Metalocalypse - Billion Dollar Babies (PG)
"Toki, please take the saucepan off your head. It's unhygienic."
"We's playing!" Toki shouted, running into the meeting room forty-five minutes late.
Ofdensen raised an eyebrow. "You and...?"
"ATTAAACKS!"
"AAAAAAAAHHHH!"
Toki hid under the table as Skwisgaar followed him into the room, chasing him with a wooden spoon in one hand and a frying pan in the other.
"I see," the manager quietly muttered from his seat at the head of the table, answering his own question. "Well, if you could both just sit down for the time being it would be appreciated, we've got a lot to cover–"
"Yeah, schtop messing around! Re-enacting wars with kitschen schtuff? You know how much genuine military equipment I own?
"Thankyou William, that's enough –"
"Ja, loads," Skwisgaar interrupted from somewhere under the table, "I am's thinking someone needs to be gettings out more? Ah?"
"Skwisgaar, Toki, please come out from under the table, we've got a lot to discuss." The two Scandinavians slowly crawled out, hair mussed and Toki's saucepan lopsided, and slinked into their chairs, looking berated.
"Thankyou. Now, as I was saying –"
"Oh, dood, I nearly forgot!"
Ofdensen sighed at the interruption. "Yes, Pickles?"
"About next week's meeting, I totally can't make it. Sorry."
"Well, it is actually quite important. Why can't you make it, may I ask?"
Pickles shifted in his chair. "I'd uhh... rather you didn't. It's no big thing, I just need to go meet a couple people about some deals."
The manager raised an eyebrow. "Deals?"
"Oh!" Nathan exclaimed. "You mean about the... you know?"
"Yeah."
"How's it going?"
"Oh, it's goin' well. Just got a few more business deals to make and it should be set."
Ofdensen watched the conversation back and forth between the singer and drummer, becoming ever more concerned with each exchange. "Sorry, Pickles... Business deals? What business deals?"
"Uhh... it, ah... Hmmm–"
"It'sch totally nothing scherious," Murderface added helpfully, sending Pickles a knowing wink. "It'sch nothing about drugs empires, that'sch for sure." He missed the glare that Pickles sent back.
"Drugs empire?" Ofdensen stared at the drummer incredulously. "You're setting up a drugs empire?"
"Eh... A little."
"You're 'a little' bit setting up a drugs empire." The manager took his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and replaced them. "I'd much rather you'd consult me first, I am your financial advisor."
"Sorry."
"Okay, just tell me in future."
"Okay."
"Alright. Now, as I keep trying to say, the point of this meeting is to discuss some very serious –"
"It's threes o'clock!"
"Toki, what?"
"It's threes o'clock!" he repeated.
Ofdensen looked at his watch. It was, indeed, three o'clock. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."
"Meeting's over!" The Norwegian stood up, straightened his saucepan, and skipped out of the room, quickly chased by Skwisgaar wielding his spoon and frying pan.
"Boys, can you please come back? The meeting hasn't finished yet..." He gave up, hearing the footsteps disappear down the corridor.
"Yeah, it has," Nathan grunted. "It's three o'clock."
Ofdensen sighed, forcing himself to stay civil. "But we started forty-five minutes late."
"Sch'not our fault," Murderface countered as they all stood up to leave.
"No, but nonetheless, this is very important –"
"I know it is," Pickles cooed, "and you do a great job with all that important stuff. Keep up the good work."
"See you later," Nathan muttered, and they left.
If this was what looking after five fully grown men was like, Ofdensen thought to himself as he sat alone, there was no way that he was ever having children.
"We's playing!" Toki shouted, running into the meeting room forty-five minutes late.
Ofdensen raised an eyebrow. "You and...?"
"ATTAAACKS!"
"AAAAAAAAHHHH!"
Toki hid under the table as Skwisgaar followed him into the room, chasing him with a wooden spoon in one hand and a frying pan in the other.
"I see," the manager quietly muttered from his seat at the head of the table, answering his own question. "Well, if you could both just sit down for the time being it would be appreciated, we've got a lot to cover–"
"Yeah, schtop messing around! Re-enacting wars with kitschen schtuff? You know how much genuine military equipment I own?
"Thankyou William, that's enough –"
"Ja, loads," Skwisgaar interrupted from somewhere under the table, "I am's thinking someone needs to be gettings out more? Ah?"
"Skwisgaar, Toki, please come out from under the table, we've got a lot to discuss." The two Scandinavians slowly crawled out, hair mussed and Toki's saucepan lopsided, and slinked into their chairs, looking berated.
"Thankyou. Now, as I was saying –"
"Oh, dood, I nearly forgot!"
Ofdensen sighed at the interruption. "Yes, Pickles?"
"About next week's meeting, I totally can't make it. Sorry."
"Well, it is actually quite important. Why can't you make it, may I ask?"
Pickles shifted in his chair. "I'd uhh... rather you didn't. It's no big thing, I just need to go meet a couple people about some deals."
The manager raised an eyebrow. "Deals?"
"Oh!" Nathan exclaimed. "You mean about the... you know?"
"Yeah."
"How's it going?"
"Oh, it's goin' well. Just got a few more business deals to make and it should be set."
Ofdensen watched the conversation back and forth between the singer and drummer, becoming ever more concerned with each exchange. "Sorry, Pickles... Business deals? What business deals?"
"Uhh... it, ah... Hmmm–"
"It'sch totally nothing scherious," Murderface added helpfully, sending Pickles a knowing wink. "It'sch nothing about drugs empires, that'sch for sure." He missed the glare that Pickles sent back.
"Drugs empire?" Ofdensen stared at the drummer incredulously. "You're setting up a drugs empire?"
"Eh... A little."
"You're 'a little' bit setting up a drugs empire." The manager took his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and replaced them. "I'd much rather you'd consult me first, I am your financial advisor."
"Sorry."
"Okay, just tell me in future."
"Okay."
"Alright. Now, as I keep trying to say, the point of this meeting is to discuss some very serious –"
"It's threes o'clock!"
"Toki, what?"
"It's threes o'clock!" he repeated.
Ofdensen looked at his watch. It was, indeed, three o'clock. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."
"Meeting's over!" The Norwegian stood up, straightened his saucepan, and skipped out of the room, quickly chased by Skwisgaar wielding his spoon and frying pan.
"Boys, can you please come back? The meeting hasn't finished yet..." He gave up, hearing the footsteps disappear down the corridor.
"Yeah, it has," Nathan grunted. "It's three o'clock."
Ofdensen sighed, forcing himself to stay civil. "But we started forty-five minutes late."
"Sch'not our fault," Murderface countered as they all stood up to leave.
"No, but nonetheless, this is very important –"
"I know it is," Pickles cooed, "and you do a great job with all that important stuff. Keep up the good work."
"See you later," Nathan muttered, and they left.
If this was what looking after five fully grown men was like, Ofdensen thought to himself as he sat alone, there was no way that he was ever having children.
Inspired by Generation Landslide by Alice Cooper:
Militant mothers hiding in the basement
Using pots and pans as their shields and their helmets
Molotov milk bottles heaved from pink highchairs
While mothers' lib burns birth certificate papers
And dad gets his allowance from his sonny the dealer
Who's pubic to the world but involved in high finance
Sister's out til five, doing banker son's hours
But she owns a Mazarotti that's a gift from his father
Stop at full speed, at 100 miles per hour
The Colgate invisible shield finally got 'em
And I laughed to myself at the men and the ladies
Who never conceived those billion dollar babies
Militant mothers hiding in the basement
Using pots and pans as their shields and their helmets
Molotov milk bottles heaved from pink highchairs
While mothers' lib burns birth certificate papers
And dad gets his allowance from his sonny the dealer
Who's pubic to the world but involved in high finance
Sister's out til five, doing banker son's hours
But she owns a Mazarotti that's a gift from his father
Stop at full speed, at 100 miles per hour
The Colgate invisible shield finally got 'em
And I laughed to myself at the men and the ladies
Who never conceived those billion dollar babies