Miniewicz was outside. it was dark, raining, misty and the only thing he was sure of was that nothing was certain. noone takes in as much vibrations as he did without feeling at least a bit misplaced. His thumb was misplaced, too, that was kinda irritating, but he was more than just feeling a lack of orientation because of that. he had to tell people... the story, any story... the truth? any truth! anyway, they had to listen. listen good. it was like arranging bricks on one another but as soon as one was in place and he grabbed the next brick, the first one had already fallen down again. And doing this inside his troubled mind with no hands to use didn't make it easier.
When he stepped onto something long and red. it was... a hood. a red riding hood, actually little enough to be stepped upon. with long blond hair, a shiny skirt, skinny legs, a rope and ... really? yes, he checked again, the creature had... a beard. Hm, ok, weird enough to join the brickgame, Miniewicz thought and picked up the small thing, held it like a flute, blew a few strong blasts of air in one of the ears and suddenly the little red riding hood was a bigredridinghood, started to walk upright and drank black tea. didn't say much, liked to shake a tambourine, though. So they started to eat a deck of cards.
When suddenly they realized, they've been followed all along by a crouchy crawling thing with a guitar on the back, which now demanded its share of the aces and sevens from the card deck. Miniewicz and the big red riding hood couldn't see his face, there was hair all over, clothes turned the wrong way and huge, hand-like ears. like balloons. fucked-up beyond any recognition. He took his aces and started to make a nice warm fire out of his guitar, roasting the queens over the flames and slowly fubar began to talk... escape from mental hospital, quit therapy, mowing some lawn in the 90s, been to some school in the 80s, it was all quite confusing. nothing he said seemed to make sense. though he said, in the mental they seemed to have found sense in everything he did.
Being the three they were now, it was time to spread the message that there was a new voice around, that spoke of things... heavy things, not just any things. a voice that was like apples on the screws of society. but the voice needed drums, a deep punchy kicking fundamental to shake some feet. word had it that behind the lines of this every day city life, an eagle wise enough to carry on a beat was limping around. his foot was hurt by some mystical incident and that made him approachable for the non-flying folks. so not wasting any chance the minievicz-bigredridinghood-fubar-trio spoke to the feathered man by the name of "The Eagle" and he agreed to share an apple in-between the bricks-game in exchange of some of the sixes left of the card game.
Still, the bricks kept falling apart, no matter how much any of the folks set their mental image creation machinery to it. Something was still missing. Something fundamental... a solid foundation, a bottom end... a BASS! That's it, they said and while they sliced up some more cards to roast them, they remembered a guy that might just be wacky, wobbly, weird and wicked enough to join their freaky foursome. He'd been in the biggest of all cities for a while, where he had seen things...heard things... played strings, deep and dark up and down the roads and tunnels. he could live of one single piece of radish for a month and still shake his bass like a juggler his balls. They phoned him, they got him, they tried him, they kept him. They called him Wobblebass.
Keep this story in mind, tell it to your children and spread the word. We are your folkshowfreaks!