DOCTOR TARBORG’S EVIL PLAN
Recalling Etana’s defeat at Uruk and thinking of the Curse of the Guitar and the Seven Legends of Guitar, Dr. Tarborg made a vow, “This time will be different. I will avenge my ancestors and Rip ‘N Time will go down to defeat.”
Doctor Tarborg gathered his thoughts and looked over at the table with the large metal head. No, not a heavy metal fan, not a headbanger, not a mosh pit refugee– an actual silvery, shiny metal head —with no body attached to it. “Ah, my pretty Tarborg head –are you ready to do battle?” asked Dr. Tarborg.
The Tarborg’s eyes blinked as if to say, “Yes, Master.”
“Oh, how sweet– I do appreciate your positive mental attitude, but there is still much work to be done,” said Dr. Tarborg. “You need arms, legs, hands, feet— a torso and they need to be attached to your head . . . silly head,” he continued.
Doctor Tarborg Dancing with Tarborg Head
The Tarborg’s eyes blinked rapidly, as if responding to each individual body part mentioned by Dr. Tarborg. Then in a moment of pure spontaneity, Dr.Tarborg grabbed the head, swooped it off the table, started spinning around the lab and did an impromptu mazurka—all the while singing the Swedish national anthem in Latin. After a while Dr. Tarborg tossed the head back on the table, giving it one final spin on its axis.
When it finally came to rest, the head’s eyes had a look of sadness and . . . dizziness.
“Oh, I am so sorry, my dear Tarborg. Did I hurt you? Did I hurt your feelings?” said Dr. Tarborg. “I certainly didn’t mean to. I’m just so happy with how you turned out. You are perfect in every way –you are just like me!! But the time for celebration is over. It’s back to the task at hand. We need to put you completely together. The rest of the body parts must be gathered and attached to your lovely head.”
Over the years, Dr. Tarborg had spent much time with artificial intelligence, biotechnology, computer science with regard to robotics, as well as android development. A great deal of effort, study and experimentation was devoted to artificial finger, hand and arm development—all ultimately disappointing. He needed biological material/specimens.
So, like all mad scientists, he had to go through the typical sequence of events. First, there was Dr. Tarborg’s Frankenstein stage–he simply had to have human material with which to experiment. There were the cadavers obtained from the morgue, and then paying grave digging scavengers for their product. Of course that didn’t satisfy—not fresh enough. So he paid professional hit men for specific guitar types. This ultimately proved disappointing—seems their crude methods would invariably destroy an important body part that Dr.Tarborg needed. What to do? Well DIY. “If you want a job done right, you have to do it yourself.” Dr. Tarborg thought. This led to an even more frightening and horrifying development.
Dr. Tarborgs’s next stage might charitably be referred to as the good Doctor’s John Wayne Gacy period. Not satisfied with the previous specimens, Dr. Tarborg now resorted to –actually embraced enthusiastically—kidnapping. But not in the usual sense of just grabbing someone off the street. Oh no, his victims were carefully cultivated, courted, groomed and wooed, if you will. Every night–without fail– around dusk, Dr. Tarborg would lurk in the shadows of the various neighborhoods of The Magical Land of Guitar. Waiting for the right victim and the right time, Dr. Tarborg would approach an unsuspecting young guitarist and chat them up. Dr. Tarborg had an uncanny knack for saying just the right words– the particular jargon or idiosyncrasies of each guitar style. He knew all the right buttons to push.
When he had designs on a particular Heavy Metal Junction guitarist for example, Dr.Tarborg could quote chapter and verse the specs of any and all effects—the very latest version of any particular or currently favored brand. Digital, analog –it didn’t matter. Tarborg knew it all, but not in that obnoxious ‘Know it all’ way. He just had this nice easy-going manner. He built trust –like he understood you. He was there for you—a real professional predator.
The elders (including the Legends themselves) would issue warnings periodically, but the “It couldn’t happen to me” attitude prevailed among the younger and more susceptible guitarists. Eventually they would succumb to the Doctor’s exhortations and temptations. The toys he promised were just too irresistible: Guitars
Every manner of guitar
—every manner of solid body electric, arch top hollow body, steel string dreadnought, even handmade Ramirez classical from Spain; amplifiers
–vintage, tube, the latest stacks, and of course thirty one flavors of effects
—all available just for the asking.
“Why of course you can take them home –anything you like,” Dr.Tarborg would say. Then later on; “Well, why don’t you just practice here?”
And that was really hard to resist because Dr. Tarborg has this incredible state of the art recording studio/rehearsal space available, which contains everything any guitarist could ever want.
Finally, and this was the coup de grace, Dr. Tarborg would say just at the precise moment of vulnerability, “Say, wouldn’t you like to play on the main stage at the Twisty Road Café?”
The young guitarist could not resist at this point. Cultivation complete.
Dr. Tarborg would indeed follow through. The young, unsuspecting guitarist would actually play the main stage at the Twisty Road Café and to much acclaim and enthusiasm. So far so good. After the show however, the final, tragic horror is about to unfold. The young guitarist—exhausted, exhilarated and damn hungry–is ripe for reward in the form of food. As he wanders backstage, he sees a table decked out with all of the Twisty Road’s most delicious five star goodies. But before the guitarist can begin to choose, Dr. Tarborg interrupts;
“Why not start with our world famous apple pie with our award winning vanilla ice cream?” Dr.Tarborg would say.
“With the hot apple syrup drizzled on the ice cream, why it’s just the perfect food after a successful show at the Twisty Road Café!” Dr. Tarborg continued.
With that, the young guitarist devoured the apple pie and ice cream and scooped up every last bit of the hot syrup. Of course it was poisoned with a paralyzing drug, and the guitarist was never seen nor heard from again. Now Dr. Tarborg would cart the limp body down into the depths beneath the Café and into his laboratory—a diabolical dungeon. A fresh young guitarist cut down in the prime of his or her life to further Dr.Tarborg’s abominable experiments.
Now with these new specifically selected specimens, Dr. Tarborg was able to apply his vast experience in Biocentric Methodology. It was laborious and meticulous work but by scraping layer by layer each desired body part, Dr. Tarborg was able to determine its DNA and thus reproduce the qualities in the guitarists he had kidnapped. By mixing and matching, Dr. Tarborg now had all the source material for creating the perfect guitar entity /being; THE TARBORG. Finally, through the new science of molecular growth, Dr. Tarborg was now able to grow his own, so to speak. He actually had crops of arms, hands, legs etc. and now it was harvest time. He would finally be able to construct his headless, perfectly grotesque Tarborg bodies.
There were a few glitches in Dr. Tarborg’s little plan—loose threads if you will. Like, what about all these missing guitarists? People were bound to ask. And what did Dr.Tarborg do with those body parts that didn’t take –didn’t work in his experiments?
Well, Dr.Tarborg was always ready with a pat story to explain the missing guitarists. He’d make up some cockamamie tale, “Oh so and so was such a success at the Twisty Road Café that he/she was immediately booked on a ([fill in the blank]-European, Asian, South American) tour.” He would even go so far as to set up various, bogus websites to further contribute to the ruse. It seemed to work. There were never any notable investigations. Sheesh.
As for the unusable body parts, Dr. Tarborg planted them –in the acres of flat land behind the Twisty Road Café. The mad Doctor actually made great sport out of it– kind of let off steam (hey its hard work being insane).Dr.Tarborg would dance through the fields laughing maniacally, shaking a bodiless fretboard haphazardly and teasingly, while the discarded ‘Carrie-like’ arms reached out of the ground for their beloved fretboards.
Moment of Truth
The time had finally arrived. The time of the Tarborg. Would the metal head conjoin with the new body parts? The answer; a resounding “Yes!” After the assembly was complete, the gigantic guitar-being rose off the lab table and immediately started playing Tarborg Music: Mesmerizing modulations; insanely rapid key changes– catatonic chromaticism. It’s as if Wagner, Webern and Slayer met in an dingy alley, beat the living daylights out of each other and the resultant blood splatter on the dank brick walls was transcribed into a symphony of horror—complete madness—insanity –—stark raving lunacy —but also very powerful, as only pure evil can be.
Tarborg Playing Triple Necked Guitar
The Tarborg “Look”
The Tarborgs’ appearance is every bit as frightening as their music. First of all, these things are fifteen feet tall! Along with their insect-like, shiny, steel heads, they have six arms, and their torsos–grafted from the hard shell of cockroach DNA–contain multiple drum machines. Both feet hold and control a vast array of special effects that can change the tone of their gargantuan proportioned triple necked guitars.
Dr. Tarborg was beside himself –giggling in uncontrollable elation—euphoria really. He recalled all the horror films he had seen, all the comic books he had read, and thought, “I’m the star of my very own horror story. I’m the mad scientist I’ve always wanted to be!” He then put on his best villainous /genius accent and shouted, “I vill create a master race of guitarists zat vill rule ze vorld! Bewahahahaha!”