The Big Head Of Master Bates

Master Bates, a certified militant horse dewormer known for walking away from the 1990s boy band Smegma in efforts to fight traffic control of the federal laws, splattered into his final stage bow Monday morning.  Social media followers tuned into his live broadcast say he instantly died from cement inhalation after falling face first into wet cement during a constitutional rights exercise.  Doleful patriots, many of whom reposted what wound up being his final encore, celebratorily pronounced his death at the karaoke age of 19.

Farmers rights organizations knew him lovingly as a washed up has been who was only good at fisting horses in the kisser.  Tabloids eulogize him having the type of future where his wife would eventually leave him after she stopped touching anything alcoholic.  For hardcore fans that supported his abandoned recording career, it was better for their memories to remember him as a low brow heartthrob in the middle of band pictures than turning into the ugly old guy they hand the camera to.

The trek to the status of one hit wonder started off modestly.  His father was unemployed after working at the calendar factory and being fired for taking three days off for his birth; his mother was a full time welfare hustler that made a good living using their home as a slum lord orphanage.  As one of many dozens of kids learning survival techniques bare knuckle fighting in the basement Bates learned early on fighting on a bulimic diet to make food stretch wasn’t his forte.

Former foster siblings say music became his muse after a spirited acapella of Send In The Crowns diverted over three dozen of his housemates from pulverizing him.  With a blossoming fanbase Bates secured a deal to perform the Star Spangled Snatch before beatdowns.  The response was positive and gave him enough space to hone his craft and have his fill of bone scraps thrown to him in adulation as a perk of the gig. 

While his parents considered his voice the closest thing to a cracked bell with a padded clapper, they wasted no time and spared little expense exploiting Bates’ talents.  Eager to capitalize they put him on the Pigeon Circuit; Bates would regularly appear in lathered costume grime from homeless row and taken to K-Mart’s exterior threshold by the pony rides to perform several sets of pain, suffering, and starvation for pocket change donations around store hours. 

The work effort paid off by the time he turned sixteen; legendary boy band agent U.P. Freely caught his set picking up his prescription for an unnamed venereal disease.  With neither he nor Bates’ parents strangers to skirting child labor law he signed him on the spot. 

“Look, poor kids are a dime a dozen, okay?” says U.P. Freely, agent for Smegma.  “This kid was covered in shit and piss singing Anything You Can Poo I Can Poo Better in front of a fucking K-Mart!  I knew I could do something with a kid like that who looked like he hadn’t taken a dump since 1982 screeching his heart out.  Let me tell you it was no easy thing, no sir!  I had no idea where to put the little bastard.  So I wrote out the forty-two boy bands I was already overseeing, threw them in a hat, gave it a little shake, and that’s how that motherfucker wound up being a star.  Wasn’t a complete waste either.  I let him snack on whatever was left in the hat.” 

Wasting no time with his newest expendable member Freely got to work on songs that formed the abysmal cornerstone of Smegma’s quadruple platinum selling album Covered In Milk.  In a shock to the record label who refused to pour any money into the project, the lead single Don’t Make Em’ Go Blue catapulted Smegma into mediocre superstars that could force Menudo to be their opening act. 

Two years of touring life brought no full belly for Bates but for the first time in his life a pallet in the aisle that was just all his.  He grew despondent as his education was halted after ripping a pair of pleather show pants resulted in his tutors being fired to cover the wardrobe malfunction expenses.  Sources say he’d had enough.  Depressed, broke, and a near fight to the death onstage over a can of Vienna sausage made him breach his lifetime contract and walk away from the only life he’d known in squalor the day after he turned eighteen.

With no viable skills or education Bates was left to catch the slim pickings of the day labor section of 4Chan.  Social media followers proclaim his travels going pillar to post afforded him the luxury of embracing his full rights as an American citizen and spoke to his impoverished lifestyle.  He became militarized after being arrested by the FDA in the ‘Not Without My Carhartts’ protest which supported the rights of horse owners to fed their families with American raised loose meat horse sandwiches.

Lacking bail with a first offense he was released into the custody of local horse ranchers on the conditional stipulation Bates would inseminate their animals as part of their work release program.  Lacking the comprehension skills to decipher the job title correctly, Bates grabbed the wrong white substance, inadvertently turning his fortunes around wiping out a pandemic of worms that plagued the horse cultivation industry since the first pile of dung hit the dirt.

Master Bates got his last curtain call fighting the powers that be by blatantly refusing to follow Keep Right signs while defiantly choosing to keep left.  After sinking into cement sources say road crews took a stick and curved his limbs in the square before finishing the paving job they were paid to do.  His jaywalking related death is a defiant reminder that illiterate militants don’t kill people, illiterate people reading traffic signs kill people.  The patch of sidewalk that holds his remains will be dry and ready to step on Thursday.