a man
clad in red flannel clothes from head to toe.
“Dude, what’s going on with your outfit?”
Donald sleepily asks.
“Nothing, my friend, but can it be you don’t
recognize me from my former life?” the flannel figure shot
back.
“I don’t know, I’ve met a lot of white guys.
You look maybe like that guy who used to sell magazines at that one
stand,” a bewildered Donald said, upset he was dreaming about
a guy dressed in flannel instead of a young buxom beauty.
“No, no, kid. Haven’t you ever heard of the band
Nirvana? I was the singer in that band, Kurt Cobain,” said
the grizzled blonde man with forlorn eyes, who was sweating from
all the flannel.
“Oh, sure, I remember you ““ dun deh dun chick-a
chick-a chick-a dun deh dun”“ you guys had that one deodorant
song.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Cobain replied.
“Haven’t you ever heard “˜In Utero’ though?
That was our masterpiece album. Whatever, nevermind.”
“Wait, don’t you have some kind of new song coming
out soon? Which is weird because haven’t you been dead
awhile?”
“Well, here’s the thing kid. People suck,”
Cobain said. “The music biz is always screwing me over.
People are milking my legacy for all it’s worth. My heinous
widow is trying to exploit everything, and the record labels just
want more money. It’s just the same old story, what else can
I say?”
“What’s the new song though?”
“It’s called “˜You Know You’re
Right,” and it wasn’t really finished man.”
“So, was it going to revolutionize the music scene for
angry white kids again?”
“No way, it was really just a Pixies ripoff,” Cobain
said.
“But dude, rock music’s sucked for along time now,
it couldn’t hurt right? Who are the Pixies anyway?”
“That’s the whole point, man, rock radio always
sucks. The Pixies weren’t on the radio and they were
geniuses, there’s good stuff now, man, just don’t
listen to the radio, don’t listen to the companies.
Corporations bloooowww!” Cobain said as his ghost started to
wither away into Donald’s dream glow.
“Wait ““ do you have any genius words of advice for
me, flannel man?” Donald asked.
“Yeah, just …”
And with that we’ve run out of space until next time. So,
stay tuned until next Thursday with your ears open, your eyes to
the ground and your finger on the page. Their exploits may come
your way.