Rock of Ages Page #4

-That game's too bloody surreal anyway.

-Ugh!

Dennis, did you just sigh audibly? Why?

Taxes. They're so un-rock 'n' roll.

Cheer up, mate. You still got

the twisted sisters of piety outside...

...all flustered and worked up,

so we must be doing something right, eh?

Well, at least we have

the Arsenal show coming up.

But that means our whole existence

is riding on Stacee Jaxx.

Stacee Jaxx, the most unreliable man

in the music industry?

A man who blew off the halftime show

at the Super Bowl...

...to attend a satanic ritual

to sew up Debbie Harry's vagina?

Please stop.

-The Satanists wouldn't even do that.

-You're not helping.

Why would the devil close vaginas?

No one's qualified to do that.

Hand me the phone.

Let's do a telethon, because this might

work better than your Stacee Jaxx idea.

Shut it!

I'm calling Stacee's manager, Paul Gill.

-Ahem. Speak.

-Hello, Paul? It's Dennis Dupree.

Dennis. What's up, brother man?

Oh, I was just calling to check in

and see if we're still on for Friday.

Of course we are. Arsenal's last show.

We're kicking off Stacee's

solo press tour there.

Rolling Stone just confirmed.

They would like to interview him

on the premises, okay?

-What did he say?

-He told me to turn off the radio.

-So turn it off.

-The radio in his head!

-Calm down!

-Oh, God.

Paul?

-Paul?

-Oh, crap. Yeah, sorry, man.

Yeah. Is Stacee okay?

Stacee?

He's fantastic. I'm looking at him

right now. He's waving hello.

Yes, I'm talking to Dennis.

Oh-ho. He just flipped me off.

Same old Stacee. Right?

Okay, l gotta dash.

I'll talk to you Friday, babe, okay?

Stacee! Stacee! Stacee!

Put something on, man.

Banzai.

Jesus.

Stacee?

I didn't know you had a twin.

I don't.

Stacee.

You need to go on stage, man.

I am on stage, Paul.

Sh*t.

Take a good look, ladies.

Take a hard...

...good, long...

...hard...

...look.

This man, this man is responsible

for so much filth.

He's Satan.

She is an extraordinary woman.

Such a beacon of courage.

He's like a machine

that spews out three things:

-Sex...

-Oh!

-...hateful music...

-Yes.

...and...

...sex!

Can you come take some dictation

for me in the parish office, Ms. Hoyt?

Of course, sir.

My son ate the head of my neighbor's

horse because of Stacee Jaxx.

Ugh. Well, his filthy little hateful music...

...sex ride is over.

-Gotta stop!

-Yes.

And we're the ones who are gonna do it.

Well, you're a real tough cookie

With a long history

Of breaking little hearts

Like the one in me

That's okay

Let's see how you do it

Put up your dukes

Let's get down to it

Hit me with your best shot

Why don't you hit me

With your best shot?

Hit me with your best shot

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