Terrorist Rock Band Kidnaps Reporter
Wilson/Kalbab Examiner, Monday, August 15, 1988
Jason Stewart, Staff Writer
On Satuday, August 13th at approximately 10:30 p.m., Jason Stewart, the Entertainment Editor from the Wilson/Kalbab Examiner (myself) was kidnapped from his rural Idaho home by terrorist musicians calling themselves "The GoaTease".
Approximately five days prior to the incident, I received a cassette tape in the mail called the GoaTease Chain Tape along with a note telling me to make seven copies within seven days and mail them off otherwise "bad things will happen." I ignored the demand thinking it was just a superstitious joke by pranksters who's music I personally found irritating.
Then on the evening of August 13th I received a knock at my front door. I opened the door to find a rather large person in a rubber Richard Nixon mask at my front step. He said "trick or treat" and pressed a cloth soaked in ether into my face. I struggled for a moment but passed out within ten seconds I would estimate.
When I regained consciousness, I realized I was in the trunk of a moving car with duct tape covering my mouth and my entire body. I could hardly breath because of the exhaust fumes and the bag over my head. Within ten minutes the car stopped. I heard the trunk open and I felt myself being carried off. I was placed on my back on what felt like wet grass. They removed the bag over my head and ripped the duct tape from my mouth. It was completely dark until a series of flood lights illuminated the area from every angle. I looked around to find myself in what appeared to be a sizable yard at the base of a large oak tree. I looked up to discover a small house at the top of the tree above me. Suddenly from a hole in the floor of the tree house, a tin can dangling from a string began to descend toward me. When it was within three inches of my forehead a voice resonated from the tin can:
GT: We've granted you your interview.
JS: What? Please don't hurt me... I'll give you anything you want. Just let me go.
GT: What we really want is an interview.
JS: Okay, okay. What do you want me to ask?
GT: That's your job a**hole. We've taped a micro cassette recorder to your head with an intelligence meter and some C4 so ask something smart quick!
JS: Who are you?
GT: The meter's in the yellow... were the GoaTease. We sent you our tape last week and we haven't read your review yet. You must be giving it extra careful attention so as not to miss all the subtle nuances... right?
JS: Oh... yeah... right... Where are you from?
GT: We're from a tiny island in the South Pacific called St. Helias. We are four incestuous homosexual lepers from St. Jerome's Colony. Sons of the Missionary... (another voice) that swine... we're not gonna tell that swine's name... the CIA will have their lasers from space trace us down and kill us. I am pelted with acorns! I am pelted with acorns! (first voice) Shut up you retard.
JS: Why are you in a tree house?
GT: Intriguing isn't it? For a leper, a tree house can be heaven. We're so ugly, over the edge ugly, that if our music were as ugly as we are, you would be bleeding from the ears... that is if you listened to the tape.
I was so scared I could hardly think. I kept talking hoping to prevent the situation from escalating.
JS: Yes yes... of course. It was very... interesting. Listen, although I am really scared right now I'm also very... very... intrigued. Who are you're musical influences?
GT: We have no musical influences. We were kicked out of our own colony because we were too ugly, repellent and annoying for the rest of the lepers. We spent our whole life in a tree house on the other side of the island. Our only musical influences were a World War II mine, a ship of peons, cheap instruments, electronics and scratchy records bound from Japan to the US.
JS: How did you get to the United States?
GT: Oh yes... we almost forgot about our only real musical influence. Dr. Abdou Hitti, an Anthromusicologist from... some American college... I can't remember. He arranged it.
JS: How did you meet Dr. Hitti?
GT: We were playing a concert at the leper colony one Saturday night. I remember Sister Helen powering the generator via bicycle pedal power so we could play our instruments at a blistering volume. Then our father introduced us to Dr. Hitti after the show.
At this point I felt a light thud on my chest. I looked up and was shocked to discover what looked to be a human ear in a pool of fresh blood lying on my chest. I screamed in panic.
JS: An ear just fell on my chest!
GT: Sh*t! that was our last one! What's a leper rock and roll band to do with no ears except turn it up louder? Intelligence meter dipping into the red...
JS: So Abdou Hitti brought you to America?
GT: Nice save. So we killed Abdou Hitti, hid disguised as tuna on a fishing boat and got shipped to Idaho where we now have the privilege of soaking you in our urine.
I heard the sound of liquid trickling into a metal tub.
JS: Please don't kill me.
GT: Shut up... a little urine never hurt anybody unless you make gun powder out of it. We actually came to America because Hitti knows a agoraphobic millionaire who appreciates the arts. He set us up in this tree house. He lives a few acres closer to the road. We don't know his name though... nobody does.
JS: Listen... if it's because I didn't dub copies of your tape... I promise if you take me home... I'll... I swear I'll make the copies... and I'll write a review... a... a good review... a really good review... just... just please take me home... please.
I was about to pass out from a panic attack.
GT: Well, I think this interview went well. Now let's let this little p*ss ant go home and write his article.
The lights went out and I smelled the familiar yet strangely comforting odor of ether. When I again regained consciousness it was 3 a.m. and I found myself at my front step completely nude with the tape recorder still taped to my forehead.
Local authorities were notified of the incident. No suspects have yet been charged.