The Protomen would like to formally thank all of our allies who made the Southeast leg of the Fight for Light an overwhelming victory. Keep the fire, dear friends. We will return. 

The horrific catastrophe that was the midwest tour was narrowly avoided. Juliette Lewis will fall, mark my words. Do not fret, Midwest…your time will come. In its stead, however, we crossed Nashville’s watery Berlin wall and barricaded ourselves deep in the heart of East Nashville (It’s really a much nicer place than the American government would have you believe). In this bunker, we began to record Act II. Fury. 

We will work through the cold harsh winter and emerge on the other side for the next leg of the Fight for Light. Keep y our eyes tuned to the proper channels for more information. 

In Other News: 

For the last few weeks, we’ve secretly been sending out copies of The Protomen Act I (Hope Rides Alone) to college radio stations around the country in boxes labeled “Peter Cetera presents: The Greatest Hits of Chicago as performed by Peter Cetera and the Peter Cetera orchestra.” So far, it’s made it through every security check point unquestioned. College radio security officers love Peter Cetera. The point is…the album is there. It is now up to you, comrades, to get the message out. Call your local college station and tell them to play it to the death. 

Also if you have the machines to intercept XM radio transmissions…now is the time to point them at the sky and turn them up real loud. The time has come for the sounds of war to reach every corner of the world…yes, faithful soldiers…we are finally joining the ranks of Frank Stallone. This weekend XMU (Channel 43) will be playing select pieces of Act I. Let them know you heard the fury loud and clear. If they are to continue to play us, they must know that you enjoyed it. 

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XMU: 43

November 22nd-24th

Thursday – 10pm Eastern Time Zone

Friday – 2pm Eastern Time

Saturday – 6am Eastern Time 

If you don’t have XM you can listen online with A FREE ACCOUNT simply go to http://xmro.xmradio.com  and use the following code: XMB4MD 

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Lastly, the strange documentary on Myspace entitled “The Protomen ‘Sup Girls and other things suppable from the Protobus” must have had a tremendous impact on several of New York’s greatest creative minds…because they have created, ostensibly in honor of us, “‘Sup (girl) Magazine”: 

Sup Magazine 

We give our official thumbs up to these fine fine allies and thank them for their gracious invitation to appear in an upcoming issue.

Super Important Info:

Everyone should make their way to Nashville on the day of December First. New songs will be heard by those who attend. Do not expect the rock opera….expect fury.  

 

So spake the Panther, 

Panther. 

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Jesse Christine is quiet now. All are asleep except for myself and Heath Who, who is piloting us homeward. Every man is clinging to the last breath of warm air, which is quickly fleeting from the cracks in the floorboard. The white lines outside are a blur as the Protobus nears the outskirts of The Land of Volunteers. I too am weary. But before I sleep I feel it necessary to tell you, faithful reader, about the last of the three battles.

The Battle of Carolina (Southern Front):

We pulled in to a string of shops stretching a kilometer or so up and down a main drag just outside the city. Buried in this front was the Maproom. A long-time underground haven for supporters of the cause, we were welcomed by her people and given food and drink to steady ourselves for the long night ahead. We were introduced to members of a local army who called themselves A.S.I.F. They were a ragtag bunch, but they kept in good spirits.

As the dark covered the land we found that we were not alone in our fight. Allies had traveled in from the surrounding towns, some had even made the voyage from the scene of the Great Juliette Lewis Tragedy of ’07… Disneyworld. More still had followed our bus, having nowhere else to go, from the ruins of the Battle of Savannah.

Every man fought hard and stood firm, until the battle was won.

Immediately following the battle, we danced to the sweet sounds of Brian Adams and Cyndi Lauper.

It was a good night for all.

The Battle of Carolina (Northern Front):

As we pulled into the town of Greenville, we knew something was very wrong. This city was unlike any other we’d fought in. It was small, dimly lit, and had the sour stench of Crown and locally brewed Energy Drink on its breath.

As we descended into the belly of a district called “Spaz” we spotted what we naturally assumed to be our enemy: They were a small army, but intimidating: A short man with an evil grin, dolled up as some kind of demon Saint Nick…A Irelander with a scar across her brow claiming to be a robot who only spoke in riddles, “bitch is crazy! bitch is a republican!” she kept chanting…and a burly fellow riding a long thin board and drinking everything in sight.

We moved in slowly from the south, but they were on top of us before we could think of a next move. Others followed, some friendly, some ready to strike…but all in a frenzy of alcohol and taurine. They came at us from all sides. We were barely standing when the blows suddenly ceased. Kilroy stood up and gasped for air…”They found me…I don’t know how but they found me.” “Who?” Murphy yelled across the din. “Who do you think, Murphy…The Libyans!”

And all at once the horrible laughter and the sounds of G.G. Allin songs stopped and the Libyan Death Squad gave us a beating we won’t soon forget.

We retreated to the safety of a nearby Sheetz…but were crushed under the mighty blow of 15 inch woofers and security guard batons. It was horrible…no words…

We slowly backed away from the Sheetz and again toward the Spazatorium knowing that we would surely be destroyed if we were forced to fight on two fronts. As we hesitantly returned to the scene of the first battle, the growling of the Shitagoddamns caused Commander to soil himself. The room was spinning and we felt this was our last moment amongst the world of the living, when the Spazbots turned on the Sheetzmongers.

The Libyans…the Shitagoddamns…everyone within the walls of that terrifying place turned on the city that surrounded it and destroyed the evil that consumed Greenville with a mighty roar of Rock and Roll Hellfire.

The battle was over. We didn’t win…the Rock and Roll fury of the warriors of Greenville won. They embraced us like Dr. Allan Grant embraced Dr. Ellie Sattler at the end of Jurassic Park…or like Jeff Goldblum embraced that small gymnast at the end of the Lost World, or like William H. Macy embraced Téa Leoni in Jurassic Park III…the point is it was like a movie about dinosaurs where everyone makes it out alive except for the fat guy from Seinfeld who wanted to make a quick buck and opened a Sheetz and turned it into a terrible beacon of retard.

But I digress.

We celebrated the rest of the night listening to the Devil Santa sing the songs of his homeland while being beaten with an empty keg of beer and a broken scrap of rod-iron.

Greenville…you are like the Thundercon of North Carolina.

The Battle of Richmond (The Last Front)

Richmond won this battle for herself. We never had to raise a finger. If we hadn’t been there…She would have thrown her fists up…she would’ve sang every word…she would have thrown herself off the stage and into the open arms of her children….she would have done all this by herself. And she’d have won too. We were just there for moral support…and to throw ourselves off the stage during the final song. We thank you Richmond. You stand in our hearts next to Baltimore. We will never again fear for your safety, and we will always fight alongside of you.

And now, tireless reader, as we pull into the shadows of the Thundercon, in the breaking light of morning, our story comes to an end. We are beardless and bruised. We have many repairs to make before our next battle. We have stories to tell our loved ones. We have one member of the Richmond army who hid on the bus and didn’t get found out until Knoxville. We have a renewed sense of courage. We have hope.

…we have work to do.

-Panther

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We woke today with a false sense of calm. The air was crisp. We slept the night in the safety of Fival’s Bane in the city of Savannah. Our ally here, Prof. Phil Keeling esq.  has been a generous host and spent the morning on watchtower duty allowing us to sleep into the early afternoon. I suppose I should catch our dear readers up on the last two battles.  Let us start from the end and work backwards. Here is the official transcript of last night’s show:

Kilroy- “Please welcome your hope…the Protomen.”

Panther- “Tonight we have come to tell you a story… For there was no one left who could remember how it had happened…at least no one who…

…silence…

Commander- “We’re in a jetwash. Shit!”

Murphy- “This is not good. We’ve got a flame-out. ”

Commander- “Engine one is out!”

Scartoe- “Engine two is out!”

Panther- ” I’m losing control. I can’t control it!”

“It’s coupling up! This is not good!”

Heath Who- ” Mayday. Mayday. Panther’s in trouble.”

“He’s in a flat spin heading out to sea!”

Panther- “Altitude 8000…7000…”

Scartoe- “I’m pinned forward. I can’t reach the ejection handle!”

Commander- “Demon Barber…You’re going to have to punch us out.”

Demon Barber- “I can’t reach the ejection handle…”

Heath Who- “I’ve got it. Eject!”

“Everyone watch the canopy!”

Panther- “Oh God…”

-End Transcipt-

We came to in the cold water, we think it was a fuse that blew…but no one will ever know for sure…

What is known is that this morning not a one of us had any hair on our chins.

Whiskerino, Whiskerino…

We finished the battle last night as best we could.

We won. We were victorious. But we did not make it out. A piece of each of us remains. Lost.

Follow me now, faithful readers, further into the past. Two nights ago. In the Village of Gaines.

We were outmatched.
There were just so many of them…

They came in waves.

Killer Robots.

Some were giants. Some were small and quick. One climbed to the top of Jesse Christine and attacked Hank the Tank (our Tour Manager) from above. It was a massacre. We never knew what hit us. By the end there were robot parts everywhere. Those of us who remained drank the memory away as best we could…but there was nowhere to go. We stood for hours in the very place where we were nearly destroyed. We decided to split into two factions: Half marched into the darkness to find shelter. The other half barricaded themselves in the Protobus and prayed for morning.
We rendezvoused at daybreak…put the hammer down and made a line to Savannah.

Now you know what we know.

The story is over halfway written.
We fear the light outside but know that we must somehow make it to Charleston.

Until our next meeting…
-Panther

[The following is a transcript of a conversation between Demon Barber and Commander

This conversation takes place late in the evening following the battle of Savannah]

Demon Barber - "You've got to let your beard go."   

		"You've got to let him go."

Commander- "I think maybe it was my fault."   

		"I don't know."

Commander- "I don't know what the hell went wrong."

Demon Barber- "I'd like to help. I know it's difficult."

Commander- [light sobbing]                      

Demon Barber- "God, he loved flying with you, Commander."

		"He would have flown anyway...without you."

 		"He'd have hated it, but he would have done it."

Commander- "God, I want him back"

Demon Barber- "I know bro, I know."

-End Transmission-

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