“What do you call someone who knows nothing about music but hangs around with musicians?” riffed George. The others laughed like Scouser drains.
Ringo went pale. “That’s it,” he snarled, “I’ve had enough of you lot and your snide remarks. This time it’s gone too far.”
Within minutes the studio was trashed, guitars smashed, drums shattered. The sound engineer lay bleeding while the writer from Rolling Stone was slumped in an armchair crooning quietly at his ten broken fingers.
“C’mon lad. It’s only a joke,” harmonised John and Paul.
“Why didn’t you say so,” trilled Ringo. “Let’s make some music.”
“Why didn’t you say so,” trilled Ringo. “Love love me do.”
“Why didn’t you say so,” trilled Ringo. “Get the beers in.”
Written in response to this weeks Friday Fictioneers’ 100 word challenge.