"We're Sargent Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club

"We're Sargent Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" the singer sang off-key. Nobody really believed the lead singer in front of them that evening was Billy Shears. Suddenly...

and a scarecrow. "Rock slams Country", I thought and a new genre was born. My producer was game and we convinced the Juggernauts of Rock, and Country to a head-to-head concert

. The climax was a pyrotechnic deuling banjo speed-metal hoedown. The crowd whooped it up in their Stetson hats and AC/DC t-shirts as they line-danced in the mosh pits.

Somebody started handing out vuvuzelas, and he was killed instantly. The band only played harder when the pyrotechnics caught their drummer on fire. A thousand tiny cowboys entered

and started square-dancing in the orchestra pit. Even without the burning drummer screaming the music didn't really match the dance, & the vuvuzelas were becoming obnoxiously loud.

Appalled by the complete lack of style, I dusted off my newly-acquired leather jacket and said "Smell ya later, dweebs!" pointing finger-guns in the general direction of the stage.

LIttle did I know that "finger guns" are a felony in Iceland. Someone screamed; an alarm went off. I ran into the night with my new leather jacket and the sounds of Bjork chasing

me. Bjork was singing about tossing bottles and car parts off a mountain, and it gave me ideas. I walked to the edge of a cliff and tried to throw my "finger gun" over, but

since it was attached to my body...well, as you can imagine, I fell thirty or forty feet and landed on the back of a sunbathing obese woman, and now she's my wife. Life is strange!