Story Comm: Under New Management

Story Comm: Under New Management (Content Tags: Messy diapers, reality-warping, deal with the devil, age regression, public diaper use) "Just sign on the dotted line, baby. I'll rejuvenate your band's image, guaranteed." It really was the kind of thing that a lawyer should have looked over. Such a lengthy contract usually held some amount of bullshit in the fine print, but what did they really have to lose at this point? They were playing small-time venues at this point, and a lot of dive bars; blood couldn't be squeezed from a stone, so what could even be exploited? They definitely didn't have the budget to have someone read the damned thing. It hadn't always been like this. There had been a point where it felt like they were on top of the world; a time where their music had been the hot new thing. The world was changing though, and their act just didn't have the spark that the youth of the next generation wanted. Barely in their thirties, and they were washed up. They were has-beens that had hardly 'been' to begin with. The great dream of a rockstar was fading fast, and without some significant changes to what they were doing, they'd have to hang up their instruments by the end of the year. They had been playing for the drunk and apathetic when they'd met Az. The group had started to get a few drinks before things closed for the night and that's when he'd approached them. Azazel Bright, a stage name if there ever had been one, but he introduced himself as 'Az'. He was a tall, lean gentleman, with sly shades and an almost flirtatious cadence to his voice. Alex, the frontman, had immediately been suspicious of his intentions, even after pounding back a few brews. "Piss off! We don't need a new manager; we're not looking for one." Truth be told, they were in desperate need of new management; as of right now, it was just the brother of Seth, the guitarist that was finding them gigs, and by the location they found themselves at, he wasn't doing a good job of it. Kurt, the drummer, was the one that insisted they at least hear Az's pitch out. It was a convincing pitch too. The man's supposed credentials, and history with other bands, made him out to be a real kingmaker. He convinced them that they could reignite their careers, but that they'd need to rework their entire image to do so. Az promised that they would still have full creative control, but that they would need to listen to him on just about everything else. Effectively, Az was telling them to let their current band die, and for them to forge a new one out of the ashes. He even offered to pay their way to a first album, with only the expectation of some royalties if the record was a success. It was tough to decide on. Az left them his business card and mentioned he'd be in town for a few more days, so that they needed to reach out to him after taking a day to think about things. They would put it to a vote. It was a five-man band, and majority rule would dictate the future of their group. Alex the singer, Kurt the drummer, Seth the guitarist, Trevor the bassist, and Ash on the keyboard. Each man voted, and it ended up coming down to two on each side, with Ash caught in the middle. Alex and Seth didn't trust the smooth talker, while Kurt and Trevor felt like they needed to make a big change before their band completely failed. "I dunno guys, I'm not good with these kinds of decisions." Ash muttered in a stoney haze. "Agh. Leave it to the baby Brit to not know how to pick a side." Alex grumbled, taking a jab at the fact that their keyboard player was the youngest of the group, still being in his early twenties. "Yeah, come on man, we all have to vote." Trevor agreed. "Right, right... I'll flip a coin, how's that? Heads we go with Az and hopefully get some head of our own; tails and we turn tail and run from the wanker." "You *cannot* be fucking serious. A *coin flip?* We're not deciding what pizza topping to get, we're making a really big decision here!" Ash rolled a quarter on the table and took a puff of the blunt between his fingers. "I make all my best decisions this way. Never let me down before, mate." Seth groaned, "Fine, just flip your fuckin' coin and let's get this over with. Sounds more like you just don't want to take any blame if things turn out rotten." "Now you're catchin' on." Ash chuckled, before flipping the coin in the air and slapping it down onto the back of his other hand. "Ey, Kurt, do the bloody drum roll, won't ya?" The bearded man rolled his eyes, but still humored his bandmate by rapidly drumming away at the table with his fingers. "...An' it looks like...Heads! Guess we're going with Arse." "It's Az, you twice-baked fuckwit." "Right, right, that's what I said. Now one of you lot need to get your wallets; all that talk about pizza has got me starvin'." Fate had settled it for them, and so they called Az the next day and set up a meeting with the man. Something a little more legitimate than a frank discussion at a dive bar. The five of them met with him at an upscale restaurant, and that's where he schmoozed them with the vague details of how things would be under his new management. And that's what had all led up to the moment that Az had busted out the contract and deigned to make all these fantasies a legal reality. With one last look between the bandmates, they each signed their name on the lengthy document, with the blind trust that Az hadn't set out to deceive them. Their old band was dead and buried, but their new one had just been born. The next night, they were flying out to Los Angeles on their manager's dime. To them, it felt like the first big step to leaving 'small time' behind, though the irony would eventually dawn on them that they weren't really escaping being 'small'. Az got them set up with accommodations at a fancy little condo, and within the week they were all moved in and making preparations with their new manager. The man's silver tongue sure had a way of making vile ideas sound palatable. It'd been recognizable during the contract signing, but it really ramped up when he got with them about that new 'image' thing. Their former band had suffered from genre crisis a lot. They labeled themselves as a progressive metal band, but in their artistic pursuit (and the liberal umbrella that such a category provide) they found themselves dabbling with a bit of everything. Several members of the group were experienced with multiple instruments, some being a little more obscure, and they weren't afraid to insert them into their songs. Az labeled this a problem. He gushed about their talent and the artistic merit of their music, but he also argued that such 'complex' music was a poison in the vein of their desired success. Their music was far too niche and experimental to allow them any sort of large audience. If they wanted to make money, then they'd need to simplify things. Az suggested a healthy blend of rock and pop. This was anathema to the band, but the slippery eel convinced them that it'd still showcase their individual talents and it would lay a landscape where they could later make more meaningful music. That was the first compromise they had to make. The second was related, and equally important. They needed to change their 'image'. Without a good image, nobody was going to ever give their music a chance in the first place. Currently, their image was...Lacking. They weren't all that flamboyant, since their only focus was the music itself; they looked like any other generic metal band, no real flavor. Az sought to change that up. The man explained to the group why some bands were so successful, when their tunes were so mediocre, and it all came down to selling a full package. "Oi, we're a bit old to be doin' the whole 'boy band' thing, aren't we? Well, maybe not me, but Trevor's sprouting some gray and Seth's got a keg under his shirt." Ash would try to argue. Az told him not to worry about it too much. That was a problem for their *manager* to solve. The man insisted he wasn't trying to turn them into 'The Backstreet Boys' or 'One Direction', but that it wouldn't hurt to ape some elements from those successes. The rest of the group begrudgingly agreed and said they'd let Az handle it. They were skeptical, but trusted that he knew what he was doing. That led to the final point of discussion for this little powwow: a new band name. That wasn't something that they had really started to think about yet. With their genre and image getting a makeover, it was difficult for them to consider what an appropriate name would be. After another vote, this one at least being unanimous, they decided to give Az cart blanche on that as well. If their manager was the one with the vision, then it only made sense to let him figure out what the name of the 'product' should be. It left a bad taste in their mouths, but it was better than the alternative of struggling to think of something without knowing whether or not it would be a good fit. Tossing Tantrums. It was questionable, sure, but Az insisted that it would reek of the 'bad boy' image their band needed, while still coming across as 'safe' for a younger audience. It would reflect the raw energy of their music and emphasize their youth! With a name at least being selected, the group would spend the next few weeks writing some new music to fit the new style they were trying to break into. As they brainstormed, wrote, and performed, their lists of 'needs' began a drastic shift. Cigarettes, booze, coffee, and weed were the top of the list at the beginning; by the end of their recording, the list was: Capri Sun, candy, chocolate milk, and stuffed animals. That was just something indicative of the artistic process! The need for a change in thought process, the need to *feel* the art that was to be created. They were definitely feeling it too, as they were able to pump out a full album in a month's time, and some of those songs were absolute bangers! It was as if they could feel their talent and motivation rejuvenating alongside their band's fresh branding. They let Az in the studio when they had finally finished the rough draft of their new songs and they gave him a live performance. 'Soiled Soundwaves', 'A Binky Ain't Enough', 'Foul-Bottom Fussing'...One after another, they played the entire album for Az, only needing a small intermission in the middle for Trevor to go use the big boy potty. Az looked so impressed by how much they'd done! So much so that he said he would start their marketing campaign right away. Fast forward a few months later, after they'd had some singles go viral on social media, and it was time for them to go to their first gig. For the first time in a long time, the band felt like they were within striking distance of some real fame and fortune. No more dive bars or wedding venues for them! That time was behind them. The future would be all about concert halls, halftime shows, and guest spots on talk shows. The five sat in their dressing room, with still twenty minutes before their big show. They were mentally preparing with some juice and fun-dip, discussing how they might celebrate the gig by going out after the show. "Ten minutes to curtain, does anyone need to go potty? Or get their stinkypants changed?" A woman asked, poking her head into their room and focusing her gaze on Ash. "My pants smell as fresh as a field of daisies, ya wazzock!" The puny pianist pouted, while the other boys snickered. Ash *was* the youngest member of the band; not even three yet, so he often got singled out for such a question. On the opposite end, with Travis being the oldest at five, he was frequently being asked about whether he needed to take a potty-break, to insure that his training pants stayed nice and tidy. Alex, Seth, and Kurt sat somewhere in the middle between the two. Alex was four, while Seth and Kurt were three, and all three of them were far more frequently in diapers than they were in Pull-Ups. The rocker lifestyle was fast and loose, and it really didn't leave a lot of time for pottytraining. Then throwing in all the candy, milk and juice that they went through, and their Pampers didn't stand a chance. "Trevor, your manager told me that it'd be better if you were diapered for the show. It'll be a long set and there won't be any time for potty breaks..." The woman continued, focusing her attention away from the rude little Brit. "Ugh, really? That's so dumb. I guess at least our outfits will match better..." The tyke grumbled, standing up from his chair and sulking. "Haha, don't act too big and bougie for tapes. Better than you havin' a blowout on stage!" Kurt giggled, blowing his mouth against his arm to make a mocking fart sound. The rest of the boys snickered at that, with Seth adding: "Yeah! Don't wanna sound like baby Ash out there!" "Seth, you're da' one that makes da' biggest poopies in yur' nappies, not me!" "Yeah, but you're always the loudest about it!" They childishly bickered, while the woman casually laid Trevor down on the floor and changed him into a big bulky diaper like the rest of the boys in the room. Each of the diapers had their own style of branding on them, uniquely coordinated to match each member of the band. In reconstructing their image, Az had seen it best to fully distinguish the members with their own aesthetic for fan appeal. Trevor was the stoic bassist, and the back of his diaper held his title in the band of 'The Big Kid'. Alex was the bad boy singer, and his printed title was 'The Potty Rebel'. Seth the entitled guitarist was ' Moody Mudbutt', Kurt the short-tempered drummer was simply 'Fussin' Thunder', and Ash, who was the baby of the group, was affectionately titled 'Terrible Two'. They each sold a different package to a different type of audience member, just like any good boy band was supposed to. Though their typical audience would skew even younger than the average boy band. Their music was good enough, though very juvenile, to captivate more than just toddlers, but their audience's age probably capped out mid-elementary. "Alright, boys. The show is just about to start, everyone ready?" The woman asked, bending down condescendingly to get on their level. "Yeah, yeah, this ain't our first rodeo." Seth scoffed. "Jus' make sure you keep those wipes warm fer' after da' show. I had McDonald's for lunch an' things are gonna get messy." The other boys got a laugh out of that, though the woman looked less amused by it. With a roll of her eyes, she ushered them out of the dressing room and toward the stage. One by one, they toddled behind her, each one dressed differently except for one common denominator, which was their openly visible diaper. They each got situated with their instruments, which like them, had seen some downsizing since they'd signed that contract. The instruments were sized for little tykes and were much more colorful than their old stuff; it was peak Fisher-Price aesthetic. On the other side of the curtain, the announcer was introducing them to their adoring audience: "From the wrong side of the playpen, breaking right out of the crib and skipping nap-time, the dirty-bottomed boys themselves... Tossin' Tantrums!" The curtain started to rise, and the band could see the excited audience that they'd already been hearing. With all the lights focusing on them, it was hard to make out any details of their screeching fans, but the place must be packed for them to be this loud! Alex grabbed his microphone, "We are Tossin' Tantrums! We're here to party hard and give you a fun time! One, two, three, four!" Their set started and the crowd was eating it up. It still felt a little wrong to the band, to have to simplify their artistic vision to grip a broader audience, but it was hard to deny how great it felt to actually have people attentive and excited for their music. They would never have had this kind of reception if they'd stuck to doing what they were doing; they owed Az a lot for this. Then again, something still didn't feel right. It was something that felt 'obvious', but remained out of the reach of their perception. It wouldn't be until their big show-ender that it would become clearer what the issue was. For the last song of the show, the band would unveil one of their newest songs that hadn't yet been released online: Blowout Brigade and the Code-Brown Countdown. Az had insisted that they make a few songs that would involve more stage presence; something that they could make a bit of a show of. This song had been formed specifically to be a crowd pleaser, and it would be a great way to end the concert! Each boy turned around, so that their puffy padding was facing the audience. There were gaps in the song, small ones, where instead of a musical note being played, a 'note' would play from down below. It required the utmost coordination between the five, but they'd at least made it easier on themselves by filling the tank all the way before the show began. One by one, each member of the band was releasing a loud symphony of flatulence, and with that, they were also starting to seriously pack their Pampers with a lumpy load. There were grunts and farts and the wiggling of bottoms, and the crowd was immaturely captivated by the growing fullness of the name-labeled seats. "It's a...MMPH..! Code-brown countdown...HRGGG! Can't ya hear?" Alex sang, grunting in between lyrics, his knees dipping up and down as he pushed more and more semi-solid mush into his diaper. The sticky warmth that plastered his rump was nothing new, but something about doing this on stage was weighing on him. He glanced briefly at the other members of his band, who were loading their own britches on tempo with the song; for the first time in months, Alex had the epiphany that things weren't supposed to be like this. A squinting peer out into the audience confirmed this; the auditorium was full of dumb drooly toddlers! When had they become children's entertainment? No, scratch that; when had they become toddler entertainment? And for that matter, when had they become toddlers?! Hadn't they been adults just a few short months ago? Hadn't they been playing at bars and shit? And now...Now they were a bunch of preschool pantspoopers! How could Alex have not noticed this? He'd been getting his poopy Pampers changed for months! He'd been sucking on pacifiers and sippy cups! And so had the rest of his band, but they still looked ignorant to it. Alex blushed, and without really wanting to, he bent his knees one more time to unload all of his fears and doubts into his diaper. This was supposed to be the big climax of the song, and he felt that it represented a decision to make. Inform his crew about the funky magic that'd blinded them, or revel in stardom and let go of this haunting knowledge. He didn't want to go back to being failures. "...We are the blowout brigade, and that ain't just a charade! This is the end of the countdown to a big code brown!" Alex lowered his microphone and put it to the back of his diaper. With one final push, the diaper puffed out tremendously with a loud, sloppy burbling. The crowd went wild, and Alex felt the forbidden knowledge settle in the bottom of his heavily sagging diaper; maybe they'd been adults once, but they hadn't hit it big until now, and the rest of his bandmates had never looked happier. This was who they were now; why mess with success?