David Mitchell’s youth is not something many people know about now, but in his early twenties he was a notorious rock ‘n’ roll musician. He could usually be found strutting around in sunglasses and swearing at children. He was on a dangerous path of destruction before one mysterious night changed his life forever. This is the tale of what happened on that fateful night.
David Mitchell adjusted his codpiece as the crowd cheered. His nipples glistened with sweat and his guitar lit up as he leaned into the microphone to call the audience several rude words. After a momentary pause to allow his gushing fans to scream lusty obscenities in response, David grasped his suggestively-shaped guitar and launched into a fast rendition of his hit song, named simply “Cunts.” The crowd embraced the controversial lyrics with fervour, except for one man who was reluctantly chaperoning his teenage son. With each of David’s pelvic thrusts the man’s face became a little more twisted in utter horror.
After the show, David took it upon himself to make life difficult for the backstage crew, his entourage, and anyone else that might cross his path. He demanded that thirty pizzas were delivered to him immediately, with their various ingredients spelling out his name, and he slapped several people that brought him drinks in glasses that were the wrong shade of burgundy. He couldn’t be expected to celebrate the last show of the tour with a drinking glass of an inferior colour!
In his hotel later on he kicked the receptionist for “having funny ears” and sulked in his room with some small cheeses and a big bottle of whisky. Soon the whisky lulled him to sleep and the hotel staff could breathe again. Deep in his slumber a strange dream began to haunt him. He was on a cloud, playing the greatest guitar solo of his life and whipping his hair back and forth in musical ecstasy, when suddenly his guitar transformed into cold metal bars in his hands. He found himself in a dingy prison cell, naked and alone. He sank to the ground in fear and started to fall through it until he found himself hovering by his bed alongside his own sleeping body.
A dark figure towered above David and he clung to the bedsheets, overcome with fear.
“No!” He cried out in anguish. “Please no!”
Moonlight danced over the figure and David gasped as its face became illuminated.
It was Brian May.
“David,” Brian bellowed in a deep, ghoulish voice, “do you know why I have come here?”
“Are you… are you death?” David asked gingerly. “Please,” he whimpered as Brian leaned closer to him, “Please don’t kill me! I have so much left to give!”
“No David,” Brian boomed, “I am not here to take your life. I am here to take something else. I am here to warn you. To punish you for your misdeeds. You have been acting like an absolute fuckwagon.”
Brian’s mighty bush of hair began to shift and transform, showing David the faces of all the people he had wronged, like some sort of hairy, psychedelic version of a police photo fit.
“These are the people you have hurt, David,” Brian said menacingly.
“They were asking for it,” David spat. Brian May slapped him and watched calmly as David whimpered and clutched at his stinging face. Fear had given David the immediate appearance of a very small boy, quivering beneath red cheeks and teary eyes. Brian’s accusing glare bored into him like a drill into soft cheese.
David’s penis-shaped guitar was propped up against the wardrobe like a fierce metal erection, ready to ejaculate sweet rock ‘n’ roll at the swift stroke of David’s fingers. Brian walked over to it and ran his fingers tentatively along its shaft.
“I am going to take this away,” he whispered, “You will not play again. You will change your ways, David Mitchell.” He shot one last threatening look at David and lifted the guitar in his arms. David stared silently as Brian May and the guitar faded away.
Rumours have it that in the days following the last gig of the tour, David found himself unable to play any instruments, and he stopped having any interest in music at all. Shortly after his resignation from the world of music, he began his venture into comedy, and people say that his personality went through a complete overhaul. His time as a young musician continues to be shrouded in mystery, and David has never publicly discussed it, although he did once slap Jimmy Carr for mentioning the infamous cat trumpet incident of 1994.