We call ourselves Benzo and the Panties. I guess you could say we’re struggling. Isn’t everyone? Not even the big names, like the Gadget Hands, or GEEEK, can afford to lie around all day, getting stoned. It’s tough, man. For everyone.
James is the lead. He came from kind of a broken home. His mom was religious. His dad was a gorilla. Every day he put on a gorilla suit, and skated around on roller skates downtown, waving around business signs. We used to practice in their basement. But when his dad skated home, and peeled off that monkey suit, holy shit. I mean, the smell was just epic – even from downstairs. He got run over by this crazed asshole. His mom joined a convent or something.
Royce plays the guitar. He’s probably the best thing we’ve got going. He’s got kind of that angry Mexican look, even though he’s not angry, or even a Mexican, I don’t think. But I know he knows Spanish, cuz he talks to the janitor.
I’m the bassist. I was the last to join. They had an audition, and even though I didn’t play the bass, I was the only one who showed. So I pawned my moped, and learned to play bass on weekends. There’s not much to it.
Our drummer is also named Ringo.
We haven’t played any real gigs yet. But we’re so ready. We know all the big songs. We’re writing our own songs now, too. Royce did one called “Bitchquick” that’s as good as anything they don’t play on the radio.
I guess my biggest fear is that things will fall apart. My parents got divorced. Nothing lasts anymore. James keeps talking about a welding course. Royce is in prison.
Man, if I didn’t have the band, I don’t know what I’d do. Probably get stoned all day. Wind up like my old man. He’s the President.