The boy without a soul

Control Sub-Hive Epsilon operating on nightmare frequency 0.9333: Room 41:The Office of Inquiries :
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Splice of lowlife: The Starbar, Big Mitch, Pirates & Highwaymen

Another lost night at the Star Bar and i've fuck all to do but sit here, have a drink and listen to Big Mitch have another one of his rants. Which is kinda what you have to do, since he talks louder than the band that's on stage right now. Normally Skinhead Ronnie can shut him up with a Guinness and a sly slip of a white powdered baggie under the table. But Ronnie's got the kid tonight and the bartender is too hung over to say anything, so I have to sit here and listen to this shaved fuckin' Gorilla wax philosophical all night. You know, that or go home sober and end the evening with a wank.

"Naw'll i'm tryin' to say is that all that Pirate shit is so five minutes ago."
"I dunno about that Mitch. I see a lot of dem Goth bitches getting all up on that shit..." That's Pike. Not sure where that name comes from. Don't care really. I motion for the bartender to give me a refill. He's too busy watching two grown men grapple each other on the tube. I'm not much for wrestling. But I know it has it's uses. One it lets me see how silly superheroes would look in real life. Two it gives a lot of red blooded American heteros a safe channel for their homoerotic instincts, which if left unaddressed for too long tend to turn to bootchecks and beatings.
"Fuck that man. Pirates are so 2004!"
I snicker at the way this big fat man-bear of a cunt uses 'so' like he was a prim little teenage girl at the mall with her friends.
"I dunno Mitch... that Johnny Deaf fella does alright for himself..."
"That's what I mean. It takes Johnny fuckin' Depp to pull that shit off. Hell he was fuckin' brilliant in the Matrix..."
Even the bartender looks at Mitch on this one. Me, Pike and the bartender exchange looks and decide it's not worth the hassle of correcting him.
"Yeah, Mitch, yeah... so what do you think the big thing is now? Ninjas!"
"Fuck Ninjas" He says and Pike looks nervously around the room. In case of what? We see Chuck Norris and Stormshadow having a Pabs in some corner previously unseen.
"Ninjas ain't even real man... they're like the toothfairy and cavemen. Some shit some dick made up to sell movies and comicbooks. Now pirates were real. There were Pirates in Jesus' time, didja know that?"
"No" Says Pike.
"That's the fucker that did in Jesus. That fuckin'... whatsisface... Pontious Pirate..."
Oh dear sweet goddess, in all her infinite heavens please, please just make it stop.
"So what it's gonna be then Mitch? What's all the kids gonna be talkin' 'bout?"
He downs his Guinness with one gulp. Let's out a satisfied sigh and wipes his goatee with a plaid shirt sleeve, then leans in close to Pike and stage whispers: "Highwaymen."
"HIGHWAYMEN!!!" Me, Pike and the bartender repeat. The bartender just shakes his head to himself in disbelief and pours me the drink I asked for ten minutes ago.
"Now lissen you collection of fuckin' walkin' abortions! I'm tellin' y'all that Highwaymen are gonna be the next be fad. Just you watch." He nods satisfied to himself.
"Y'mean like Adam Ant...?" Pike chirps in supportively, but still not buying it.
"Exactly. Just like Adam 'fuckin' Ant." He slams his empty Guinness down. Mitch just sits there in a far a way place. An Adam Ant place. This allows the rest of us at the bar to hear the band. This is our loss really. So far the drummer has given up on the beat, the lead guitarist is still tuning his fucking instrument three songs into the set and the lead singer is just bellowing
'Soda-pop-Junkie-Daydream-Summer-baby-don'tyaknow-don'tyaknow-don'tyaknow' over and over again. I sip my drink and just under my breath I begin to hum:
So unplug the jukebox
And do us all a favour
That music's lost its taste
So try another flavour -
'Antmusic' 'Antmusic'
'Antmusic' 'Antmusic'