“As Cattus, the goddess of useless facts, obscure music, and Goodwill, I demand that my…uhh….demands…be met…” the goddess said as she stumbled her words. She seemed nervous in front of the great god Isaacian, god of the people of Indiescene. He was to return a favor for Cattus, who let him borrow the first Interpol CD.
“Well what may that be?” he replied.
“I demand that my son, Conor Oberst, of the great band Bright Eyes become the rightful heir of the throne of Indiescene, instead of a mere peasant in Omaha.”
“So it was asked so it shall be done,” Isaacian said smiling. As he started waving his great wand, Brandonus, being the god of Halo 2 and the weirdoes who play Halo 2, creepily appeared into the throne room.
He exclaimed frantically, “Wait! You cannot do that Isaacian! Conor does not deserve to be prince of your kingdom. He creates horrible music, and shall spread it across your land. Besides, the currently ruler of the country is the beautiful Dana. She’s a fine ruler as it is.”
“This is true,” said Cattus, “he does make horrible music…”
“NO HE DOESN’T!” Amandor, the goddess of llamarock (or for everyone else, emo music) exclaims as she too, creepily enters the room. Amandor secretly wanted Conor to become heir, for they were to become married and have little 3/4th-god children.  “Cattus bore a wonderful son, who is fit to become a prince.”
“Exactly. Even if Dana has been a good ruler and true to the Gods, you still owe me one Isaacian.”
“Perhaps,” Isaacian said, “I should test his worthiness before I let him on the throne. I shall make up a journey for him that will test his skill, strength, and loyalty to…ummm…you,” pointing at Amandor.
‘Well that’s settled,” said Amandor. “Cattus and I shall transport dear Conor to New York City, the capital of Indiescene, where the fair Dana rules.”


Conor had awoken in a foreign hotel bathtub. He held in his hand a beer, and looked around. Getting up, his shirtless body looked out the window, to see the traffic of New York. “Man, “he said, “Tim must have slipped something in my drink if I ended up in New York…”
The young man got dressed in clothes that were conveniently located on an empty bed. Slipping his fingers through his greasy though maintained hair, he came across a rolled up piece of paper held by his ears. He rolled out the small parchment and read the note:
Conor,
You are on a quest by the Gods. As the son of my dear friend Cattus, you have been chosen to take your place as the prince of Indiescene. You will need to speak with Dana, and for fill your destiny. Good luck, my beloved.
<3Amandor
“Oh aren’t they sweet? I’m going to become prince! I should write a song about it.” He turned around the note to fold it, reading the letters, “NO,” and frowning.
After his journey through New York, Conor Oberst had reached Dana’s peaceful castle. Run by fairies and turtles, Conor thought he was in a dream. She came into the hallway where he stood, hovering by the creepy magic of the gods.
“What have we here?” she said to Conor, “one of my subjects wishing to have their album named ‘Queen’s Choice?’”
“No, your majesty, that…that was last month.”
“Conor Oberst? Why, I didn’t realize it was you. Your music, though…original, has helped the kingdom of Indiescene become very powerful. What may I help you with?”
“I was sent by the gods to take my place as the prince of Indiescene. And I shall rule as they have mandated if you step down now.”
“I knew it!” Dana exclaimed, “I knew that dream was an omen! I keep missing them.” She started shaking her fist angrily.
“So uhhh….will you step down?” Conor asked, a little freaked out by the fist shaking.
“Not yet. It is rumored that you are a half god, son of Cattus. If this is so, I will step down. However, you must show me proof. Find your proof, your medallion of the Gods, and then you will have your kingdom.”


“Crap,” said Conor on the phone with his dearest friend Tim, “how am I going to find that medallion. I lost it at that party in Pittsburgh!”
“Ha! The one where you-,”
“Yes that one!”
“That house we were at that night….isn’t it a house of a monster now?”
“I’m not sure…”
“Well you should! That monster used to be a human. After he was disloyal to your beautiful Amandor, she cast a spell on him. He now goes by the name Bruno, the pretentious monster.”
“How can a monster be pretentious?” Conor asked.
“You’ll see, don’t worry.” Amandor’s voice appeared out of nowhere. Suddenly, three ghostly figures came into the hotel room. Conor hung up the phone.
“Great Conor, my son,” Cattus started, “I am here now with Amandor, and Josh, a minor god.”
“Really? What is he god of?” He asked.
“Pinkeye,” Josh said.
“What? Haha!”
“Silence! My dear, Tim was right about Bruno having the medallion,” Amandor stated, “you must defeat him. It will be a hard battle without this.” A floating messenger bag appeared in front of him.
“Josh has created a potion to help you on your journey,” said Cattus, “it is your only chance in defeating Bruno’s pretentiousness.
“Good luck, my dear….” The two goddesses said as the figures disappeared.


After a month of touring with his band, Conor found himself once again in at a record store in Pittsburgh. Buying a new CD, he recognizes the house he had lost his proof in. It was very different. The walls were no longer dirty but clean and fixed, and the garage was full of cars, one of which was a corvette.
“Oh,” he said to himself touching the spotless car, “that’s what they mean by pretentious…”
Carefully walking in with both the CD and his messenger bag, he spots a huge beastlike figure, chatting on his brand new dell PC. Conor rolled his eyes, and hid behind one of the many piles of gold in the house. He noticed where the medallion was; across the monster’s neck. He had been wearing it and showing it off as if he was the half-god. Suddenly, Conor slipped on the money, and Bruno turned around with an angered look.
“What are you doing here? Come to out-do me eh?” Bruno looked at the CD in his hand. “I have that CD. I don’t like that band much anymore. Their first CD was better!” he kept going on, being pretentious, as Conor got up.
“Actually, it’s not a band, it’s just a singer. And this is his demo CD.”
“I knew that!” Bruno said, confused and angered. He became so enraged that he threw piles of money at the poor emo kid. Being just a tad bit scrawny, Conor could not move his body under the gold. He did not know what to do. Somehow, his hand became loose under the pile. The messenger bag was just close enough for him to grab. He opened it up, and as the horrible pretentious monster picked up more of his money, Conor threw the powder in the bag at his face.
“AHHHH,” the monster screamed, “My eye! It burns! It’s becoming….PINK!” And as the monster was crying on the floor, Conor was able to crawl his way out of the pile and take his medallion. He could finally take his rightful place as the prince of Indiescene