Late one night Brian Jones appeared to Mick Jagger in a dream.
"Hello, Mick! How's it feel being a dried-up old fossil?"
"It beats being dead, mate."
"Ha-ha, everyone dies, Mick. But I got there first. I taught you how to play the harmonica. I taught you how to get girls. I founded the Rolling Stones! You owe me. Anyway, the Devil has me, and he wants you. But you can make Satan happy and get me out of hell. All you have to do is make the worst movie of all time!"
"It's a trick," Mick thought. "It's a burnt umber conspiracy!" The Devil had been trying to snare Mick for years. All those millions of fans, the hit records, the endless sex and fame, he'd earned it all by working hard and staying clean and sober. But the Devil was jealous. And he knew Mick's only weakness.
Mick wanted to be a movie star.
"Every movie I make is bad, but can I really make the worst movie of all time? What if it's just slightly bad, like all the others?"
Mick knew the Devil was just waiting to pounce.
"Okay, Mick, you're a hundred years old, and you're an art collector. A man of wealth and taste! But there's one painter you can't collect. He lives next door and he's got a whole shed full of paintings. You only want one. But he won't give it to you!"
"So I kill him with my bare hands and steal the painting. I set the shed on fire and go on a killing spree!"
"No, you're too old and feeble to do anything like that. You hire a young art critic to steal the painting."
"And then he goes on a killing spree?"
"Well, sort of. He kills the old artist, sets the shed on fire, and runs out with the painting. But it's really just a blank canvas! So then he paints a fake picture of his own, and says it's the masterpiece you were looking for. And you believe him because you're such an expert collector. And just to be sure no-one else figures out what he did, he kills his girlfriend."
"Right, is she a bit of a floozy, then? Like, look at that stupid girl?"
"No, she's really nice. She's crazy about him even though she knows he's a lousy painter and a lousy person. But he just has to be rich and famous because he wants to be just like you!"
"You know, this sounds like it could be the worst movie of all time. Let's do it!"
Mick mumbled his way through the dreary film shoot, making funny faces, rolling his eyes, anything to keep from falling asleep. Now and then he looked over at the stunning blonde who played the girl friend, and thought about what he could have done to her fifty years ago. Or forty years ago. Or even thirty years ago . . .
But it was no use. Time waits for no-one. And Mick Jagger was out of time. On the last day of the shoot, he gave the blonde a hug, and then fell to the floor clutching his chest. It was his heart, and they'd warned him not to exert himself.
"Worst movie of all time," he muttered. "Worst movie of all time!"
Like a true rock hero, Mick Jagger had kept his part of the bargain, and he was sure he would go to heaven. The only bad part was that Brian Jones would probably get there first.
Again.
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