4/30/2005

A Distant Second in Uselessness: Alicia Keys




Oh my stars and garters here's some worthless tripe right here. Y'know goddamn well why the odd smart person likes Alicia Keys; because she isn't utterly abominable. That's a great reason to like something. That's comparable to liking rectal polyps 'cause they haven't gone Big C yet, y'know? Yummy polyps. Like diggin' gettin' a flesh wound instead of a gutshot 'cause it probably won't get gangrenous. Nice, clean, suturable wound. So if Jay Z and Maria Kerry and Fitty-Cen' and all those talentless idiot c*nts are metastasizing poop culture toomers, then the talented Ms. Keys (Senorita Llaves as they call her on the other side of the Mississippi in that other country now) is more a benign thing, eh?

Great. That's great. That's a good reason to like stuff.

I read a review of Ms. K in some drivelrag that called her a virtuoso because she can play a G chord on th' piano. Because she can actually play an instrument. OOOOOOHHH. That's so OL' SCHOOL, YO. You fuckers. You stomach acids. You papercuts. You dillholes. Snap out of it before it's too late. It's you god damn kids, is what it is. Get some god damn drugs and wake up, crissake. You little pansies. You little archconservatives. The Things You Think Are Precious I Can't Understand. Your idols are cardboard cutouts and The Man has you convinced that they don't s-u-c-k.

If The Man could clear another buck-fitty by saying they DID suck, then at least the game would be played in th' o-o-o-o-pen. Glornt. I'm so frostrated I'm stittering. That is the nature of our delicious constuper cultcher. Like how they unleashed those deadly cellphones on us when the technology was still a decade away from WORKING worth a god damn. "Yeah, hi....grrrlaldasfadf...can you hear....zzzzzzzzzzzzzffffffffffoooooooodlf...can you hear me....fffdfadsoerhghg....boy, these cell phones are COOL....zzzzzzzzzzxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxlllllllllldfjfafaf;lsdfk;...........that just cost me ten bucks....sweet...I'm a good consumer now...now I am of Value to the System..brrzz..."

yeah, yeah. I know I sound like Wilfred Brimley as the Cantankerous Oldster. I don't fuckin' care. Wilfred liked Sinatra. I like The Sex Pistols. There's a difference. Wilfred thinks MY generation sucks because we all got our heads bad on Special K and MDA, valuable learning tools as anyone will tell you. I think the NEXT generation sucks because they seem averse to breaking ANYTHING or wrapping their heads around ANY manly chemical that might give 'em an insight or two beyond devoting their lives to being good li'l CONSUMERS like their DARE officer (who is on WalMart's payroll) tells them to.

See, y'all know I'm still coming to terms with the profound injustice of me never being the next John Lennon deserve it as I may. This is salt in the wound, though. I mean, I still get to draw breath and entertain people and record brilliant songs that the little lady and my one remaining (dork) friend like. So that's fine.

But when I have to go through it in a world that calls people visionaries because they can actually stumble through a I-IV-V with their tongue out and the sweat of intense concentration beading their brow I could just cover the surface of this planet in a fine sheen of peptic acid. heck, I wrote a song last week that had a MINOR 7 b5 IN IT!!! OHHHHH!!!! That must make me a fucking AVATAR. Crippledy-fuck, I just spent 4 hours on a stage last night with a bass in my hands and a mic in my mouth and a Big Gulp o' Tequillia at my side and the toothless town of Palmer Mass will ne'er be the same. And I did it without a hot ass (well, it's okay) and NOT CORNROW ONE. Did it with a mic, a 53 year old guitarist who fucking BLAZES and a drummer who RIPS. Sure, lotsa sampling there, Jeebuz knows. And the sawbuck I cleared under the table didn't aid ANY FASCIST WAR EFFORT and didn't contribute a penny to no cocksuckin' (I didn't mean that) "record" label dipsqueek's vacation amongst naked Thai children and their pliant, prehensile puckeroos. And the three hours of sleep I got before I had to go move alternators was the sleep of the just. THE JUST. Just like THE BEEPLES useta do in HAMBURGER.

And I got to say, "does anybody remember laughter?" and one person actually got it.

And you know what? Rekkin I'll go do it again tonight. On the white folk's chitlin' circuit. And if there's a Wurlitzer on stage, well, somebody will actually PLAY the fucking thing instead of leaning over it in funny clothes while a computer spits out regurgitated chunks of OLD STOLEN MUSIC by GOOD black people who are BURIED IN PAUPER'S GRAVES MOTHERPHUCKSTER. Somebody with BLOOD in their veins instead of CREE-STAHL will rip it up on tha Wurli. Bing, bam, boom. Tell me whad ah say...tell me whad ah say...folks'll be rockin' and drinkin' and fightin' and meeting their future ex- wifes and -husbands. And taking them home for a first-name-basis headboard bustin' Gruntathon, y'know? Like MEN and WOMEN do. Like goddamn GROWNUPS with HAIR on their bodies do. And the women'll sport real live patches like they used to in good old 70's porno, instead of this creepy pretend-I'm-eleven-and-you're-my-teacher shaved shit that is so spooky and wrong and ghastly and stubbly.

Alicia- I challenge you to a ROCK-OFF. We each get a half-hour with a microphone, a rubber band and a copy of the 1977 Farmer' Almanac in front of 6 dozen mullet-farmers at the Seven-O's in Sunderland. Let's see who can ROCK OUT WITH THEIR COCK OUT. Let's see who can do it without lights and mirrors and cornholerows and can simply entertain like Louis Armstrong or Billie Holiday or Edith Piaf. Let's see who can BRING IT YO. BRING IT YO. I learnded that on MTV. BRING IT YO.

Calling Alicia Keys virtuosic because she pretends to play a Wurlitzer in her video when they should really just cut the bull and show her ass from all angles like people really want (i don't exterclude meself): The Second Most Useless Thing In The World Right Now.

The solution that I promised: shoot her. Put her down and give ME a million dollar recording budget, a national release and some hair. I'll show 'em.

"Pliant prehensile puckeroos"!!!!!! God damn, can I write!! YYYEEE HAAA. It's alliterative, it's fuckin' disgusting, disquieting, and profoundly tactile!

Oh, oh, oh. That's funny. Oh, oh, oh. My underwear is burning. Now I DO have a hot ass. Ow! Ha ha ha ha!! Ow!!! Somebody bring me some water! Oh wait, that's stupid-

I can just piss myself.

See? Solution Upon Solution. The Lightfoot Way.

Fuck, I gotta get on a ballot somewheres. School board maybe. First ruling- all the DARE pussies get pilloried.


 Posted by Hello

2 Comments:

Blogger Employee of the Month said...

I was pulling left out onto west bound Desert Inn Road this Saturday morning to perform the standard Saturday morning errands. I had a green light. As I am about halfway through the turn, I catch out of the corner of my eye a SUV hauling ass on my right. Not stopping for the red light. Plenty of time to stop. No, they blew through the red light at about 50 mph.

I slam on the brakes, hoping I will stop in time, lest my wife in the passenger seat bear the brunt of the collission.

You know how in movies and tv they show everything slow down? Well, during our slow motion film school moment, I see that the driver has a FRICKIN CELL PHONE PLASTERED TO HER EAR!!!

AND SHE NEVER TOOK THE PHONE DOWN AS SHE TORE THROUGH THE RED LIGHT!

We narrowly missed.

I honk and yell and catch up to soccer mom (she had a kid in the back seat) and she GIVES ME A DISMISSIVE WAVE WHILE THE FACVKING PHONE IS STILL WELDED TO HER EMPTY FACKING HEAD!!!!!!!

YOU MISERABLE FACK, you almost kill my wife and I and you FACKING Flick you wrist at ME!



Thanks for letting me vent Bobby.

3:06 PM  
Blogger Bobby Lightfoot said...

gllrrk. g-g-g-g-guhhhh...

An SUV, a cellphone AND dangerous, shitty driving.

she needs to have her hands ducttaped to the steering wheel and her foot to the gas and be pointed downhill.

Hey, this is vent-central, daddy-o.

Just know that "fucking" is just fine here at Lightfoot Stress Management Enterprises. No need to clean it up here, clearly.

'kay, I'll tell my traffic story from yesterday upstairs.....

5:10 PM  

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