Jon and I were in a basement recording music, and some other people came over and made us go out for a drive. They all got pushed off a cliff somehow, so we went back to our recording.
Unfortunately, they came back, back from the dead, and they wanted to get in on the music. We knew that dead people couldn't sing, so we gave them drumsticks, and found that dead people have no rhythm either. Jon said they were no better when they were alive, and we were running out of Lysol. The jam decayed into the usual discussion of metaphysics.
We asked how it felt to be dead, they said they didn't know. But at least there was a life after death, that was good news. They said, "No, not really. We still have to get up and go to work in the morning."
So we screamed in six-part harmony and recorded it, until our throats broke and the sun came up angrily. There would be no royalties from this episode, no paying the bills, no feeding the Man; there would be only chaos and hypnotic confusion.
Published in "Absinthe" ed by Aurealia Nelson (XLibris, 2002)