Story of Nesquik O'Mall: the guitarist who couldn't find a bass player

Nesquik O'Mall was born in Tuca Gorda, Illinois, in 197..?
From the start he had a connection with the music: his father was a record shop owner, and his mother was not a record shop owner.
For the Nesquik's fifth birthday, his father had a bad idea, gifted him an electric guitar, and the -just released- "Born again" album of Black Sabbath: the kid went apeshit bananas.
He spent long hours in front of the stereo, trying to play the riffs that he heard, on and on again; his poor mother was fed up with this crap, the neighbors were complaining because of the aural contamination, but Nesquik played the deaf ear to all this, and kept playing the riffs, night and day, day and night; chugging, monolithic riffs, only riffs: needless to say the house, the block, the whole Tuca Gorda were turning into a madhouse.

In the nights, Nesquik had horrid nightmares of the cover of "Born again"; he dreamed of Ian Gillan and Tony Iommi coming to devour his entrails, like the eagle of Prometheus; and that cover, and that back cover; the red, diabolical baby walking on high heels, coming to strangle him with his diapers, AH AH!

As the years went by, the sick obsession of Nesquik didn't diminish, rather got increased, and finally after the university years he formed a band called "Black Sol", to recreate all those riffs-crapola. He was looking for a bassist, here, there, newspapers, always looking for a bassist, because the band consisted of two guitarists only, and he didn't want a drummer, because he hated Nicko Mac Brain and his bad jokes.
From the start he felt that behind those riffs of "Born again", there was a second meaning, like another dimension of shit: he self-assumed the compromise of expanding that meaning with drones, drones, he needed to make the slowest and heaviest crap ever heard on Earth... here, with his own words he explains it well:

"I have to make my guitar sound like 700.000 elephants running on a prairie of Olduvai, until it shakes all the shit out of your head, ya kno, and leaves you shaken 'n' drooling, ready to, ya kno, to become yourself an A*Teens fan... "

Nesquik O' Mall the inventor of the electric guitar's heavy drones, ah ah!

But none, no one, not-one; nobody came for his request to get a bass player, and so he was looking for a bass player for 8 years, and no one came: it was the right moment he decides to apply a new device to his guitar: instead of the common strings, he started using intestines of rhinoceros, to give the chords the grooviest sound ever.
So he started playing a new music called "The Pitch of the Evil in G. AKA La Piña de la Muerte", that was a song of 89 minutes of running time, consisting exclusively of monumental riffs; just riffs played in a sort of sonic sheet that was one over the other in a droney way, but it was always the same chord.

One day he was invited to play at his ex-university, and as he started playing the drones, he could not stop: 40, 50 minutes, 2 hours, 3 hours, 5 hours… he was playing the same riff for 13 hours, and finally the audience, I mean, the ones who -half stoicism beyond any human endurance, and half perplexity- stayed there; the audience, I mean, started throwing rotting eggs, tomatoes, salami's, cucumbers, bottles of Mazola oil and any sort of imaginable victual towards the stage, and Nesquik, who was in trance and couldn't stop twanging 'n' chugging his Gibson Les Paul manically, had to be taken out of there by an assistant, to save his life from the enraged audience, that finally burnt the university to the ground.
As it seems Nesquik was in coma for the next five days, due to a powerful shock, with assisted respiration and totally unconscious.
When Nesquik got better, he started a tour by the East Coast playing only in universities, and trying to intertwine popular numbers among his drones, like Lorenzo Lamas or Village People covers; even some tune of Burt Reynolds, to avoid the massive booing.
But regardless the surreptitious fame, the thing was not right: he still had nightmares of "Born again", and nightmares of electric basses and bassists... evil, huge Rickenbackers assaulting him at night, Fender Jazz basses, Hofner's in skates, dog-faced Precisions; Warwicks and Washburns in Nazi uniforms, even the contrabass of Sting was there, suffocating him with its strings around his neck… a winged Gene Simmons came every night in his nightmares to shit on his face like a Greek Harpy; a two-headed Paul Mc Cartney in miniskirt like a sexual dominatrix whipping him, along with Geezer Butler in Brazilian thong biting his jugular, ah, ah!

Nesquik was in a mental institution for some time, and now, sane and converted to the Kentucky-based Church of the Messianic Warmonger Evangelism (CMWE), he keeps playing exclusively in countries of the French Indochina, with his eternal partner and assistant, Pete Cade, though his actual situation is unknown; unknown! Unknown!

All hails to Nesquik O'Mall, a real innovator in the old art of stealing... with the art.