Stalingrad, U.S.S.R. -- April 1929
"A stand-in drummer for Josef Stalin's house band is executed for drunkenly insinuating that the Soviet tyrant regularly engaged in sexual intercourse with goats. The insults flew when Stalin complained of the drummer "playing too damn slow". After being shot, stabbed, crushed, immolated, and urinated upon by Stalin himself, the musician's remains were strapped to an experimental long-range missile, which was then fired into the sky where it was intended to remain adrift in space, in compliance with Stalin's all-consuming paranoia."
Upper Stratosphere -- July 1947
"Thirty-one miles above the Earth's crust, a 9000-ton, 600-foot spacecraft resembling an impossibly large human penis is struck by a decrepit missile bearing a hammer and sickle on it's side. The space penis's hull is rent asunder, and the ship's pilot, trapped within a tremendous flaming metal glans, is sent careening towards the planet's surface. The Cock-ship's cockpit crashes onto one of the two music shops in the southwestern U.S. state of New Mexico. The pilot stumbles out of the wreckage, stubs his/her/it's toe on a bass guitar, picks up said bass guitar, and attempts to break it in half while cursing rapidly in Argonian. Failing this endeavor, he/she/it drags the smoldering instrument off into the night."
Hastings, East Sussex, United Kingdom -- August 1947
"One Edward Alexander Crowley dies in a massive explosion while attempting to prepare a ludicrous amount of methamphetamine in his makeshift boarding house laboratory. With his final breath, Crowley implores Beelzebub himself to spare his life. In a feat of omnipotent hilarity, Satan sends instead an archfiend who, upon reaching terra firma, proceeds to rape and consume Crowley's remains. The demon then enters a nearby pub, liquifies the brain of the barkeep, and crams every alcoholic beverage within the building down his stinking gullet, whole bottles in fact. Upon stumbling drunkenly out of the pub, the fiend notices a repulsive sound coming from a club down the street; someone whining about "help!" and "needing somebody". The demon smiles viciously to himself as he whips out his unholy member and pees on the club's front door. The structure immediately catches fire, masonry and all. A flood of screaming people charge through the flaming door, and the demon catches one of them(a man with round glasses and an old guitar) with an artful clothesline. Bearing a sadistic, shiteating grin, the hellspawn plucks Mr. Lennon's guitar from his unconscious grasp, sprouts a solitary batlike wing from his back, and takes off in a drunken spiraling flight over the Atlantic."
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