Bbug
Acrobat
Larry, Edge, Bono and Adam stood sheepishly before their manager.
"What do you mean, you've lost the disc!?" shouted Paul, veins bulging in his forehead. He hadn't been this upset since Bono lost an album's worth of lyrics some twenty years before. "For the love of God, you're in your FORTIES."
"Perhaps it's early onset Alzheimers." said Adam drily, puffing on a cigarette.
Paul glared at him. "I always have to be the bad guy and the nursemaid rolled into one. You're not KIDS anymore, for crying out loud!" His deep sexy voice faltered, becoming thin and high-pitched. "It's hopeless; it'll be released free online and we'll have to start from scratch and..." His face more than fell; it crumpled, and in an instant was streaming with tears.
"Dammit, what the bloody--" sputtered Larry, embarrassed by this show of emotion. Bono gave him a sharp look, and after a short eyeroll the drummer corrected himself. "Er, I mean, it could be lots worse, we've loads of other material that's, you know, half finished or so--"
"Yeah," said Bono, brightening, "We'll make something even better-- something that'll really knock your socks off! Give us a year or two..."
Paul's sobs increased in both frequency and intensity. Edge patted him on the shoulder, blushing the deep crimson of someone ashamed of himself for not being more responsible. "There, there, Paul. Larry? Get some of that chamomile tea over here, will you? Bring the tissues too, thanks." he said, as Larry walked out, grumbling that drummers never get any respect, especially pretty ones.
Edge gave Bono and Adam a meaningful look. "Think Larry can handle this, guys?" he whispered, gesturing toward the sobbing heap of Paul.
"I s'pose." said Adam.
"What?" asked Bono, looking up from polishing his Fly shades.
Edge rolled his eyes and crossed the room to a bookcase. He glanced sideways at Paul, who was so immersed in grief and frustration that he had forgotten they were in the room. Edge tugged on a copy of The Collected Poems of Walt Whitman, and the bookcase swung forward and revealed a guitar. Edge had only to start to play "With or Without You" when a bright light encircled the band and transformed them into...SuperU2!
Adam wore magic pants of silver that were so beautiful and pure as to force anyone he questioned to tell the truth. Bono's shades became so fly as to defy description, and could see directly through not only the thickest safes, but also the most blatantly false bullsh!t spewed by thieves. Edge's hat had an invisible propeller atop it, which he could use to fly. His ringing magic guitar acted as a sort of sonar that with careful calibration and complicated calculations, could aid in the discovery of the disc.
The three set off at once, not remotely worried that Larry was taking so long in getting tea, or that Paul was having a nervous breakdown. All would be right soon enough!
"What do you mean, you've lost the disc!?" shouted Paul, veins bulging in his forehead. He hadn't been this upset since Bono lost an album's worth of lyrics some twenty years before. "For the love of God, you're in your FORTIES."
"Perhaps it's early onset Alzheimers." said Adam drily, puffing on a cigarette.
Paul glared at him. "I always have to be the bad guy and the nursemaid rolled into one. You're not KIDS anymore, for crying out loud!" His deep sexy voice faltered, becoming thin and high-pitched. "It's hopeless; it'll be released free online and we'll have to start from scratch and..." His face more than fell; it crumpled, and in an instant was streaming with tears.
"Dammit, what the bloody--" sputtered Larry, embarrassed by this show of emotion. Bono gave him a sharp look, and after a short eyeroll the drummer corrected himself. "Er, I mean, it could be lots worse, we've loads of other material that's, you know, half finished or so--"
"Yeah," said Bono, brightening, "We'll make something even better-- something that'll really knock your socks off! Give us a year or two..."
Paul's sobs increased in both frequency and intensity. Edge patted him on the shoulder, blushing the deep crimson of someone ashamed of himself for not being more responsible. "There, there, Paul. Larry? Get some of that chamomile tea over here, will you? Bring the tissues too, thanks." he said, as Larry walked out, grumbling that drummers never get any respect, especially pretty ones.
Edge gave Bono and Adam a meaningful look. "Think Larry can handle this, guys?" he whispered, gesturing toward the sobbing heap of Paul.
"I s'pose." said Adam.
"What?" asked Bono, looking up from polishing his Fly shades.
Edge rolled his eyes and crossed the room to a bookcase. He glanced sideways at Paul, who was so immersed in grief and frustration that he had forgotten they were in the room. Edge tugged on a copy of The Collected Poems of Walt Whitman, and the bookcase swung forward and revealed a guitar. Edge had only to start to play "With or Without You" when a bright light encircled the band and transformed them into...SuperU2!
Adam wore magic pants of silver that were so beautiful and pure as to force anyone he questioned to tell the truth. Bono's shades became so fly as to defy description, and could see directly through not only the thickest safes, but also the most blatantly false bullsh!t spewed by thieves. Edge's hat had an invisible propeller atop it, which he could use to fly. His ringing magic guitar acted as a sort of sonar that with careful calibration and complicated calculations, could aid in the discovery of the disc.
The three set off at once, not remotely worried that Larry was taking so long in getting tea, or that Paul was having a nervous breakdown. All would be right soon enough!
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What more could a sarcastic sleep-deprived fangirl want?
