By Kelly Dearmore
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Alice Laussade
After having rocked the capacity crowd at yet another civic center/sports arena, Nickelback front man Chad Kroeger and Hoobastank singer Douglas Robb retire to a dressing room. They stand in front of a large mirror while wiping off eye makeup.
KROEGER: Man, that song about how you were a prick to that whore and then she took you back and you're such a better person now and all that donkey shit...epic, bro. That's like our generation's "My Generation." That went Platinum, right?
ROBB: Multi-Platinum. But that one you wrote about how you like to choke that skank? Like, you're saying you enjoy how much she enjoys getting choked while you bang her. That's deep, man.
Kroeger sprays a fresh coat of activator on his white man's Jheri curl.
KROEGER:It's, like, a true story.
Three figures emerge from the dark recess of the dressing room. Like Kroeger and Robb, they are dressed in T-shirts, leather wrist cuffs and tight jeans with copious amounts of product in their hair and Maybelline on their eyes.
GHOSTS:We are the Ghosts of Modern Rock Past. Heed our words of warning.
Kroeger winces and grips Robb's arm. They begin humming the first bars to Creed's "My Own Prison."
GHOST 1:I am J.R. Richards from Dishwalla. After your inexplicable popularity wanes, you will release an eponymously titled album to indicate your band's new artistic direction which, as it turns out, will be in no way different from your old artistic direction.
GHOST 2: I am Peter Stuart from that band Dog's Eye View.
GHOST 2: Exactly. After the residuals from NOW That's What I Call Music! 43 dry up, you will be unable to find adequate distribution and soon find yourself releasing your album on CD-Rs that you burn on your sister's laptop.
KROEGER:What else does the future hold for us, Travis?
GHOST 3:A ferocious addiction to crystal meth.