The Great Misadventures of Classic Rock's Finest

Note Cards

I have nothing better to do during quarantine so why not write for all you lovely people? I might be a little rusty ;)
-Pretz
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Paul McCartney, age......uhh age 243 years old is sleeping comfortably in his bed of toucan feathers. His breathing makes no noise because he is perfect and Paul McCartney does not snore. Silently, like a bald man washing his hair, John Lennon sneaks into the room. He grins as he pours a bowl of noodles over the bassist who continues his slumber. Paul will be so happy when he wakes up to find that he is the perfect plate for my tortellini dish! John thinks to himself as he makes sure the noodles are in all the crevices.
Lennon then brings out his boiling pot of tomato sauce, he grins.

"What the frick-frack-pit-pack-tic-tac are you doing to Paul?" George opens the door a little wider to see the pot of sauce about to be poured onto the sleeping bassist.

"I'm making him into a gourmet meal, a human being such as him must be enjoyed, not just looked at." John said matter of factly.

"Are you going to bloody eat him?!" George whisper screamed.

"Not eat him, eat off of him hon hon hon." John laughed like a French person and proceeded to pour the sauce all over Paul's body.

McCartney screamed and rolled off the bed sending noodles and sauce everywhere, including the crocodile one fan had sent him a week ago.

"PLEASE DON'T SEND ME TO GREENLAND, IT ISN'T EVEN GREEN." Paul screamed as he flailed around on the floor in a pile of tomato sauce and noodles.

John sighed as if he was terribly inconvenienced and all Paul's fault that his plan didn't work. George blinked and licked some of the tomato sauce off his face, "I'm surprised he's still asleep."

John grabbed a Unikitty lamp that Paul slept with every night and hit him in the head with it, waking him up. He seemed shocked for a moment, then relieved, then scared because he has food all over his body, then utterly terrified because John was holding his Unikitty lamp like it was a baseball bat.

"John! What the bloody hell?"

"You didn't stay still for my gourmet meal. You promised."

"Promise what?"

John took a stack of notecards out of his pocket, "Yesterday on March 15, 6056, you said you would let me make you into a gourmet meal. The notecards never lie, Paulie." He tucked them back in his pocket.

"Well now I say over my dead body!" Paul spat as he got up.

"Decomposing flesh might add flavor, yes...."

"WHAT HAPPENED? IS IT THOSE OWLS AGAIN? I'LL PUT THEM IN RUBBER TIRES AND PUSH THEM DOWN A HILL!" Ringo came in yelling, his hand wrapped tightly around a screwdriver.

"Uh no, John tried eating Paul."

"That's kinda kinky."

"NOT LIKE THAT, YA GIT."

"Listen John, this is the 3rd time this month that you've tried your gourmet meal cooking on me. I kindly ask you to stop." Paul batted his eyelashes but ended up getting tomato sauce in them.

"I'll consider your offer, but I'll need something in return first."

"What?"

"Three of your bones!"

Paul furrowed his eyebrows, "You drive a hard bargain, I worked hard to grow those. They're made from the finest fiberglass, you know."

John smiled, "Three, take it or leave it."