(We all have our heroes. This is my homage to those brave pioneers who make mediocre rock music, and then have the audacity to brag about how good it is.)
He was a man of small stature, both physically and mentally. Perhaps that's why he chose the Viking name Sveni. He liked the sound of it. At first it was going to be 'Sven', but then he realized if he became world-famous, 'Sveni' would work better in a place like Italy. He considered himself the God of Songwriting, and he wanted the option of having a statue of himself erected in the Colosseum, perhaps during the next Olympics. (It would be a rather bland looking statue, since Sveni was a rather bland looking individual, with his narrow shoulders and wide waist, but Sveni knew the statue would do him justice, especially if he slipped the sculptor an extra couple of bucks.)
In spite of his un-Viking-like build, Sveni was proud of his pretend-Viking heritage. At least that's what it said in his bio on his MySpooge page.
"Sveni's Viking ancestry helps to explain his domineering presence in the world of rock & roll, where he is a domineering presence."
(Sveni wrote his own bio. Obviously, the fact that he could write mediocre songs didn't mean he could also write copy for a bio.)
The bio didn't go on to explain that his real name was Alfred Penwick, and that he grew up in the North Hamptons, going to the most expensive private schools and consistently holding down the position of 'alternate' on the cheerleading squad. It also left out the part about how his recording career was financed entirely by his trust fund, since no one bought his CD's. But it did say that his website got more hits than any other website in the history of MySpooge, and that, due to the overwhelming number of requests from musical scholars and the like, he was going to have to start a blog explaining the intricate workings of his pedestrian songwriting.
Sveni's band photo on his MySpooge page was also quite impressive, if a person was partial to the Pirates of the Caribbean look. His billowy white pirate shirt, high boots, and gaudy concho belt made him appear as though he was out trick-or-treating on Halloween, but that was the image he wanted to portray. He knew, in the music business, it was all about perception, and he certainly wasn't going to be lax in that area, even though everything else about his pitiful career was either second-rate or half-assed.
To say that Sveni was full of himself would have been unfair, since someone with as much talent as Sveni possessed should certainly be obligated to share their gift with the world. At least that's how he saw it. And because of his importance in the music world, he expected, no, he demanded adoration from his rag-tag legion of fans. "Come here, you fine wench," Sveni would say to the nearest groupie. "Show me your tits. Now."
"Won't I get in trouble?" the frightened college dropout would say.
"How dare you question my judgment," he would bellow, spinning on his heels and stomping off in a tizzy. Sveni could go into a tizzy over the smallest things. Ask him to explain why all his songs sounded the same, and you would get an angry tirade for an answer.
"I have sold more free downloads of these songs than any other artist on MySpooge, so you can just go fuck yourself! How dare you question the integrity of my music."
There were a lot of people who questioned the integrity of Sveni's music; artists, managers, producers, critics, musical scholars. But Sveni, much like president Bush, was able to insulate himself from reality with his entourage of hangers-on and yes-men.
"They love you Sveni. It's a packed house" they would tell him, leaving out the part about how the show was almost cancelled until the local radio station gave away 85 percent of the tickets during a last-minute promotion. Sveni wouldn't like the kinds of numbers that would indicate he was anything but wildly successful, so he would ignore them, or better yet, just pull new numbers out of his ass.
"Those low numbers are bogus," he would say, on the verge of yet another tizzy. "They don't indicate anything, other than my dominance over every other musician who ever lived, or who ever will live."
Sveni's big hit was called 'Sister Loves It'. But it could get quite confusing, trying to keep track of all his songs, since they all had something to do with his sister; A Sister Like You, I Like You Sister, All-Night Sister, All-Day Sister, Rainy-Day Sister, My Sister's Rain, My Sister's Panties, My Sister's Bed, My Sister's Piehole, My Sister's Tampons, My Sister's Sister, ad nauseam.
Sveni's well-known fondness for his sister resulted in a strange phenomenon; all of his groupies tried to look like his sister. Unfortunately, the only information they had regarding the appearance of his sister was the fact that her tits were perfect orbs. That didn't give his groupies much to go on, but they would still try. They'd put their hair up in twin ponytails, and wear white blouses and plaid skirts, as if they'd just gotten out of a Catholic school, except it would have been a school with no air-conditioning, which would explain why their blouses were hanging open and their bras were showing.
The more adventurous girls would bring pillows, so they could attract his attention by having pillow fights in the front row. Of course, they would also rip each other's clothes off and go down on each other and such, but that wasn't a problem, since the venue would check ID's to make sure the concert-goers were all at least 18 years-of-age.
The problem with all the groupie action in the front row was the fact the Sveni very rarely noticed it. He always brought his own video crew to his concerts, (even if it was a free concert at the old-folks-home) and they would set up plasma screens on the floor of the stage, (or rec room) so he could watch himself perform while he was performing. He could easily spend the whole hour without once looking out at the audience. If the groupies had known about the plasma screens on the floor, they probably would have just saved their pillow fights for backstage, after the concert, but they didn't have a clue. They just thought Sveni was so focused on his performance, he didn't have time to notice them, and, come to think of it, they were right.
One night, after an especially loud, out-of-tune, and listless concert, Sveni was backstage with his gaggle of groupies, trying to decide which lovely young wench would receive the honor of swallowing his cum, when a cute little blonde caught his eye. Unlike the others who had been in the front row, her clothes weren't ripped to shreds, hanging off her like she'd just come from a Florida wet T-shirt contest. No, she was still dressed in her white blouse and plaid skirt, and Sveni was intrigued. He was into classy groupies, and this one looked like she'd just stepped out of an upscale magazine, a magazine like People, or US.
"You," he said, pointing his finger in her direction. Instantly, she was at his side, her arm around his puffy waist, her sparkling eyes looking up at him like a puppy waiting to get fed.
