“Jeremy and the Little Lambs?” Roy Hibbert exclaimed with a snort.
Jeremy Lamb turned around. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?” he said as he returned to putting up bright yellow fliers all over the Hornets communal bulletin board.
“I got a problem if you cover up all my pizza party notices with pictures of dudes who look like chicks wearing spangly spandex.”
“No one likes your pizza parties, Roy, no offense.” Jeremy replied dismissively, now trying to squeeze an extra two fliers onto the very corner of the board.
“Yeah, well, no one’s going to want to play in a band called ‘Jeremy and the Little Lambs’, and even if they did, which they don’t, you only need one flier, not the twenty you’ve stuck up there already.” Roy grabbed one of the fliers from off the board and began to read:
“Tired of posers? Tired of wimpy bands? Tired of the commercialization of the Charlotte metro area music scene? Jeremy and the Little Lambs are searching for a drummer and bassist to play only the sleaziest, cocaine-snortingest, biggest-haired glam rock this side of the Mississippi. Tryouts soon, bring…”
“Yeah, I had Kendrick Perkins and Steven Adams, but then I got traded” Jeremy interrupted.
“bring your gear and your passion for glam. Beer and hair product will be provided.” Roy snorted again, and handed the flier back to Jeremy. “I admire your dedication, man, but this isn’t going to work.”
Jeremy quickly worked to reaffix the slightly crumpled yellow paper. “It worked in Oklahoma, it can work here. I just have to find a dude who can tap out a simple beat on the drums and a dude who can twang a bass without going off time. No problem. I handle the vocals and guitars, those are the two most important parts. Well, that and the hair. And I think I got one of the trainers interested in bass, he seemed really excited when I was talking to him about it, but you don’t happen to know any drummers, do you?”
“Nope. Can’t you just do some hip-hop on the side? You don’t even need a band for that, just you and the beat…”
“Don’t make me laugh, Roy. I make art. I would never debase myself by making crappy rap and having stupid beefs with people. Now if you’ll excuse me…” Jeremy seized the gigantic pile of fliers remaining at his feet. “I’m headed downtown. I have some fliers to hand out. See you at the next show, loser.”