The Archies' "Sugar, Sugar"
You weren't alive in the 1960s, or if you were, you were likely on a lot of drugs and don't remember it at all. You were probably spinning Moby Grape vinyls and dipping your pet cat Pookie in tie-dye, but on the off-chance that you, dear listener, are a senior citizen, you probably have been a consumer of Archie Comics at some point or another. Starring a ginger boy named—y'guessed it—Archie, the strips have often featured his high school hijinks in taking his girlfriend, Veronica to the drive-in movies and deal with some abusive dildo who pretended to be a monster before being unmasked and revealed to be a skeleton, if I'm remembering correctly. I'm probably not. Anyway, long before the Gorillaz were jellybeans in Harambe's womb, The Archies were their own animated rock n' roll band, named after Archie himself because he's such a pretentious little dick. Strange thing is that they had a real life #1 radio song hit in 1969 of all years, with "Sugar, Sugar". That's right: they were bigger than the Beatles, Stones, Monkees, and Ace of Base all wrapped into one. That's pretty messed up, but we live in a world in which Donald John Trump is President and I have no eyes.
As for me, I own a record shop in Downtown Riverdale. I was inspired by the success of the Archies to pursue my own musical dreams, but my psychedelic disco-punk band failed to chart after I farted during our first live performance on the Ed Sullivan show. Dejected, I became an addict to gin-and-tonic an started selling used cars to hookers before recalling my first love: vinyl.
My store does an okay amount of business, though much of the time, people just stop in to use the bathroom. I guess it all started one day while I was sorting a stack of Aardvarks records. A customer unlike any I had ever seen before. Orange hair, bushy eyebrows, googly eyes, freckles... and that smile. I took a split second to decide to hide that I recognized him, for what it's worth. Started humming some Neil Young harmonica tunes, and then, to my horror... it happened. I passed gas right in the middle of my store. Oh, I was so embarrassed! My anxiety disorder kicked in, and then, all of the memories. "I could recognize that smell from miles away," the bright haired gentleman commented, to my horror. "1971: the Ed Sullivan Show!" Well, that did it. Reflexes kicked in and I broke into a sprint, the smell of flatulence following me like a slug's trail. I ran like a flock of seagulls, down the aisle, off into the corner, and into the stock room. I slammed off the lights, counted to five, then seven, then six, and let out a prayer. "Everything's... going to be okay.", I whispered to myself. I paused. Breathed out, breathed in. Felt a little tired, but quieted down. Clearly, the surprising visit had come to the close, and the man had either gone + bought something or used the bathroom and had gone home. I got up and reached out a hand to turn the lights back on, until... it happened. The sound of a chopped, wooden door, the light of the showroom, and a freckled, middle-aged ginger man face. "Heeeere's ARCHIE!", he yelled. Fresh out of options, I let out a shrill shriek of terror before scrambling toward the fire exit, tripping in the dark though I would've done so if the light was on anyway, seeing as to how I have no eyes, no pun intended. Anyway, I should probably let you know why a real life version of Archie Andrews would be so intent on murdering me in the first place.
I have brain problems. I tried to join the army back during the Vietnam war, but they wouldn't take me. Said I was too 'disheveled'. This left me with lots of free time, which I used to develop my band's sound. I guess the real trouble began when I started recruiting members. It was hard to find a drummer, 'cause everybody wanted to sing or play guitar. Almost gave up and considered quitting my day job and becoming an itinerant homeless man who told scary stories about real life consequences, 'til... I found 'im. Riverdale High School cafeteria, wearing his inside-out fedora, all cut into style like the kids used to do back in those days. "The name is Junkhead", he proclaimed, biting into a hamburger and tapping the fold-up table with a jingle-jangle beat. We started hanging out. Us and his dog, 'Hot Dog'. HE used to feed it hot dogs. Hot dog.
Junkhead was big into candy. Nose candy. That's why they called him junk head. In return for playing drums in concert, I would supply him with blow. "It isn't that I don't like girls", the jocular young man would proclaim. "I just like drugs better." Our band was named after me, but our other guitarist... he was the popular kid in school. Orange hair, freckles, football letterman jacket. "Sugar, sugar. Do, do, do, do, do, do!", he would sing to the groupies while we practiced. "You are my candy, girl... and you've got me wanting you." He wrote the song about our bandmate. His best buddy, Junkhead. And as long as we fed him more pixie dust, the hits kept coming.
Until one day... terror. Terrifying terror. Terrifying terror that is terrible...
The manager told us that Junkhead couldn't go. He couldn't perform. He couldn't be there. And no one had the slightest clue why. Well, we didn't have drum machines back then, so I went off in search of Junkhead. I went to his house, and... that's when things took a turn for the worst.
I knocked on the door. No answer. I yelled out his name. No answer. I yelled that I brought over hamburgers and crack. Still nothing. I considered calling the police, but then I remembered in the movies about how they often have the key under the doormat. I looked, and... and I didn't find a key.
I found pixie dust. Cocaine powder. I followed the trail where it would take me. Into the backyard. Across the bottom of a swimming pool. Up the ladder back out of it. Into hot dog's doghouse. And there I found a handwritten note. "I'm at the concert, now.", it read in a handwriting style that closely resembled an italicized, size 12 comic sans font, but written in blood. Didn't that just beat all? Realizing that everything had straightened itself off, I brushed the cocaine powder off of my sweatpants and headed back to Riversdale High for the show.
I was backstage, looking for the fellas, but then I suddenly... I tripped on a cable. That was... strange. I didn't remember a cable being there before. I got back up and took a couple stapes and went around a corridor. Then I slipped on another cable. Then I got back up, and I went around another corridor. Then I slipped upon another cable. This happened about another dozen times until I took one fall too many. I hit my head, + then I blacked out.
"It's all just a bunch of cables, Thomas", a hypnotic voice in my head proclaimed. I was scared. This wasn't like any dream that I had ever dreamed before. Everything around me was colored like a spiraled, fluorescent kaleidoscope that rotated full circle. I reached into my pocket to pull out a cigarette, but to my shock + awe, what was actually in my hand was a candy cigarette. "How sweet is it?", an ominous voice boomed from above. "Was it all worth it... Thomas?", the voice inquired. "Shut the fuck up!", I barked back. "O.K.: I will", it responded, fading out dramatically. This... didn't feel right. My spine kept tingling in horror, because I realized I was alone in a hallucinogenic kaleidoscope universe with nothing but a candy cigarette. ..Then I woke up.
The doctor told me that I had been out of it for several weeks. It was a miracle that I survived. Turned out that the guy from earlier had caught up to me and whacked me in the head with an ax. I had forgotten who I was. What I did for a living. What my background was. But just like life... it was all just a dream. I lived in a dumpster behind the record store, + I had startled the owner because I broke in and acted as if I ran the joint. He couldn't find his shotgun, so he whacked me in the head with an ax. I was assured that, despite my vandalization of private property, he would eb charged with attempted manslaughter. Despite my miraculous recovery, the doctor seemed a little disappointed with me. "... Thomas", he began, shaking his head. "Drug free is the way to be."
Sugar, sugar.
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Credited to DaveTheUseless
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