Stan

Meet Stan. Stan is the... yes-- the man. Stan is the man.

Stan lives in an apartment on the westside, inside of a humble half-underground lower-level corner abode. Stan likes his apartment, and Stan likes Aerosmith. And Reggae. Ya dig?

Naturally, an avid Aerosmith fan might recall-- perhaps live by-- the basic tenants of an old Motley Crue song, aptly titled Louder than Hell. Comparing Aerosmith and Motley Crue might seem a bit radical, though as one considers the general audience attracted to each group, it should be fair to assume that there are more Aerosmith fans who also happen to be Motley Crue fans than there are exclusively Aerosmith fans. Okay... it's a bit of a stretch.

In regards to Stan, he likes Aerosmith. And he likes it loud-- louder than hell.

It has been only a few short months since Stan purchased his hi-fi surround sound bass-box subwoofer speaker/reciever living room entertainment extravaganza. Stan is very interested in learning how to connect his television to his box o' sound, but lacks the proper RCA outputs. Time moves by and love is in the elavator while janie's got a gun. Stan dreams on.

More days move by and Stan finds it harder and harder to resist turning the volume knob to a monster of 140 decibels, a monster that saturates the air in the hallways and evokes a perception of the senses comparable to the haze of three smoke machines mounted and blowing into each building entrance-- filling the hallways during latenight hours. Louder than hell.

The urge to bring forth the beast (the 140db monster) becomes stronger as the awareness of a lack of RCA cables sets in. This lack of television-in-stereo must be compensated for-- the beast lives! Before Stan can sing livin on the edge at the top of his lungs, there's a knock at the door. Veins begin to pop and atrophy at the mere thought of taming the beast. Ignore the door so the beast can thrive! Yes! They will never stop Stan!

... Eventually the elevator stopped, janie dropped her gun, and Stan answered the door. Shirtless, extremely hairy, and in a visible state of exhaustion (most likely due to the strength exerted whilst taming the beast), Stan wonders if he can help the person-- the knocker. The knocker explains that while they too enjoy good, louder-than-hell smoke-machine music, many fellow tenants have complained of a beast that has travelled through walls and floors and into their living rooms.

"What is this 'beast' you speak of, sir? Who are you?," Stan inquires-- Stan the man. The knocker moves on to explain the nature of the beast, and how it might be kept on a leash, all the while never revealing his identity other than that of 'the knocker'. Stan understands... so the knocker thought.

*Soon to follow-- The chronicles of Stan 2: Stan at the Top of the Stairs. Beast Unleashed.