Day 3: Dat Bass!
In contrast to Robi’s lifestyle, an average day in Pete’s world is much more down to SimEarth. He sleeps until noon, grabs a bowl of cold soup from the fridge, and watches cartoons, just like he surely did as a wee child. There was one slight detail that I noticed fairly early on.
I had figured that under his sick bowler, Pete was sporting a normal hair cut of the “short” variety, or at least short enough to not show beneath the hat. Oh no. Not this guy. Behold, the true hair of Pete Hopper! Just look at that fiery mane of ginger opulence. Dear lord, how much conditioner does this guy use? And what does he do with it every day? Does he tie it into a samurai bun on top of his head, or does he just cram it all up into his hat, like a birds’ nest? Whatever the answers, Pete was not sharing, for the clock had just struck Bass, and by God, did Pete strum that beast like nothing else even mattered.
Nothing could deter him from playing on. That is, until the old, cold soup flowing through his intestines finally reduced him to a cramp-wracked mess, and he relieved himself in such a way that not only clogged his toilet, but that of at least four of his neighbors. You understand why I’m not including a picture of this. But, once this Campbell’s Evacuation was complete, he was right back at it, not even bothering to fix the toilet. Pete is all bass, all the time baby.
After another five hours of jamming, I made the decision to pull Pete out of his bass-ish fantasy and cancel his action. He walked away, stretched, and then went right back to playing the damn bass! I could’ve sworn he looked up at me through the screen, his eyes boring into mine as if saying “Pull me away from Bertha again, I fucking dare you.” I knew better than to stand between a man and his true love, and so I acquiesced to his four-stringed devotion. He then proceeded to slap away at that bass until 1am, when only the stabbing pangs of hunger managed to make it through his shield of oblivion. Apparently, two things matter in Pete’s life: playing the bass, and eating.
Of course, after a day filled with such adventure and excitement, it was understandable that Pete would need his rest. And so, wearing the same clothes he woke up in, Pete Hopper placed a firm yet gentle kiss on Bertha’s quivering strings, crawled into bed, and dreamed of the bass.