WELCOME TO DREAMWIDTH, HERO...

[When the camera turns on, some people will see a familiar face with a terrible hair do wearing a suspiciously familiar funeral suit. He is pissed, pissed while thumping around what appears to be a kitchen--hopefully his old one--and yanking things out of shelves. For the most part he remembers to keep the comm pointed at himself, but once in awhile the camera and sound goes weird as he uses that hand to . . . open a can?]

Fuck. Yew. Fuck yew! Fuckyew! I've been away fer months here but back home only a few fuckin' seconds?! Can't find Toki and--A SUIT! Yew braught me back in a fuckin' suit again, ffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. [He stops with the can opener and just exhales deeply.] It's jest hard, yanno, it's jest, uhhh, yeh . . . [He slowly brings up a glob of something to his mouth. It looks oddly can-shaped and bread-like. In fact, that's exactly what it is. Bread from a can. Months old bread from a can. He chews on it with a sad wistfulness.] . . . it's hard to be Pickles the Drummer reet now, ahll by myself...

[Canned bread crumbs falling sadly all over as he sighs again. But then he gets all fired up once more!]

Fuck this, though, seriously! I'm naht gonna do shit like last time, last time none of yew were any fucking help, so I gahtta do things on my own! So the first order of business: puttin' together a baaand. So which one of yew dildos have always wanted to be in a band? Now's yer fuckin' chance, yew'll never have an opportunity like this again, so--so roll ahn up, stahp being a sad mouth-breathin' loser and join a band and get some pussy fer once, roll ahn up.

Otherwise, the least some of yew can do is bring me some fuckin' booze, everything here is empty already. I dunno what'll go good with this shit, though. [Looks at the hunk of can bread in his hand.] Maybe a dark rum or somethin', I dunno . . . surprise me.

[The camera for once isn't swaying because he somehow managed to set it up properly to film himself without holding the comm. He appears to be standing in a pose of stark disapproval, staring down at the camera, arms akimbo.]

So I gaht a knahk on my door and was so excited, soooo excited, 'coz the dood was holdin' a big ass box. Either it had a geetar in it or, like, a giant snake, yeh? Either one would be fuckin' sweet reet now, a fuckin' geetar or a fuckin' snake pal to talk to and tell my nightmares to, yanno?

But like a kid at Christmas, I sit down all pissin' my pants with excitement only to open it up and discover the, uh, the equivalent of tube socks. A fuckin' box full of fuckin' tube socks. This is what I gaht, this is what I gaht in dat box:

[He holds up a guitar. But why is he bitching about that, isn't that what he wanted? No, because it's an acoustic guitar.]

Dood! Dood whose name I dunno! Yew know who yew are! Dood, I specifically said no acoustic, this is a total dick move! And here I thaught yew were a bro. [Sad frown, but then it quickly goes back to angry.] Guess what, dis is what-- [From off screen again he pulls out a bottle of whiskey, takes a large swig, swallows, holds up the guitar and FOOSH, out of his mouth comes a shot of flames to set the offending piece of shit old timey guitar on fire. He isn't spitting fire like a trick, he's like a goddamn dragon here, and that's cool. He keeps holding it as he continues his disapproving stare at the camera.] --Dis is what I think of yer geetar! . . . OW! motherf-- [That was when the flames reached his hand and he drops the guitar, jostling the comm and turning it off.]

[He's been in the City a few days, and he still appears to be wearing the expensive suit he showed up in, though now it's all wrinkled and stained from days and nights of wearing it without wash. But for most people this is the first time seeing Pickles, and he seems to be standing in a lamp store, and he looks majorly peeved about something. Something imperative.]

Seriously?? Have none of yew fuckin' mouthbreathers even heard of Dethklahk??!