Pogo's Playhouse

I chortle to myself as I play with some plastic green army men. Sitting on the stage, I have a mock battle set up, but in my mind, instead of regular bullets, all their guns contain acid tipped cop killer bullets, which will explode upon contact with a victim.

“Heh heh, cerebral explosions. Heh.” I say to myself.

Directly in front of me is our frontman, a slender raven haired guy in rainbow stockings, who now goes by the name Marilyn Manson. He’s leading some naked chick around the stage on a leash as he sings.
To his left is Daisy Berkowitz, our chain smoking guitarist, while the very vibrantly clad Gidget Gein, our bass player, is thrashing around on the right.
We lack a real drummer, so instead we’ve been putting a drum machine to use. Its located behind me, and our keyboardist, some guy I had never seen before tonight, stands beside it.

Tonight was my very first show with Marilyn Manson and The Spooky Kids. Technically, I was supposed to be playing keyboards, but the problem was that I knew how to play, but I didn’t have my own keyboard. To solve this issue, Manson had payed this guy to rent a keyboard and play with us until I got one of my own.

I had almost enough money, so I knew it wouldn’t be long. Once I got my own fancy keyboard, this guy would be out of here and I, Madonna Wayne Gacy, would take his place.

Manson starts the vocals to the next song, called Red In My Head. I crawl around the stage on all fours, still playing with my toys, but at the same time, I absorb the notes to the song. After all, I’d have to learn how to play the keyboard parts in a few days. It shouldn’t be too tough.

The girl Manson was leading around (who was now wearing a strap on dildo, which Manson had sucked off just a moment earlier) accidentally bumps into me, and I look up, noticing Gidget’s wide stance. Taking that as an invitation, I crawl between his legs then lay on my back, looking up at him.
He gave me a strange look, but it turned into a smile, as he knew I was just being myself.
I don’t know him that well, but I like him a lot. He’s friendlier than Manson and Daisy.

As I continue to lay on my back, I take in the venue from an upside down perspective. We were playing in some dumpy bar, on a tiny little stage. There were only about thirty five people in the audience, some of whom were far too intoxicated to enjoy the show. A group of older women were looking at me with interest. Not because they wanted to have sex with me, but probably because they thought I was mentally handicapped.

I suppose I am in a way, but if there’s a name for whatever I have, I sure as hell don’t know it. I don’t know why I do some of the things I do, just like I can’t pinpoint exactly why I have such a negative reaction to people spelling my name wrong or addressing me incorrectly. My real name is Stephen, NOT Steven, and while I’m not sure why, I shudder with disgust every time someone calls me Steve. Some of it might be the ADHD, but I’m not exactly sure.

All I know is that if given the choice, I’d rather be completely insane, or incredibly normal. As I always say, everything in the middle ground just sucks.

I adapt to things very quickly, and being in this band is no exception. I had been playing the keyboard with these guys for about two weeks now, and I already had all my parts nailed.

In fact, we were just about ready to write some new songs. There was just one tiny little problem: Our decrepit drum machine, which was a piece of shit, was ceasing to be useful. It dawned upon us that we’d need to hire a real drummer instead.

At the moment, the four of us were in some rather sub par recording studio that Manson had rented out for a few months. The recording equipment was old, but it would get the job done.
It was a sleazy looking studio, and I had the feeling that sexual encounters of every position and persuasion had taken place in each room at least once. Additionally, the hideous seventies style tan carpeting which covered every room had several suspicious dark stains on it, which may or may not be blood.

Manson and Gidget were standing, and facing Daisy and I as we sat in front of the control panel.

“It’s become quite evident that the drum machine isn’t cutting it anymore, so we’re going to need to find someone to play drums for us. I personally don’t know anyone, so Gidget and I are going to go to Kinko’s and make a bunch of flyers. I don’t have much money, so I can only make about 50 or so.” Manson said.

“Wait, Kinko’s is open at two in the morning?” Gidget asked, seemingly shocked by Manson’s suggestion.

“Of course they are. Why wouldn’t they be?” I asked him.

“Who needs to make copies in the middle of the night? Besides us, that is.”

I shrugged.

The two of them left a minute later, leaving me alone with Daisy. I didn’t pay much attention to him, instead I decided to amuse myself by spinning around in my swivel chair. After a few minutes, I realized that he was watching me in a seemingly disapproving fashion.

“Pogo, is it true that you turned down a job offer at NASA in order to play with us?” he inquired.

“Yeah.”

“I find that kind of hard to believe.”

“How come?”

“Because, to put it bluntly, you’re really fucking weird. I don’t know if I like you.” he narrowed his eyes at me.

I stopped spinning around in my chair just long enough to address him. “Well, in all honesty I’m not terribly fond of you either. I guess that makes us even.”

It wasn’t a lie. I wanted to like him as he was the most musically talented out of all of us, but his arrogance made it hard. Plus, there were some other things about him I wasn’t crazy about, such as his penchant for wearing sunglasses indoors. I mean, who does that?

“You act like you’re about ten. You’re twenty six, right? I think you should start acting like it.” Daisy said, disrupting my thoughts.

“Maybe you should loosen up a little.” I retort. “Is it so wrong to keep a few childhood traits?”

He raised a brow at me in response. “Pogo, yesterday you went down to Cub Foods and poked every loaf of Wonderbread until it couldn’t be sold anymore, while giggling the whole time. Why did you do that?”

I rack my brain for a reason, but I can’t come up with one. “I don’t know. I just felt the compulsion to do it.” I admitted.

Daisy smirked at me and lit his eighth cigarette of the hour. “See? You’re weird as hell. You need some meds.”

I stayed silent, but I knew his words were true. I am a weird guy, I can’t deny it.

Even though Manson put up as many promotional posters as he could, only one person showed up to our drum tryouts.

He was a short, seemingly introverted guy who walked with a bit of a limp. When he played for us, I could tell he didn’t have tons of experience, but he was a hell of a lot better than that stupid drum machine.
Manson and Gidget seemed rather indifferent to the guy, but Daisy was droning on and on about how we should hire him because he had played with this guy, Freddy, before. Since he was the only person who bothered to come, it’s not like we had much choice anyway.

“I’m telling you, hiring him would be a good move. I know him.” Daisy said, trying to convince Manson.

“Hmmm...yeah I guess so. If he doesn’t work out we could always find someone else.” Manson said before turning to the newest recruit. “You said you’re name is Freddy, right?”

“Yeah.” Freddy said.

“You’re new name is Sarah Lee Lucas.” Manson appointed.

“Uh, okay.” Freddy replied. “I don’t get to pick my own name?”

“No. Only I can choose the names.”

“Oh.”

A rather awkward silence fell over the room after that exchange. Sarah Lee stood in front of the drum set that he brought, and the rest of us sat at a rickety wooden table, staring at him. Nobody said anything for several minutes.

I fidgeted in my seat. Unless I’m tired or very focused on something, prolonged silence makes me very uncomfortable.

I suddenly sit strait up and my eyes go wide. “Guys! I just got an awesome idea!” I say excitedly. “I want a sign to put over my keyboard that says Pogo’s Playhouse on it! I want to build an actual playhouse! It could be like a fort, and I could even have a cage under my keyboard! We could have all sorts of weird shit on the stage. Wouldn’t that be great?”

“Eh, I don’t know. Knowing you, I could see it being a detraction.” Daisy said.

I pouted. “Scott, why do you always have to be a turd in the punchbowl?” I ask, using his real name.

Gidget sniggered, probably because I mentioned a turd being in a punchbowl.

“Your analogy doesn’t make sense. Who would take a dump in a punchbowl?” Daisy asked.

“I would. Just putting it out there.” Sarah Lee said. He had been silent so long we had almost forgotten he was there. We each gave him a questionable look, then went back to what we were doing.

1993

“Disney World! Disney World! Disney World!” I shouted, tugging manically on the head rest.

Manson, who was driving the five of us down to Disney World in his mom’s mini van, sighed. “We’re almost there, so could you PLEASE calm down? If you don’t, I’ll force some of these down your throat.” he threatened, shaking the bright orange container filled with my ADHD meds.

I shriek and slink down in my seat. I despise taking my meds. While they do override my hyperactivity, they make me feel terrible. Basically, they sent me into a tranquilized, almost catatonic state, and I usually panic if I can’t think many thoughts at once.

His threat was serious business, as two weeks ago, he had grown tired of my endless manic rambling and forced several pills down my throat as both Daisy and Sarah Lee helped restrain me. As they had found out during the first time this happened, restraining me was a two person job.

“I think we should all take a band picture with Mickey Mouse!” Gidget suggested.

“Yeah!” I agree. “I promise I’ll be quiet for the rest of the way if we do that.”

“Sure, but I’m not going to smile. And if one of those creepy fuckers gropes me, I’m blaming you two.” Manson said to Gidget and I.

Sarah Lee, who had been silent for the entire ride, piped up. “Don’t worry Manson. I think it’s safe to say we’re all too old to get molested by a guy in a Mickey Mouse costume. The cutoff age for that is probably around fourteen or so.”

“Don’t count on that. Some of those guys become a mascot just as an excuse to touch people inappropriately, they don’t care who you are.” Daisy said.

Remembering the promise I made just moments earlier, I fight the urge to ask him if he’s ever been molested by someone dressed as Disney’s beloved cartoon mouse.

The reason we were going to Disney World in the first place was as a reward for the progress we had made as a band. Since we’re quite a bit ‘different’ from the average, run of the mill local Florida rock outfit, we got noticed very quickly. In fact, less than two months after we formed, people really began to pay attention to us, and more people turned up for each show. Now that we’ve been on the scene for about three years, our fanbase has expanded exponentially. We’ve gotten signed to a record company, have opened for Nine Inch Nails, and we’re working on our first album, which will be titled Portrait Of An American Family. We’ve even got some groupies now, much to Manson’s delight.

Before too long, we arrive at the park, and I leap out of the van and bolt across the vast parking lot towards the entrance.

“Don’t run so fast! I can’t keep up with you.” Gidget panted as he appeared by my side.

I had grown quite close to him in the three years I had been in the band. Out of the four of them, he was my closest friend, as he tolerated and even embraced my strange quirks. Even though I told him verbally all the time, I hoped that he’d be in the band for a long time.
Although, somehow I sensed a disturbance in the force, and I just knew something would happen. Lately, Manson had frequently been bringing his friend Jeordie to band practice as well as to a number of our shows. I liked Jeordie, as he was my friend too, but I got the drift that he and Gidget didn’t get along very well. Plus, Manson had changed the band name from Marilyn Manson and The Spooky Kids to just Marilyn Manson. That, combined with the fact that he seemed intent on bringing Jeordie to every practice session didn’t bode well with me.

My thoughts were interrupted as Manson, Daisy and Sarah Lee returned with five tickets.

Once we entered the park, we were immediately assaulted and waved at by not only employees dressed as Mickey Mouse, but as Minney Mouse, Donald Duck, and Goofy as well.

I smiled gleefully. “Picture time!”

Manson groaned and clenched his teeth. “Fine, one band picture with Disney characters. ONE. No retakes.”

We all grouped together and had another employee take a Polaroid photo of us. Once it developed, I took a peek at it. Manson looked peeved, but the rest of us were beaming. Oddly enough, Daisy seemed to be the most thrilled about meeting ‘Mickey Mouse’.

“I’ve got to give it to you Pogo, that was a good idea, even if Manson doesn’t think so.” he said. Thankfully, he and I had put our differences aside a long time ago and got along much better than we used to.

“Actually it was my idea.” Gidget interjected. “Anyway, where should we go first?”

“Let’s go on rides!” I suggest. I love rides, especially roller coasters. I just hope they have some non sissy, actually thrilling coasters here.

“I just want to say that if any of you make me go on that damn It’s A Small World After All ride, I’ll disembowel you.” Sarah Lee warned.

Before he was even finished speaking, I ran off in the direction of the rides, with Gidget right in tow.