Doctor Tex vs. The Agents of S.A.N.T.A. − 13 October, 2007
I'm in the process of cleaning up the house a bit in preparation for the house-sitters who will be watching over things while I'm on the Appalachian Trail. While going through one cubby hole, I came across a partial story that I had written back in the day, around '83-'84, I would guess. At the time, I was friends with a girl named Marie, whose vivid imagination had been fired up by the themes in the Styx album, "Kilroy Was Here".
This release featured the famous, or infamous depending on your bent, song, "Mr. Roboto". In short, the album painted a picture of a time in the not-too-distant future in which rock and roll had been outlawed by a Moral Majority-like sect. Marie took this framework to new heights, writing several multi-page stories which featured a version of herself as the guitar-slinging heroic lead. During my first two years of college, I would occasionally receive a large envelope containing the latest chapter.
At some point, I half-heartedly decided to write my own tale in response. I chose the name "Doctor Tex" for my heavy metal crusader; an amalgam of "The Doctor" as in Doctor Who, my favorite television show at the time and "Tex", my college nickname. Throwing in my first car, a 1972 Plymouth Road Runner and a character who could have represented several of my classmates in high school, the mix was....eclectic, to say the least.
I transcribed this just as it was written - warts and all. So on with what is, thankfully, the only recorded fragment of the good doctor's adventures...
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The car eased off the two-lane blacktop onto the uneven shoulder. No signs were needed to warn oncoming motorists of its presence, it was a beacon in itself. What driver could miss the red and white '72 Road Runner with cattle horns mounted on the front bumper? The driver of the car was as noticeable as the vehicle; a legendary figure to all who held rock in esteem: Doctor Indiana Tex. Volumes had been written about his exploits and his one-man battle against the dark society known as S.A.N.T.A. (Secret Agency for the Neutralization of The Airwaves).
Led by the evil Baron Manilow, S.A.N.T.A. spread the menace of easy listening music to stereos far and wide; to be content only when rock had been eradicated from the Earth. Dr. Tex, or simply "The Doctor", as he was known to his fans, being a member of the Hard Rock Hall of Fame for his contribution to the art of guitar madness, wasn't about to let the Baron have his way.
At the moment, however, he was more content with salvaging his car and well-deserved vacation, than saving the world. "Of all of the places you could find to break down.", he said with more than a hint of anger. "Fudpuckersville! More like 20 miles from nowhere." At that moment, a battered grey primered tow truck pulled up from behind.
A man wearing greasy overalls and baseball cap hopped out. "Got problems, I see", commented the newcomer.
Tex got a better look at his rescuer and noticed he was only a youth of approximately 18. "You are pretty bright. I suppose you're the mechanic 'round here", he replied with a bit or sarcasm.
"Naw, my pop is the fixer 'round these parts. I only give him a hand when he's real busy."
"You're actually busy today?", questioned Tex.
"Nope. I wuz jus usin' the truck to go coon huntin'. Didn't catch much, but -"
"How about telling me about it after we tow my car to the station?", Tex interrupted before hearing a sermon on the joys of coon hunting. "I've got a vacation to get on with."
"Whatever you say, boss", groaned the youth.
This release featured the famous, or infamous depending on your bent, song, "Mr. Roboto". In short, the album painted a picture of a time in the not-too-distant future in which rock and roll had been outlawed by a Moral Majority-like sect. Marie took this framework to new heights, writing several multi-page stories which featured a version of herself as the guitar-slinging heroic lead. During my first two years of college, I would occasionally receive a large envelope containing the latest chapter.
At some point, I half-heartedly decided to write my own tale in response. I chose the name "Doctor Tex" for my heavy metal crusader; an amalgam of "The Doctor" as in Doctor Who, my favorite television show at the time and "Tex", my college nickname. Throwing in my first car, a 1972 Plymouth Road Runner and a character who could have represented several of my classmates in high school, the mix was....eclectic, to say the least.
I transcribed this just as it was written - warts and all. So on with what is, thankfully, the only recorded fragment of the good doctor's adventures...
________________________________________________________________________
The car eased off the two-lane blacktop onto the uneven shoulder. No signs were needed to warn oncoming motorists of its presence, it was a beacon in itself. What driver could miss the red and white '72 Road Runner with cattle horns mounted on the front bumper? The driver of the car was as noticeable as the vehicle; a legendary figure to all who held rock in esteem: Doctor Indiana Tex. Volumes had been written about his exploits and his one-man battle against the dark society known as S.A.N.T.A. (Secret Agency for the Neutralization of The Airwaves).
Led by the evil Baron Manilow, S.A.N.T.A. spread the menace of easy listening music to stereos far and wide; to be content only when rock had been eradicated from the Earth. Dr. Tex, or simply "The Doctor", as he was known to his fans, being a member of the Hard Rock Hall of Fame for his contribution to the art of guitar madness, wasn't about to let the Baron have his way.
At the moment, however, he was more content with salvaging his car and well-deserved vacation, than saving the world. "Of all of the places you could find to break down.", he said with more than a hint of anger. "Fudpuckersville! More like 20 miles from nowhere." At that moment, a battered grey primered tow truck pulled up from behind.
A man wearing greasy overalls and baseball cap hopped out. "Got problems, I see", commented the newcomer.
Tex got a better look at his rescuer and noticed he was only a youth of approximately 18. "You are pretty bright. I suppose you're the mechanic 'round here", he replied with a bit or sarcasm.
"Naw, my pop is the fixer 'round these parts. I only give him a hand when he's real busy."
"You're actually busy today?", questioned Tex.
"Nope. I wuz jus usin' the truck to go coon huntin'. Didn't catch much, but -"
"How about telling me about it after we tow my car to the station?", Tex interrupted before hearing a sermon on the joys of coon hunting. "I've got a vacation to get on with."
"Whatever you say, boss", groaned the youth.
