Hey, this is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. Normally, you’d hear a buzz, but I can’t get that part to work. But, for next time, it’s a really low pulsing noise. Sort of like power chords. Listen up, it could be an emergency.
Do do da da, everybody. It’s the emergency thing again. I’m still having trouble with the sound, so I’m imitating a guitar. Pretty good, right? That’s what shredding sounds like.
I’m really starting to like this gig. I just figured out the sound, so I’m going to play some of my demo tapes for you guys. I warn you—don’t turn the volume up until after the part where my cat plays a solo. He’s no good.
So, truth is, I’m stuck in the emergency-broadcast room. The door is locked, from the outside. So, while we’re waiting, here’s another double shot of me covering Led Zeppelin. Is that Robert Plant on vocals? Nah, it’s me again.
Is anybody out there? I’ve been here for a while now, and I’m getting really tired of these tapes. This is an emergency, guys—I’m running out of tunes. Repeat, this is not a test.
Attention! This is a very important official, and I’ve got exciting news: We almost captured a man who’s been misusing the Emergency Broadcast System. Unfortunately, he was too cool to imprison, so we had to send him home. Just kidding, guys—I’m still here.
OK, you got me. The EBS isn’t a toy, and I’ll never play with it again. From now on, I’ll stick to the traditional way of getting my music out there—yelling from the 11th story of my apartment building.