One day, from the deep of space, a distress call rang out. Luckily, a young Michael Higgins was calibrating his Spectral Graphometer and was able to receive and interpret the message. It seemed the Civilization inhabiting the planet of Hum'ponch was slowly dying off from the terrible torture of musical stagnancy!
Taking off his boy shoes, and putting on his man gloves, Michael got to work assembling a super group to combat this great tragedy. He knew his journey would be a long one, but old man Michael would not- nay- could not be stopped! Walking all the way to across the hall, Mike timidly, yet bravely, knocked at his brother Rob's door. No sudden movements here. The door splintered open, revealing the massively-compact form of Rob Higgins. Rob looked his brother dead in the eye and knew he meant business. "Are we going to rock, or are you waiting for your pie to cool?" he grumbled melodically. Hopping on the Mike-bike, the duo sped to find the only person who could beat the beat in their feet (which they kept on hand).
Arriving at the sorcerer of the sticks' home, the pair gave a mighty bellow. With that, Brice DeGrand was upon them. The air crackled with the electric boogey vibes given off by the titan of power. There was no need to explain the situation to the wizard as he paid nothing no nevermind anyhow. The team got to work writing the songs of salvation, but something was still missing.
They knew a local organist notorious for wreaking havoc and looking good while doing it. Out they set to wrangle him, and wrangle him they did. Lassoing him like the wild bronco of a man he is, they struggled to wrestle him to the ground. They whispered soft nothings in his ear until the beast settled enough to hear their dilemma. Being a softy underneath his rough, well defined exterior, Wesley Full graciously joined the team. Giggling at how well his plan was coming together, the baby-faced Michael directed his team toward the final piece of the puzzle.
Finding the prodigy of lady-pleasing proved to be easy enough. It would prove more difficult extracting him from the throng of ladies swarming around him in an attempt to steal every last one of his valuable smooches. The gang manages to reach David Kaiser, with the help of a few well placed face punches. Picking up the flailing David, Mike and the team made a mad dash from the mob of moist panties. Hopping on, with the rest of the guys riding in the wagon he was draggin', Mike kicked over his bike. The sleeping dragon came to life, permitting them to escape just in the nick of time!
With that, the newly formed band rode off into the sunset. Donning a name to strike fear at the heart of evil, Brice Plays Drums still roams today, righting wrongs, moistening panties, and drinking in the sweet taste of justice in the Twin Cities!