| This is me. I am the drummer and co-fouder of Scimitar, or Voltage as it was then. I am going to tell you a story that perhaps explains some things. The year was 1996. The Gulf War had ended yet Saddam Hussein was still up to some unsavoury business. To combat this evil, I was a member of an elite group of Commandos. My codename was Ronin. One fateful day I was called to the briefing room. A dire situation had arisen. The Iraqis had managed to build a new type of weapon. We had no details as to what it would do but we knew it could be devastating to millions of innocent people. We knew that if we attempted a full frontal assault then they would merely detonate the weapon. What was needed was a covert operation. One man was to be sent in. That man........was me. I parachuted in at midnight. My plan was to go in, steal the blueprints for the weapon and destroy the prototype. I crawled through a duct and slipped softly into the technology room. There was but one man guarding the blueprints. I despatched him with a swift chop to the side of the head. I then rifled through the many files. I finally came across one named 'Project X'. With my photographic memory I scanned through. I was horrified. The Iraqis had come up with a dastardly new missile called the 'EvilFunkatron666'. It was a missile packed full of Funkonium 12. The element that controls a persons funkiness. They were planning to detonate it in London, thus infecting everyone with Funkonium 12. The result would be panic. Everyone in London would start wearing Tie-died clothes and writing crap beatnik anti government poetry, claiming anything and everything was 'freaking them out'. Nobody would get any work done. I had to stop it. More duct crawling soon brought me to the room that held the missile. I again flew down and took out two guards with a complex kicking maneouvre that I was dead impressed with. I began to defuse the terrible device. I was nearly there when I heard a voice. 'Too late Ronin, you lose' it screamed. I turned. It was Hussein himself. He had 8 legs and the horns of a goat. There was the remnants of raw human flesh on his sissy goaty beard. He had in his hands a large Remote Control that housed a stupidly big red button. He cackled to himself, pressed the button and scuttled off, squeeling in delight. The missile started clicking, very, very fast. I tried to finish diffusing it but it was no use. It was going to take off. With no thought to my own safety I jammed my screwdriver into the electronics of the warhead, knowing full well what the effect would be. It exploded. I managed to dive over the warhead in the split second before. London was saved but I had absorbed the full blast of Funkonium 12. I was infected with more funkiness than was previously thought possible. My days as a commando were over. From that day forward I have become 'Ronin Funkster', walking the Earth attempting to put a set of drums in the way of my chronic outbursts of funkiness. My life is dangerous to say the least, but hey, at least there are no beatniks in London. |
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| Sam |