Chapter 21
(Johnny)
“So, we’ve touched a little upon what it was like for you and Rebel growing up together and the bands you admired, but a few fans have phoned in a couple questions about the band’s name. Rebecca from Vancouver, Washington wants to know who came up with the name Blissfully Immune, while Cade from Beaverton wants to know if there’s a meaning behind it,” DJ Cyril DeMill asked as we returned from break.
“Yes,” Rebel blurted, chuckling when Cyril made a motion for him to elaborate.
“Well,” I began when Rebel remained silent. “Technically, Dash inspired it, Rebel was the cause of it, and Ozzy was the one to actually say the words that prompted us to adopt it as the band’s name.”
“You should really elaborate on all of that,” Rebel insisted, grinning at me.
“Gee, thanks, Rebel. You were there, why don’t you elaborate?”
“Because I was busy being the butt of the joke.”
Cyril and I both laughed, before he leveled his gaze on Rebel. “Oh, now you really have to be the one to elaborate.”
“Of course I do,” Rebel grumbled before sticking his tongue out at me. “So, it really was all Dash’s fault, truly. He was behind the whole mess and then he had the nerve to sleep through the chaos. That’s where the name comes from. The way he lay there blissfully immune as our tour bus turned into a disaster area.”
“Oh, but you’ve gotta explain who was causing the disasters in the first place,” I added, just poking the bear since there was nothing Rebel could do but answer or risk dead air.
“We were in the middle of an epic prank war,” Rebel explained. “Dash kicked it off, when he put Big League Chew in Ozzy’s spaghetti and meatballs. Talk about funny, that right there was more classic than silly string. The colors meshed up better and when it got sticky Ozzy started raving about how awesome it was that they’d put so much cheese on the dish. That guy drops a small fortune every time we go to Wisconsin, just sampling cheese curds and cheese spread and anything else with cheese in the description that he’s able to get his hands on.”
“He hoards it, too,” I explained. “If we’re lucky, each of us might get a little nibble off whatever it is, but that’s about it. The rest of us learned a long time ago to grab a batch we can share if we’re remotely interested in something, because he’s never gonna pass any over.”
“Which was what made the prank so great,” Rebel said. “He wouldn’t even offer us a bite so we could see if there was anything wrong with it. Meanwhile, Dash is sitting there stoic behind his shades, total poker face as he brings a meatball to his lips and takes a big bite. By the fourth or fifth bite, we could see Ozzy struggling to chew, and he’s just trying and trying, and his teeth are starting to get stuck together, so he’s chewing more, and he can’t even swallow and take a drink, but he’s refusing to spit it out, too, because by then, he knew we’d done something to it.”
“Oh man, were you guys always pranking each other?” Cyril asked.
“We still do,” I said. “But it’s gotten harder to pull off a successful one after how many times we’ve gotten something over on someone over the years.”
“The best part now is that we’ve got a new group of guys on the road with us and they’re not familiar with our shenanigans, so we’ve gotten them a few times and they’ve gotten us, and this tour is shaping up to be a legendary battleground,” Rebel said.
“All in good fun, of course,” Cyril said.
“Of course,” I said. “The guys in Damaged Saints are like family, we’ve known each other for years so while we’d all like to prove that we’re up to the challenge, there are lines we’d never cross.”
“Though we aren’t above letting someone think we had,” Rebel added.
“Ohh yeah, that’s how it all played out after the Big League Chew incident,” I said.
“Dash was certain Ozzy was gonna go nuclear once he found out who was responsible for the gum, so he set up a little distraction to keep Ozzy running around chasing his tail trying to figure it out, meanwhile, I was the one who’d started finding little notes in the food.”
“Wait, in the food?”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “I unscrewed the lid on a jar of strawberry jam one morning, and there was literally a jam splattered note tucked there that read, are you sure this is strawberry ? I have never closed a jar so fast.”
“There was one on a slice of pizza that read, I sneezed on this, and a carton of takeout had a note on the inside flap that read, I don’t think this is beef,” Rebel said.
Snickering, I shook my head at the memory. “It was horrible. Nothing was safe. Not even the Cap’n Crunch.”
“Do I even want to know what someone did to the cereal?” Cyril asked.
“Nothing,” Rebel declared. “That’s what made it the most epic prank of all.”
“Dash put notes in everything,” I explained. “But he printed them, so there was no way of looking at the writing to see who was behind it. Ozzy figured that the person behind the notes had to be the one responsible for the gum in his dinner, so he was being super paranoid about everything.”
“When he saw the note in the jam, he was immediately like, there’s peppers in there, I just know there are peppers or hot sauce, or something,” Rebel explained. “So none of us was willing to taste it. Ozzy pulled out pancake mix, only there were these bits in it that looked like rat droppings, and he freaked and threw it in the trash.”
“They were chopped up raisins,” I explained, giggling. “Another of Dash’s pranks.”
“Ugggh, diabolical,” Cyril groaned.
“Right!” Rebel declared. “And Ozzy was correct, there were peppers in the jam. Dash had painstakingly steamed the label off a jar of strawberry jam and pasted it over the label on a jar of strawberry pepper jelly. It wasn’t until I scooped a little out to examine it that we noticed the difference.”
“There were little differences in everything. Like the coffee syrup for coffee milk? It wasn’t syrup, it was just bitter coffee. Really strong, bitter coffee without a hint of sweetness to it whatsoever,” I said.
“Oh man, what he did to the marshmallow fluff was simply diabolical,” Rebel said. “Fucker literally swapped the real fluff label onto a jar of vegan fluff, Cyril! Vegan fluff. Have you ever heard of such blasphemy?”
“I would have thought marshmallows were vegan,” Cyril replied.
“Yeah, well, so did I,” Rebel declared. “Only we’d both be wrong about that. Vegan fluff is made with chickpeas, can you believe that crap? Chickpeas. Do you know what chickpeas are, Cyril, because I didn’t, until I put a spoonful of that stuff in my mouth and nearly died.”
Giggling, I shook my head at the faces Rebel was making, while Cyril cracked up. I wished folks could see it, because they’d have been cracking up at the sight of Rebel with his nose scrunched up and his tongue half stuck out.
“Was your own fault,” I remarked. “It’s rude to stand there eating out of the jar.”
“It was a clean spoon and one bite,” Rebel snarked. “One. The most miserable bite of my life.”
“That does sound like it would be a little, umm, unexpected if you were expecting a spoonful of marshmallow,” Cyril declared, smothering a laugh.
“Exactly,” Rebel said. “I’ve got nothing against vegan food, just warn a guy, ya know? My tastebuds were expecting a different sort of sweet and a different texture altogether.”
“At least it wasn’t paste,” I offered. “Or Mrs. Bourassa might have popped out from the back to wag her finger at you and remind you to eat your breakfast before you came to class.”
“Ohh man, it took weeks for her to stop asking if I’d remembered my breakfast before I came to school,” Rebel groaned.
“Did you?” Cyril asked.
“Sometimes.”
We all chuckled at that, as Rebel scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Anyway, this went on for like days,” Rebel said. “And by that point, everyone was starving and scared shi—eerr, terrified to try any of the food in the RV. So we asked the driver to pull in at the next exit that had a Denny’s, a Perkins, a Waffle House, or an IHOP.”
“Good call,” Cyril remarked.
Snickering, I tried not to think about the way the RV had looked by the time we’d quit trying to scrounge up meals without potential contaminants.
“About twenty minutes later, we’re in the parking lot of a packed IHOP, when we realize it’s Sunday morning and it’s gonna be a long wait,” I said. “Then Ozzy looks around and we all sort of realize that Dash isn’t even up yet, despite all the noise as we wreaked havoc on the kitchen. So we go to back to the bunks and there’s Dash, half dangling off one of the bottom ones, passed out cold with ear buds in his ears and his hair in his eyes, just snoozing, blissfully immune to everything that had been going on. That’s when we noticed the crumbs, and all the real food he’d been hording. It was easy to see why he was sleeping easily while the rest of us were hangry as hell.”
“Wow, that’s some story.”
“It’s a great memory, too,” Rebel said. “It earned Dash the title of prank king, which he refused to let us forget until Ozzy finally dethroned him a few months later, not that he held on to the crown for long before Dash snatched it back.”
“Who holds it now?” Cyril asked.
“Dash,” Rebel and I replied simultaneously.
“Not to bring down the mood, but my viewers would be pissed if I didn’t ask about Johnny’s recent legal troubles and your feelings now that he’s been exonerated.”
“My feelings are the same as they’ve always been,” Rebel said. “I was in the car with him that night. I saw the red blur and the taillights, too, only no one was interested in what I had to say because I’d had a bit to much to drink that night. No one had to convince me that Johnny didn’t cause that accident, because I lived it. People need to stop rushing to condemn others without knowing the facts. Now I get that there were folks who were grieving and being extremely loud when they spoke to the media, but none of them were there, either. Pain doesn’t give anyone the right to slander someone.”
I got where Rebel was coming from, but I hoped that this would be the last time we’d ever have to address the issue with anyone.
“I’m just glad the guy who caused the wreck is in the hands of the authorities now,” I said. “The roads are a lot safer.”
“Will we be seeing any part of the experience represented in your upcoming songs?” Cyril asked.
“Probably not,” I replied. “It’s not something I could ever see myself wanting to sing about, for so many different reasons. A tragedy took place that night and three little kids lost their parents. The legal system did what it always does and reached for the easiest conclusion because they were over worked and in many cases underfunded. The problem is that the people know that, so the criminals use it to their favor, while the public worries that saying anything at all might turn the cops’ suspicions on them. The guy who waited so long to step up about what he saw, that’s why he stayed silent. Because he didn’t think the description he gave of the other car would be good enough and he worried about them trying to pin it on him the way they were trying to pin it on me. I can’t say I blame him for that. After what I went through, I don’t think I’d be so eager to stick around the way I did, when my vehicle barely touched the other one and only after the wreck had already taken place. Doubt I’d be in a hurry to call up and admit to being a witness to something either, despite how desperate I was for the guy in the van to come forward. It’s a vicious cycle that doesn’t really have a solution, except that we just need to be better toward one another overall. If the guy who caused the wreck had just been honest, I wouldn’t have been accused, and the driver of the van wouldn’t have been terrified of not being believed. People just need to own their own crap and deal with what comes, good or bad, so innocent people don’t get caught in the crossfire.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Cyril said. “I’m glad you’re able to put that chapter behind you, but that begs the question of what lies ahead for Blissfully Immune on this tour that we’re told doesn’t have an end date yet. Any idea of how long you guys plan to be on the road?”
“Nope,” I said. “At some point, we’ll schedule a break to record, but that’s the only break I can see us taking for a while. We’ve got some exclusive merchandise that will be popping up soon, so make sure you subscribe to our newsletter or visit our website regularly to see them as we roll them out.”
“Care to elaborate a little on some of those items?” Cyril asked.
“Oh man, we’ve been brushing up on old recipes, from our early years,” Rebel explained. “Some of them are a little off the wall but we decided to put together a cookbook, along with some of the stories behind the conception of each dish. ”
“Sounds like an awesome way for the fans to connect with you guys on a different level,” Cyril said. “What should we expect, in terms of your own contributions to the cookbook?”
While Rebel stroked his chin, deep in thought, I plowed right ahead with what I considered to be my piece de resistance.
“Tuna mockfredo,” I declared, to which Rebel snorted, while Cyril’s eyes went wide.
“I hope it doesn’t taste as heinous as it sounds,” Cyril groaned. “My call screen just lit up with a line of vomit emojis and WTFs.”
“Thank you!” Rebel said. “That’s the same response the rest of us had when he sat it on the table. It sounds worse than it is, though. I can admit that, at least. The smell, though, oh my god, dude, it lingers in the air forever. No amount of Febreze can get it out. I don’t care what scent you use. The place smelled like Peach Fresh Linen with a Hawaiian Aloha tuna chaser.”
Snorting, I tried not to laugh directly into the mic, because he wasn’t wrong.
“Oh my god, that sounds awful,” Cyril declared.
“No bull,” Rebel moaned. “Seriously, though, the dish itself is pretty good and easy to make, which is always helpful. Three ingredients and a bit of seasoning and bam, done.”
“Okay, I’m curious now,” Cyril said. “What are the three ingredients?”
“Tuna, cream of mushroom soup, and whatever pasta you have on hand,” I explained.
Cyril sputtered, his eyes widening a little.
“If we had a handful of cheese left in the bottom of a pack, or a couple of cheese slices, I’d melt them in, too, just to enhance the creaminess.”
“And justify calling it mockfredo, I suspect,” Cyril said.
“Pretty much,” Rebel chimed in. “This one time, he had a couple mozzarella sticks left from this bar we played at, so he peeled the breading off, threw the cheese in the sauce, then pulverized the breading and mixed it with a few packets of parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes we had left over from a couple pizzas that we’d had delivered. Talk about elevating a dish to the next level. That batch was pretty phenomenal.”
“Anything homemade is phenomenal after three days of nothing but peanut butter and jelly,” I reminded him.
Rebel just shrugged and flashed me his trademark grin. “At least we had five different flavors to choose from plus all those little packs you shoved in your backpack at Perkins.”
“They have apple and orange marmalade,” I reminded him. “Not to mention triple berry. No one ever has triple berry anywhere else we go.”
“Oh, I can see where this is already going to be an interesting project,” Cyril said. “I can’t promise that I’ll make anything I see on those pages, but I will be picking up a copy when it comes out.”
“Don’t worry about grabbing one,” Rebel said. “We’ll send a signed copy as a thank you for having us on this morning.”
“I appreciate that,” Cyril said. “And I do have one last question before you go, this one for Rebel, specifically.”
“Hit me,” Rebel replied.
“Several fans have mentioned being at Rocktoberfest and witnessing the shred-off that’s become an annual sensation,” Cyril said. “And they’d like to know why you didn’t take part.”
Busted.
We all wanted to know the same thing, and Rebel still hadn’t given an explanation any of us was willing to buy. Leaning back, I settled in to hear what excuse he’d offer this time.
“Some guys like showing off for the sake of being seen,” Rebel declared. “I only show off when it matters.”
“Are you saying the shred-off doesn’t matter?”
“I’m saying that it doesn’t prove anything about who the best guitarist is, because the best don’t always take part. It’s all subjective anyway and depends on what kind of sound you like. Fast and loose, deep and haunting, we all have our own style. The whole shred-off thing is just an excuse to show off with no meaning and I don’t waste my energy on things like that,” Rebel explained. “I’d rather spend it chillin’ or checking out amazing, up and coming bands, like Savage Roar. Someone really needs to get those guys signed to the festival scene. Those two guitarists of theirs truly know how to shred!”
Ahh, so he’d gone with splicing the various explanations he’d given us together into a long, rambling thought. I’d let him have that, since we were getting the signal that it was time to wrap things up. But I wouldn’t let it drop, not until he told me why he’d really refused to put his name in and had been noticeably absent in the crowd during the event itself. I knew there was more to the story than what he was saying, and something told me that it led straight back to our early years performing, when Rebel would cling to the edges of the stage and even play half hidden behind drapes and speakers, until he’d finally gotten comfortable being up there with us. It dawned on me then that might be exactly what was at the heart of him sitting out. He’d thrived, once he’d come out of his shell and started interacting with us on stage, but how were we supposed to convince him that he was amazing without us, when he’d never been onstage without the band by his side?
It might take me some time, but I vowed to find a way to show him, even if I had to reach out to a very special friend for a bit of help in that regard. The road to the next Rocktoberfest was ten months long, plenty of time for me to prove to him that he could handle being in the spotlight and winning the people’s hearts all on his own.