In a posh Central Park penthouse, three giants of the musical world have gathered to settle a matter of Earthshaking--at least Live Earth shaking--importance.
"Right, then," Sting begins calmly. "So how are we going to settle this matter? I don't suppose anyone here is willing to simply acquiesce."
Silence.
"I thought as much."
"I don't even know why we're having this discussion in the first place," Roger Waters begins in his measured, proper English tone. "The answer is obvious. I should have the headlining spot. Whose performance does everyone remember from Live8? Mine."
"You mean Pink Floyd's," Jon Bon Jovi objects. "No one knows who the fuck you are except as that guy who bitched and whined when his band went on without him. But I think the answer is obvious, too. Clearly I should be tomorrow's headliner."
"And why is that?" Sting asks.
"Home field advantage, baby," Jon answers smugly. "New Jersey is MY state. Those are MY people out there."
"Are you sure that's something to be proud of?" Roger wonders aloud.
"I still think there's only one answer myself," Sting interrupts, "and that's for The Police to have the top spot."
"And why do YOU deserve it?" Jon sneers.
"Simple--because I'm Sting. And I'm so bloody rich could buy your whole fucking state if I wanted to," Sting snaps back.
"Well, I've got a giant floating pig. Top THAT one, mates," Roger challenges.
Sting purses his lips and thinks for a moment. "Stewart has a gong."
Jon rolls his eyes. "Gongs are SO seventies. Try again."
"It's a really big gong. Light a flame under it and we could roast Roger's pig for dinner."
"Oooh," Jon answers. "Sounds like a plan..."
"HEY!" Roger objects.
(...who's next?
)
