The Audience is Hardly Listening

 "Thank you, Baffany, for sharing your leaf collection. For our next act, please welcome Sven Schlotzsky & The Swollen Cajones."
 The annual talent show was the only thing the students of Womp Rat High ever got mildly excited about. Sven and his friends had practiced for months in the drummer's parents' garage. They even sent their demo tape to a record company, who was generous enough to reply, "I'd rather listen to a ruptured duck."

 Schlotzsky and co. jumped onto the stage and did a last check on tuning. The tension in the room was palpable, like a bitch on heat. And by bitch I mean your mom. One female girl student whispered 'omg Sven is soooo gorgeous,' then fainted in the most flimsy womanish way possible (letting the side down).  Derwent, lead guitarist, exposed the crowd to what he liked to call 'the vagina trap' (he wasn't good with words. He envisioned ensnaring hot girls with his musical talent; others imagined a kind of bear-trap-vagina). Notes of hairy crystal filled the air and rose to the ceiling. Another five girls fainted and some of the teachers started having an orgy in the corner. The drums kicked in and the tempo picked up. Sven stepped up to the mic, and was just about to start being fucking awesome, when the nightmarish happened.

 The animals in the zoo next door escaped again. They tore through the wall and had their way with the guys and drank all the punch. Just as Sven was frantically trying to think of a way to salvage the performance, Vanilla Ice himself came out of retirement and started busting out some mad rhymes about animals and stuff. Then a bad thing happened to him and he died.
 The next day Sven called an emergency meeting at his tree house. You're never too old for a tree house. He waited for hours, but his friends never showed up because they're still kids and when their parents say to clean out the fish tank, they mean right now, dammit. Not Sven, though. His parents were mushrooms. Mushrooms were notoriously chill about chores and homework.
 Anyway he spent the night crying and writing about last night's events in his diary like a girl. But in a crazy twist that's never happened in any other story ever, a reply appeared in the diary.

 He watched the words scroll across the page.

'Stop being such a girl.'

 He traced them with his fingers, and found new profound meaning in them. He found himself repeating them to himself while he went about his daily antics. Finally he had a eureka moment. 'Stop being such a girl!' he screamed.

 He realised the diary was not insulting him. It was giving him a tip-off as to the best come back in all of history. From now on, Sven would say these words to anyone at anytime and it always gave the desired results - the person would shut the hell up and Sven would feel like a badass. It even worked when the person you were talking to was a girl!

 That is, until one stormy Thursday night. He was chilling with friends in the park, drinking, because he was in a band and he had an image to uphold.
  

  Deezer, the keyboardist, was showing off his arrest record, in reply to which Sven suggested that he cease having such a lack of Y chromosomes. Deezer didn't find this amusing at all, which in itself is the worst punishment Sven could receive. But to make matters worse, the Deeze went back to Sven's house and chopped his parents up on a salad and sold it to some passing monks.
 Meanwhile WRH announced a second talent show.
 

 Sven prepared for this talent show like he had prepared for no other. For hours each night he practiced pitching his voice juuuuust right. I'll give you a clue - there were a lot of smashed crystal glasses lying around his now mushroomless house.

  The night of the talent show he snuck onto the stage while everyone else was in the backroom getting ready. He tinkered around with the controls on the equipment a bit, then snuck back out, imagining he was wearing a cape and some kind of mask and going 'mwahahahaaaaa'.

 The band began to play. Like before, people orgasmed all over the place and the music rose and rose and reached its peak as Sven stepped up to the mic.

 But this time, instead of preparing to sing fricking awesome, he took a deep breath and went 'EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!'

 The amp nearest Deezer blew out the screech of Sven's voice a billion zillion times louder than any of the other amps, thanks to Sven's pre-show tinkering.

 Deezer experienced what can only be described as rape of the ear, except with less blood and diseases. Everything was strangely quiet. People moved about but there was no sound. What's going on? He could see Sven's big st00pid st00pid face in front of him, his mouth saying some words. 

 'What?'

 'I said that'll teach you to eat my parents, you schmuck! And btw you SUCK at keyboard! I never wanted you in the band anyway, it was Derwent's idea!'

 'What?'

 Sven slowly began to realise that he had deafened Deezer. Ohhhh the sweet sweet irony. For now he couldn't communicate to him the fact that he just totally got some hot sweet steaming revenge on him. Oh, the shame! Oh, the pity! Oh wait, it's okay, that's why notepads were invented.

 Sven carefully wrote 'YOU SUCK' on a notepad and threw it at Deezer's deaf face. 

 As an afterthought, he picked up his pen again and wrote, 'P.S. Stop being such a girl.' He threw this, too.
 

  "Um, Sven," Derwent tapped on his shoulder. "We want you to leave the band. I'm sorry. You're just too much of a trouble maker."
 "Can't we at least finish this song first?" They were right in the middle of My Little Choo Choo.
 "No. Go away."
 The next few years brought on endless legal battles for the rights to the name "Swollen Cajones." My Little Choo Choo went on to be a big hit. Their mothers were reportedly very proud.

The end