Thankfully, Mr. Crumble, the Fizzbang's Psycho Gingerboy manager, found them chillaxing by the sliming pool at the Hotbreath Hotel. It's tough at the top! And even tougher when your manager is a half-baked biscuity bully with a big candy cane. Yikes!
The superstars finally arrived at the Firebowl, surrounded by Caped Assasin security guards, late in the afternoon. What a day!
The stage was set... the volume was cranked up to eleven... the backstage area was buzzing with tales of bad behavior (but more of that later) and the band was ready to pluck, bash, tinkle, scratch and yell their way to glory.
But hold on... there's just one problem. Thwack the drummer can't find his sticks.
Worse still, the Fizzbangs can't find Thwack!
He said (well, grunted) that he was going to look for a spare pair and hasn't been seen since. This wild Furi of Rock wallops his drums like a real monster, so the gig will be a disaster without his ferocious backbeat. If you spot him, do let us know.
Where can he be? Will the show go ahead? Are the Fizzbangs finished? What happens when Thwack drinks too much Wobble-Ade? Stay tuned...
Keep your eyes peeled!
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