#submitted by: auroratigress

[foofighterschronicles]

Part 2

Part 1

Part 2 below

Taylor lay on the stage with a salty puddle of tears gathered around his head as he quietly sang "On the Mend" to himself.

The echos of Dave's panicked whispered and panicked voice rang through his head as Taylor imagined the worst sort of things happening to his #1 bro.

What if the kidnapper is forcing him to use a computer or making him record in a normal, non-garage studio... OR DEPRIVING HIM OF FRESH POTS??? Taylor thought.  If he weren't already fallen down, he would fall down again.

"Are you just going to take this lying down?!" Chris said.

Taylor turned his head and looked at him.  He couldn't tell if it was tears or hot sauce building up in Chris' eyes, but he brought himself to his feeble drummer feet and shouted with Foo Fight, "No!  I will never take it lying down!"

"Good!" shouted Chris as he tried not to innuendo-ize what Taylor had just said.  "Let's go find Dave!"

"Okay, Political Guy!" shouted Taylor, jumping in the air.

Nate and Pat were too buys arguing over Pat's ringtone to notice any of this and remained on the stage while Chris wheeled Taylor in his wheelchair into the backstage area and out of the venue.

Chris ran down the street wheeling Taylor as fast as he could.  The boxing athlete eventually ran out of breath and had to stop for a rest.

"No!  You can't give up now!" wailed Taylor.

"I can't go on, Taylor!" wheezed Chris.  "I'm only human!"

Just then a white limousine with the FF symbol on the side pulled up beside them.  The vehicle's windows opened as smoke billowed out of them.

Chris and Taylor gaped in awe at the potential debauchery that may have been occurring inside of the limo.

Nate's headbanded head appeared in the window and motioned for the drummer and lead guitarist to board the vehicle.

Chris threw his drummer into the backseat as he threw the wheelchair into the trunk.

The white limo zoomed down Hollywood Boulevard or whatever is a famous street in which this story is supposedly taking place.  Flying over speed bumps, sailing through the air, perfectly nauseating the intoxicated band members aboard its mighty body.

"Who's driving?" said Pat.

Everyone in the limo fell silent.

Just then the limo pulled into what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse.

"Ew," Nate said, looking out of the window.

They all looked out and saw piles of empty KFC buckets all over the floor.

"Do you guys not even check to see who limo drivers are anymore?" said Chris, ready to box at anything that looked like it might have hot sauce.

"I just assumed it was Lemmy," said Nate.  "He's owed me a few favors since hitting me with this limo a few months ago."

Just then the driver-passenger separator lowered and revealed a total stranger in the driver's seat.

"I've been wondering when the rest of you would show up," the stranger said, turning around, revealing his face.

"Who the hell are you?" said Pat.

"IT'S HIM!  THE KIDNAPPER!" Taylor screamed.

The band members all threw their arms around one another as they collectively gasped in unison.

"Locked guitar case guy," whispered Nate.

"Hello, Taylor and Nate," said the kidnapper.  "Long time, no audition."

[foofighterschronicles]

The Foo Fighters were preparing to hit the studio again to record their follow-up album to their garage hit, Wasting Light.

Dave had given Taylor the responsibility of setting up the studio this time.

Taylor was super stoked to show the band what he had done with a space he had rented in LA.  He waited at the space, ready for the band to show up.

When Nate, Pat and Chris arrived Taylor greeted them excitedly, waving his arms.

"I can't wait for you guys to see it! Come look!" he squealed.

Taylor led them up a little pathway that led to a small house with a carport to the side of it which was surrounded by open umbrellas.

"Hey Taylor, what's with the umbrellas?" Nate asked.

"It's so rain won't damage the equipment," Taylor replied.

"Oh, okay.  Wait, what?!"

"It's a surprise for Davey!  Have a look at it."

There was an opening in the umbrellas where Nate, Chris and Pat looked inside and saw tape decks, blank cassettes, karaoke machines, karaoke microphones, mini tape recorders, mini blank cassettes and a coffee maker.

"This is the equipment?!" Nate asked.

"Yeah!  I still need to hook up the extension cord for the coffee maker.  Davey's going to love it!"

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," said Chris, burying his face in his hands.

"I'm too much older and lazier for this shit," said Pat, lighting a cigarette.

A car pulled up on the street and the horn honked.

"IT'S DAVEY!!!" cheered Taylor as he ran down the path to greet Dave at the car.

Dave had barely stepped out of the car when Taylor threw his arms around him.

"You're going to love it so much!"

"Let's see it!" said Dave as they walked up the path.

The other three members had disappeared into the house, looking for any sign of modern technology and also hoping to flush any evidence of coffee down the toilet... if there was a toilet at all... if not, they would throw the grounds and beans down the outhouse.

"Heh Tay, you're silly.  You've got all these umbrellas to shield your car from the rain," Dave said.

"By 'car' do you mean 'studio'?"

"Wha...?"

Dave ran into the carport where he saw all the equipment and the coffee maker.  He looked around frantically and bewildered.

"What is all of this, Taylor?!"

"It's... the... studio...  I... I thought you'd... like it..." Taylor stammered, his jaw quivering.  He hates it, he thought as he buried his face in his hands. I'm such a bad friend. What have I done?  I'm the worst drummer in the world.

Taylor was about to start drummer sobbing when Dave dropped to his knees with tears in his eyes.

"Taylor!" he cried.  "I can't believe you did this!"

Taylor knelt in next to Dave facing him and was about to apologize for his horrible friendship and drumming when Dave grabbed him in a vicious bro-hug and cried into his shoulder.

"It's beautiful," Dave whispered into Taylor's ear.

"Oh Davey!" Taylor cried, bro-hugging Dave back.  "You like it then?"

"I fucking love it, man!  We're a carport band!"

They bro-hugged, on their knees, in the middle of the carport-turned-studio.  Just then, it began to rain and they were surrounded by the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the umbrellas all around them.

I can't take two of these spazzes in one band, Nate thought to himself as he looked out of the house window at the rain.

[foofighterschronicles]

It's been 10 years since Foo Fighters released their album Wasting Light

They're on tour in some far-away land.

Dave Grohl's phone rings.

"Hello," he answers.

A teenage girl's voice speaks from the other line, "We're never gonna go swimming, are we Dad?"

"I promise we'll go swimming.  I just need to finish this world tour first."

[foofighterschronicles]

The Foos and additional musicians are gathered on the stage of an empty venue, ready for soundcheck, waiting for Dave to show up.

Ten minutes go by.

Still no Dave

Thirty minutes go by.

Still no Dave.

They all make jokes about how Dave is late because he's busy jerking off into the coffee maker or rubbing kiwis on Krist Novoselic's nipples or writing screenplays and musicals about Kurt Cobain or secretly playing "Marigold" to make up for each time it was yelled at him or finally getting around to swimming with Violet.

An hour has gone by.

Taylor starts to get worried.

"What if he's OD'd on coffee again?" he says, his voice panicked.  "What if him and Krist are starting up Nirvana again?!"

Taylor starts pacing furiously back and fourth behind his drumkit.

"What if..." Taylor pauses, thinking the worst.  "What if he's found another best friend?"

Taylor begins to feel dizzy and light headed.  He falls off of the drum riser, but Chris catches him.

"It's okay, Tay" says Chris, holding him up.  "I'm sure he's just stuck in traffic or... or something."

He helps Taylor balance on his feet.

"No, I can tell something's wrong," whimpers Taylor. "It's not like him to not call."

Overcome with panic, Taylor falls again and Chris catches him again.

"Stupid skinny chicken legs!" Taylor yells at his feeble limbs.

"SOMEBODY GET THIS MAN A WHEELCHAIR!" Chris bellows to the stage crew.

Even Nate is becoming concerned about Dave's no-show, but he still cannot stop judging him for it.

"Guys, what if something happened to Dave?" Nate says.

Suddenly, they all hear the sound of an ice cream truck's music.  They all turn towards Pat who reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

"Still haven't changed that ringtone, eh?" Nate judges.

"Shut up, Nate!"

Pat looks at his phone.

"It's Dave!  He's calling me!"

Taylor gasps loudly.

"Hello," Pat answers.

"Pat!  It's Dave!  You gotta help me!" Dave's panicked voice whispers from the other end of the line.

"Dave?  Where are you? What's going on?!"

"It's the guy I was telling you about!  The one who locked his guitar in his case!  He found his key and he's holding me hostage!  He keeps trying to audition for me and asking me to autograph things!  My wrist is so cramped up from signing shit!  You gotta save me!"

"Tell him we don't need him and we already have two guitar players!  Have you tried using your other hand?"

"He won't listen to me!"

"Let me talk to him!" Taylor demands as a couple tech guys help him into a wheelchair.  He wheels over to Pat and snatches the phone from him.

"Davey!  Where are you?!"

"Taylor!  I'm in some warehouse surrounded by empty KFC buckets!  I was kidnapped by a guy to tried to audition for us! Oh god, he's coming back!  I gotta go!"

Dave hangs up.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Taylor's cry echoes through the whole arena.  "NOT MY DAVEY!!!!!"

He is so distraught that he falls out of the wheelchair, somersaulting and landing on his back, sprawled on on the stage in an elongated mess of drummer.

"The bad man took my Davey," Taylor whispers to himself, tears forming a small puddle on the floor.

[foofighterschronicles]

Dave Grohl and Butch Vig sat in the garage-turned-studio on a sunny afternoon reviewing the newly-recorded track of "Arlandria."  Dave sat deep in his office chair, his eyes closed tightly, enthralled by the music as it came to the climax of the song "FAME, FAME GO AWAY COME AGAIN SOME OTHER D--"

The music suddenly stopped and Dave was jolted back into reality, startled by the sudden lack of sound.  He looked over at Butch who began pressing random buttons on the soundboard but really wasn't trying to fix the problem at all.

Then a familiar voice came over the speakers that said, "Hey Chris, is this thing on?"

It was the voice of Nate Mendel, the most evil ginger.

"I'VE GOT ANOTHER SONG ABOUT KURT COBAIN, MY FRIEND," Nate's voice rang out in a crude imitation of Dave.  "MY DRUMMER IS FALLING DOWN AGAIN, BUT I WISH HE'D FALL FOR ME"

Each line was followed by little giggles from Chris in the background.

"What the fuck is this, Butch?" Dave asked, disgusted.

"I'm sorry, Dave.  But these things can happen when working with analog tape.  It can get recorded over," explained Butch.

"GARAGE IS UNDER ARREST AGAIN..."

"Maybe," Butch said, "If we used a comp--"

"DON'T EVEN MENTION THAT C-WORD TO ME" yelled Dave.

"I was just gonna say that we would be able to keep the tracks as files and duplicate them and have plenty of backups..."

"FOLGERS IS NOT THE BEST THE BEST THE BEST THE BEST COFF--"

Butch finally hit the stop button.  He rolled his office chair really close up to Dave's because it was one of the few opportunities he could be in a chair around Dave without Taylor's balls in his face.

Dave sat in his own chair, fists clenched, wounded inside as he reflected upon Nate's judgmental parody.

"Dave," said Butch as he reached out and held Dave's hands.  "It's time to let go."

Dave looked up at him in bewilderment.

"Let go of the old way," said Butch.  "We can't keep making this album like this.  Please let us use just one computer."

Dave burst into tears.  "I can't!" he sobbed.  "The light from their screens burn my retinas!  The heat they generate makes it stifling in the studio!  The low humming sound they make makes me think there's a fly in here all the time!  I can't do it!"

And with that, Dave stormed out of the garage.

Butch yelled after him, "Sooner or later you're gonna have to face the fact that it's not the 80's anymore!  Times have changed!  Stop running from the technology!"

Dave ran into the street.  Blinded by the light of the outside world, he dropped to his knees where he looked up into the heavens and shouted, "GIVE ME A SIGN!  WHAT SHOULD I DO?"

Just then, the spirit of Steve Jobs descended and stood before him.

"Steve," Dave sobbed.  "I feel so lost in the modern world."

"You must catch up to the modern world, Dave" Steve said.  "Or it will leave you behind."

"So I should use computers again?"

"Yes, but only if they are Apple."

"What about my garage?"

"Well, I had a space lined up to be an Apple store, but you may build a studio there for Foo Fighters to finish the album. But then you have to be out as soon as you're done so they can start building the Apple store."

"Thank you Steve Jobs.  Thank you."