Tongues of fire shot up from the ends of the stage as seizure inducing lights shot through the air, a cacophony of awesomeness and primal rock power shaking the crowd into a drum line infused frenzy. Everything was perfect. The guitarist was rapidly shaking his head up and down, pretending to know what he was singing. The roadies were holding back the bassist, who, teeth clenched, was preemptively trying to smack the amp into submission. The lead singer was permanently damaging his and his children’s vocal cords with his melody of awesomeness. And the drummer was banging on his drums, pretending people actually knew who the heck he was.
This, any member of the crowd would tell you, was the essence of rock.
However, this scene was definitely not the essence of how to jump. Because, in an attempt to dive into the crowd, the lead guitarist tripped on a cord and fell, face first into a crowd of metal studded roadies.
And, like the drum player’s vanity infused extended solo, it didn’t end well.
* * *
“Wow, man. I wish I could fall that good.”
The guitarist woke up in crowded hospital wing, the rest of the band crowded around him.
“I didn’t mean to fall, idiot.” He said. “But wait, was it really that impressive?”
“Man,” the roadie said, holding out the peace sign, “that was the raddest thing I’ve seen all week.”
The guitarist’s manager wove his way through the crowd of roadies. “Well, pull a stunt like that again and you’ll get fired. You know how tight a schedule we need to run. We missed playing on the roof of a hospital- A HOSPITAL- because of you.”
“God, I didn’t mean to. Give me a break. You already bathe yourself in cash every night anyways.”
“You just don’t get it, do you? It’s not bathing until you can dive in and not hit the bottom. And anyways, do you know how much money it takes to replace those amps your friend over there smashes?”
The bassist bowed his head in shame.
“Whatever,” the guitarist said. “I just want to rock!”
And just like that, the guitarist stood up on his hospital bed, pulled a guitar out of his hospital gurney, and uttered a silent prayer to the god of rock. Slowly, a spire of magma and skulls rose out of the ground, bringing the band up with it. Wings sprouted on the roadies, who flew to the wastelands below to recover the long lost instruments of the demigods and to return them to the band. A group of angels even descended to dance around and look pretty. They started to play. And before long, entire nations of Australians and their kangaroo mounts gathered around the mountain to hear the words of the chosen receivers of the gift of rock.
And they played and played for centuries before towns built up in the wake of the mountain. And they called the band ACDC.
That is, until the guitarist decided to stage dive again, inventing base jumping.
