In My Dotage

Alright, here's the plan- when I'm old I'm going to travel like my ma does, except instead of like going and learning Shaker architecture or doing archaeology in Burma I'm going to just move from town to town KICKING ASS.

I'll travel around and I'll be all ass-kicking with the jiu-kwan-do and shit and I'll just work evildoers right and fucking left.

Instead of going to Machu Picchu and learning about stuff I'll go to like Cali and smuggle a million bucks worth of prime uncut Medellin Cartel fucking blow into like Afghanistan. No one will suspect a long-in-the-tooth old fool of anything like that. The will Seek My Wisdom, in fact.

And I won't go to the Grand Canyon and shit. I'll fly to god damn Sweden and just work my way down the west coast of Sweden, just kicking ass and taking names. all the swedes'll be wondering what this flaming burst of asskickingness is doing in their midst, taking their names. They'll think I'm a dick but they'll have a grudging respect for me.

Then, when I'm done kicking unholy buttock in Scandinavia I'll play drums for a Shlash band. Shlash will be thie asskicking metalcore of the day; it'll be like Arabic metal with mutilations and whatever it is that shit will have to have 30 years from now to still be all 15-year old and "shocking". I'll get my whole face tattooed and I'll have genital piercings that have chains going through them that chain me to the drum throne.

then, it'll be on to Southeast Asia and there. In India I'll take like 8 hits of windowpane and I'll levitate. All the fucking yogis will be hanging out saying stuff and I'll be like, "hey, look you fucking yogis!" And they'll all freak and we'll play smoking games.

the yogis will be so lit on hashish that they won't even notice when I take their toothbrushes and shove them up my ass. Then I'll take a bigass digital picture of that and I'll put their toothbrushes back and leave a copy of a picture on the kitchen table late at night. That'll be funny. Those hash-addled god damned yogis will be so fucked up over this. Fucking yogis. Making Mia Farrow's sister take hash and all that. When the Maharishi murdered Brian Epstein, that was fucked up.

Those yogis are like a christing plague, man. Can't trust 'em. They're like God's Oompa-Loompas, man. I shit you not. God's fucking Oompa Loompas. Except they're all blasted on hashish and they're porking out on mango lhassis and chicken vindaloo. With Naan bread. Got to have the Naan.

So, then I'll fucking find Osama and make him listen to Grunge. I'll sit him down in a cave and get mangled on joints and not give him any and basically start at the top. Osama'll get all of Pearl Jam and Soundgarden. He'll be pissing himself. I'll be eating microwave burritos. It'll be ugly. Then Osama gets that awful Alice In Chains. Oh, my god- who blessed that crap with non-crap status? OH, it HURTS. Then I'll hit him with that Candlebox. Oh, my god. Remember that fucking band? Gracious. Who on god's green earth is fucking WORSE than CANDLEBOX? Except for CREED or fucking jerferson STARFISH?

Yeah, so it'll be Candlebox and then you know what Osama gets? That's right-

COLLECTIVE SOUL. ALL of collective soul. And all the dude's bedroom 4-tracks. Years of bedroom 4-tracks. Oh, that is white-hot hate right there, brethren and sistren. Oh, the pain. He'll expire HORRIBLY. Trust me, my American brothers and sisters, the deaths of '01 will be avenged, and avenged well.

And that is when I will stuff him and sell him to FX. It'll rock. They'll do a reality show with him.

So, after I stuff and sell Osama I will come home and, yet again as I've been forced to do many times already, I will Save Music.