Four years ago, Ashley Parker Angel was off to an amazing start as a performer. He and his blindingly white smile were the key ingredient in a half-assed, over-produced collection of pop wannabes - none of whom, ironically enough, had even an eighth of an ounce of pure pop in their blood - that, miraculously, worked for about five minutes.

I've often wondered if any of the members sold their soul(s) to Satan for that favor. In retrospect, the phenomenon is even more baffling than it was then. But, whatever. Good for them.

Startlingly and unseemingly feasible or not, the five-pack was a national sensation in the summer of 2001. They were unoriginal, to say the least - NKOTB re-visited, even. Regardless, they were introducing millions of previously innocent pre-teen girls, and maybe even a few 20-somethings with a weird fetish for spiky hair and good hand-crotch coordination, to multitudes of liquid dreams.

They were O-Town!



And then, a few short months later...they weren't.

And then, we kind of forgot about them and went, "Ooooh, who's this Nelly guy, and why is he singing about CoCoa Puffs?"

And then, one day, we turned on MTV and went, "Whoa. Is that...?"

And, yes! Yes, it was, indeed, Damien Fahey.

But then, somewhere in between Road Rules/Real World Challenge XXVIII and that weird hour-long block of MTV programming around 3:30 a.m. where they actually play music videos, we noticed this familiar-looking guy. We thought he was unnaturally attractive, and we kind of wondered why on earth he was passing out flyers in front of a fast food restaurant when, clearly, all he wanted to do was sing his little heart out.

And then, we went, "Holy crap, that's Ashley Parker Angel."

And then, he said, "Damn straight, I'm Ashley Parker Angel, and you're ALL going to know it!"

And then, to prove his point, he went on a radio tour to promote his forthcoming CD. In this:



I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that, surely, Ashley Parker Angel wouldn't dare tool around the country in a tour bus that has a 12-foot picture of his face on the side of it.

But, yes. He would. He did. He is.

Intern Alana and I stood mutely, watching the monstrosity as it chugged indiscreetly up Not-So-Incognito Avenue. "That's his face," she whispered, as the bus circled our block.

"That is his face," I agreed.

"That's a big face, Mysti. I'm scared of it. Do you think HE'S that big in person?!"

I shook my head. "He can't be. If his head were actually that large, he'd never get the rest of his body into the bus."

"That is true," Alana conceded. "Oh my GOD!" she screeched suddenly, grasping my arm. "What if the inside is like the outside?"

My eyes widened at the notion. "What if he has pictures of himself all over the walls?"

"What if in his shower, each individual shower tile is a different picture of him?!"

"What if his shower DOOR is like a naked lady cup!" I exclaimed. Alana eyed me quizzically. "You know, a naked lady cup! Like, he's there on the door in a towel, but when he takes a shower and it gets all steamy in there, the towel disappears, and he's NAKED!"

We both whipped our heads around to undress Ashley with our eyes as he stepped down from the big, face-adorned bus of shame, and shyly studied his surroundings. "We have got to get a tour of that bus," I hissed.

"YES, WE DO."

I quickly approached Ashley before any of the "official" people could get to him, and said, "Hi! I'm Mysti! I'm going to be interviewing you in a bit, but it's necessary that I get a tour of the bus first." He gave me an odd smile. "You know, they make me do that. Otherwise, I wouldn't ask." Ashley cocked an eyebrow. "It's...prototype."

"ProtoCOL," Alana inserted.

"Yes, that."

He eyed us up for a moment before moving aside to let us onto the bus. Alana and I scurried up the steps, anxious to see what wondrous Ashley Parker Angel adorned wonders lay inside, and were disappointed to see that it looked just like a regular old tour bus. A few fast food bags lying around. Television playing. Some iPod-listening idiot half-hanging out of a bunk, unaware that he had company.

There were a few notable oddities, though. Usually, tour buses smell like a combination of beer and pot. This one smelled more like vanilla and...applesauce, maybe? There was also an impressive stack of Little Golden Books on the shelf. I realize that musicians aren't often all that bright, but even with that in mind, I was taken aback.

"Um, hi?" came a voice from behind us.

Alana and I whirled around to find her standing there.

Tiffany.



So pretty.



So happy.



So fashionable.

And such. A. BITCH.

"Who are you two?"

She looked the two of us up and down, side to side, forwards and backwards, then propped her hand up on her hip and looked to Ashley for some explanation.

"She's doing the interview, babe," he said, in a rather exhausted sort of way. Apparently, he's used to dealing with her rigid inquiry.

We smiled at Tiffany and politely extended our hands. She gaped at the gesture, and then recoiled as though we had offered her a steaming pile of dog poop.

"Right," I said, withdrawing my hand.

"So, what do you think of the bus?" Ashley asked cheerfully, holding his arms out in a grand gesture.

Bless his heart. He was actually proud of it.

"It's nice," I said. "I especially like the reading material."

"Oh, the Little Golden Books? They're for Lyric."

"Lyric? Like, song lyrics?"

"Like, our child!" Tiffany snapped.

Ashley, Alana and I stared numbly at one another, and the tension mounted at an unbearably fast pace. Seriously, though, how I was supposed to know that they'd given their kid some weird, hippy name?

"So..." I started, just to break the silence. "Shall we go in, now?"

"Yes!" Ashley and Alana said simultaneously, making a break for the door.

When we got upstairs to the studio, and everyone was settled into their appropriate places, I watched Tiffany wrinkle her nose at each and every person in the room, as though we were unfit to breathe the same air that she was breathing, when the truth was that the air was unfit for any of us to breathe, thanks to her designer imposter body spray.

I wanted to hit her. Hard. And maybe kick her skinny ass up and down the hallway a few times. I wasn't sure that Ashley would concede to interview with me if I did that, though, so I just took a deep breath and launched in.

I brought the tour bus up almost immediately, and the former boy-bander laughed about it. "Yeah, it's a little hard to creep up someone in that thing," he chuckled.

I grinned knowingly. "Intern Alana and I had a few decorating tips for the inside of the bus."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

So, I proceeded to tell him about my Ashley Parker Angel "naked lady cup" idea. He blinked at me, clearly stunned. Then, a slow smile spread across his angelic little face, and a hearty chortle bubbled up. It was a matter of seconds before he was amused by the idea in a very visible and audible way.

"Hahaha! Oh my God, that is - "

He turned, mid-sentence, to glance at Tiffany, and her death rays struck him from the side. Ashley was propelled from his seat by the sheer force of the hatred. Everyone in the room ducked as she reloaded and aimed the murderous gaze at me. I held my hands up in front of my face, but it wasn't enough. The beams singed my palms, and I could only scream in pain and fall to my knees while my skin melted and ran down my arms.

Her point made, Tiffany stood up, flipped her hair, and stalked out of the room.

Everyone in the room gasped in horror as Ashley and I both stood slowly. He shrugged apologetically at me while I stared forlornly at my burns. Nobody said anything for a few minutes. Alana sprinted from the room and returned with a first aid kit, then set about bandaging my hands.

"Go too far with the shower comment, did I?" I asked finally.

"Maybe," he answered.

"She's crazy, Ashley."

"Yeah, she is."

"I can't believe you're going to marry her."

"I can't believe she's going to marry me," he replied. Alana and I exchanged befuddled glances. He just raised his eyebrows at us. "I was in O-Town, man. I take what I can get."



He does have a point...


Still. What a bitch.