Those at the front desk tried to turn them away. The manager was consulted by a worried and trembling receptionist, clearly agitated and sweating buckets of smelly, salty sweat infused with the tangy aroma of fear. 'What do we do sir?'whimpered the sodden blonde receptionist whose cleavage heaved mightily during sobbing spasms whilst in his office. Oh such magnificent chest puppies! the manager's mind screamed with joy, completely ignoring why the receptionist was in his office in the first place. He hoped against hope it was for furious sex in which he could motorboat those magnificent baby feeders but the girl was an avowed lesbian. Scissor action was how she rolled, not sausage action. His mind wandered off into erotic fantasy land, replete with baby oil, squirming bodies, tangled legs, squished boobs and interacting genitals and loud wailing and moaning of sheer ecstasy and pleasure.

His distracted mental faculties did not hear the drunken mayhem and debauchery going on in the foyer. Somewhere a soda vending machine crashed in a terrible mess of exploding soft drink cans, plastic and flying coins which were scooped up with glee and then hurled about the room. A pot plant, a vivacious and healthy golden cane palm, became airborne, flying over the reception desk and crashing through the managers office. I don't recall asking for a pot plant... the manager thought to himself. At least the spilt potting mix covered the unsightly 'stains' in the carpet near the photocopier. He heard sounds of raucous laughter. He heard people chanting 'Habib! Habib! Habib!' and 'Silence I Kill You!'. He smelt the sweet, overpowering, all inviting and intoxicating smell of a smoked joint and what he could work out to be the sounds of a guitar been vigorously smashed into the computer on the reception desk.

The manager stood up from his desk, shuffled towards his office door only for it to explode open in a hail of wooden splinters. A big hairy Mexican stood at the door, armed with the security guard (who happened to be a dwarf) who was ideal to use as a battering ram. 'Where is the toilet gringo?!' A tall man with long jet black hair and blood shot eyes pushed the Mexican out of the way. 'Hey dude...are you the manager?'

The manager looked at the tall interloper and could now understand the fear of his receptionist. He stole a backwards glance at his assistants boobs and looked back. 'Dear god...'

'IT'S THE INFIDELS!' he screamed and collapsed despairingly to the floor. After a moment he got up.

'You be paying cash?'
Tomi nodded in the affirmative.

'Ok...studios down that hallway...take a left at the end. Can I have my security guard back please?'

With that, Tomi Kosari, Guadalupe the Mad Mexican, Habib the Pizza Delivery Guy, Jenny Donkeypunch and Sarah Jessica Horseface headed towards the studio to start the terrifying process of laying down new tracks for an Infidels! album. The world will never be the same again!

Ooc: zombie hitler,mr t, bob ross......sir,i love you. I love you with the fiery passion of a prozac infused vole.