They surged ahead, slipping and clawing their way through the acrid slime to where Sheila stood illuminated by two garish shafts of red and blue light. There was a grate overhead, old and filthy, which begrudgingly allowed the unsettling glow to ooze in and down a series of wet, rusty rungs like an electric fungus.''What light?'' came a muffled voice from somewhere near the armpit of Gail's t-shirt. ''Uh, you can probably take that off, Ken...'' Gail retrieved her bloodied garment as Ken blinked painfully, eyes stinging but bullet wound now staunched.
''I don't like the look of this,'' growled Bob, ''But we've got no choice--we can't hang around in this disease-infested hole any longer, and Ken's cheek wound could rip open any minute. Y'all get on up that ladder.''
They clambered up and out, the clammy grate offering surprisingly little resistance.
The sight that met their eyes above ground was nearly as terrifying as the dank underworld below: an enormous, crackling sign screamed ''Winnipeg Central Cinemas,'' its excess light spilling across a larger-than-life poster featuring a sullen Asian beauty, a hideously bloodied cello case, and--Steve.
STEVE???
''Jesus GOD,'' bellowed Bob as his startled brain strained to absorb the fact that the boyish mug of his fellow gunslinger-cum-producer was now plastered all over Canada, if not the entire Western hemisphere. ''Pingry, what have you DONE!!''
''No, seriously, wait, it was just a little college project, I mean, I sent it to Sundance like AGES ago but never heard back, and...'' Steve gaped, transfixed at the glorious horror of the predicament.
Bob ripped Gail's shirt back off and tied it firmly around Steve's head. ''Dude, congratulations and all, but now every joker in TOWN knows your face. And you WOULD have to call it CELLO,'' he fumed, glaring at the telltale instrument case Steve was now fumbling to use as an oversized cane, having become both famous and blindfolded in under 4.5 seconds.
Bob cinched the shirt down tighter. ''Keep this on your head at ALL times, or we're DEAD,'' he hissed through gritted teeth, adding a somewhat embarrassed ''Sorry, Gail.''
2 comments:
Ack! What happens next??!?!
I'm pretty sure I heard that Mr. Pingry was working on a sequel with a working title of "Bordello Cello." Can you confirm or deny this?
Gunslinging cum producer?
That's a hell of a thing.
By the way, if Pingry knew his shit, he'd film the next one in Cello-vision. Or at least show more boobs.
I did like the way he used the bleeding cello to represent how he was torn from the womb of his mother - herself a nubile asian hottie just this side of me getting busted for yet another statutory panty collecting rap. No mere coincidence, that.
I think my favorite part of the movie occurs on the altar of the Vega Altair church, with the sweet sounds of the 12th street rag ripping out of the tuba robot, a young Marilyn Manson offering up his soul for "just one fractional shaving" of musical talent, while Sheila, clad only in G string and shoulder pads, looks at Bob, whose third nipple is clearly showing just above his right nostril, pauses her patented 3rd minor harmonic chanting and says "no shit - felching?" Then, the dramatic fadeout, with the voice of the soul merchant looking Manson in the eye, saying "No, son, just stay with the pushup bra and tampon thing."
The scene was instantly seared into the very fiber of my being. I knew then that we'd hear from this dude Pingry again.
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