No, really! CRANK IT UP, MOTHERFUCKER!!

If you honestly expected me to narrate the rest of this stupid story in the language of a D&D nerd, then you are as stupid as I was when I declared my intention to do so. It's not that I don't have the ability. I mean, I have a 16 Intelligence and a 14 Wisdom. And that's not even taking into account my Helm of Knowledge and my +3 Ring of Absolute Fuckin Genius. But I made my Saving Throw vs. Totally Bad Ideas, and decided to continue this stupid little tale in normalish English. All my experience points have added up, however, to me realizing that I oughtta just finish this goddam story. So, without any further ado. And without any adon't, here we go...

So, my sister is wishing she's an only child. We're in the bank together. I spy a Muzak volume knob on the wall. It goes up to 6. Doesn't go up to 10. Who the fuck would ever want it to go that high. Still.... 6? Why 6? But it was on 2. Evidently, 2 was the correct volume for a branch bank on a Tuesday at ten in the morning. My big sister saw me drooling over that volume knob and she gave me the same look that she had given me right before she had clobbered me with that barstool back when I was 7 years old.

Having a big sister is bullshit. They can totally kick your ass until you settle into puberty, then all of a sudden you get bigger than they are and you're a psychopath if you exact your revenge upon them. This is assuming that you like your big sister, that you never ratted her out when her boyfriend was hiding in the bathtub whilst your mother went on a white glove rampage at 7 in the morning. Me and my sister were buddies throughout our lives, but I never got to go toe-to-toe with her when I actually stood a chance. I've heard similar complaints from other guys who have big sisters.

Anyhoo, we're in the bank and I'm just about ready to piss my pants with the desire to turn up the fuckin Muzak, but my big sister's gonna kill me if I do. So I don't.

Flash 9 months forward. Me and my buddy Nathan are walkin around, having easily established ourselves as the two filthy, drunk, obnoxious, nihilistic schmucks in the Austin, Texas scene. We happened to be walking by the bank, and I recognized it as being the one with the Muzak volume knob on the wall. So we entered.

Picture a small branch bank, with 3 middle-classed, working citizens standing in line to do business with the perky, almost-always-attractive tellers. An elderly man discussing his modest profile on the other side of the desk of one of the bank's senior members. The Muzak's on volum 2, barely detectable unless one's bored enough to notice.

Enter me and Nathan. Neither of us have showered in weeks. Our shirts, once white, are now grey with filth. Our pants are shiny from having not seen a washing machine in months. Our stench of armpits, balls, ass, and rotten beer precedes us. We crash through the big glass doors of the bank. It was a good idea before, but now it's getting a bit freaky. We're laughing before the mission's accomplished, probably cos we've been smoking weed all morning. All eyes are upon us.

I turn the Muzak volume knob up to 6. That sentence doesn't look that cool It'd sound way more intense if I had cranked it up to 10. But Muzak doesn't do that. Thank god. 6, however, is as loud as a fuckin Walmart on December 23rd, and that'll just about make you shit your pants if you're in some relaxed little bank on a Tuesday morning in April.

Everybody (including the bank employees) flinched and looked towards the ceiling as if the End of the World were upon us. But nobody DID anything. They just continued on with business as if they weren't getting their eardrums shattered by a french horn version of "Come On Eileen". Me and Nathan were laughing so fuckin hard we could barely exit the building. For all I know, that place is still the loudest bank in Austin.