PJ was bitching about the radio again. "What is this shit?" He grumbled, "It's all pop or metal-core on this stupid box. I'm sick of it! It all sounds the same. If I hear another lame-ass rocker wannabe sing about how much he hates being a rock star, I swear I'm gonna...." He pounded on the dashboard as some Top 40 pop rock tune started blaring out of the tinny speakers of my El-Camino. I glanced wearily at him. "Take it easy on the dashboard, Peej… You're gonna what? Start harassing every station in town for having shitty taste in music?" He shrugged and peered out the window, scrutinizing the drizzly, bleak Seattle skyline. "I don't see why not. What's the worst that could happen?"

I laughed. "A restraining order, for one thing. Look, dude, it's not up to them- they just play what the masses want to hear, I'm sure every radio DJ with half a brain is probably feeling the exact same way as we do. I bet if they had a choice, we'd be listening to the good stuff…"

"What kind of good stuff?" PJ sulked.

"I dunno, stuff like Dream Theater or System of a Down. And not their lame overplayed stuff like Aerials or freakin' Pull Me Under" I turned onto Interstate 5 heading into downtown. "You know- Dark Eternal Night, BYOB, the Glass Prison… that kind of stuff. They'd play bands like Opeth! Dude, wouldn't that be so sick to hear the Ghost of Perdition ripping every teenybopper in Washington a new one? They'd have nightmares for months."

PJ cackled at the idea for a while before clutching at his stomach, which began to grumble noisily. "I'm hungry! Can we grab a bite?" I stared at his bulging abdomen. "What the hell, dude? We just ate at Taco Bell like half an hour ago! You can't still be hungry."

"C'mon, bro. I need fuel to power this love machine, and my tank is empty" He winked at a couple of girls in the convertible next to us. A look of sheer horror crossed their faces and they sped away.

"Love machine my ass. You haven't gotten tail since highschool- and back then your "tank" was considerably smaller."

He shot me a withering glare. "I don't see you getting any either, stick boy. Shut up and turn here."

"Whatever." I exited onto North 45th and pulled up to Dick's Drive-In. I parked, and we got out. "I'm not paying for it, though." I leaned up against the side of my rusty, foul smelling vehicle and watched as he stomped off towards the order window, muttering profanities under his breath.

As PJ ordered, I thought more about what he had said earlier. He was right, the music on the radio sucked, and something needed to be done. But what? I mean, there's only so much two dudes can do. There was no point in complaining to the radio station. They get paid to play what's popular, that's what people to hear, and if that means putting overplayed top 40 pop tunes on the air, then that is exactly what they're going to do. Unless real rock and real metal spontaneously became popular among the general public, then there was no way we'd hear anything decent on the radio.

I glanced up at the telephone pole that I had narrowly avoided while pulling up. There were about a dozen ads for roommates, apartment rentals, and a few 'lost dog' posters up. I mused over them for while PJ argued with the cashier- I could hear them haggling over the price of his burger, which apparently wasn't made with the satisfactory amount of pickles.

That's when I noticed it. Hidden behind a weather-beaten post for a lost Schnauzer was a large, brightly colored advertisement.




$500 dollar cash prize!

THE war starts on April 3rd 9:00 pm at the CROCODILe MUSIC VENUE!

Contact killrqweenhotmail for more info and booking

I tore off the poster immediately. It was like a sign from the Rock Gods. This could be the first push into getting good music on the radio. There were a few problems, of course. For one, I didn't have a band. Hell, I didn't even know how to play an instrument. It didn't matter though. I had time to figure everything out. The competition was months away, anyway. How hard could starting a band be?