9/25/2005

Bobby Lightfoot's Greatest Hits #1: On The Rich

O.K., O.K, A-squick-diggity-ding-dong. What the screaming fuck is the problem with me dropping th' blog ball like white rice on a cheap suit, eh? Eh? Happens every dang month, doesn't it now? It's not right is it? No, no sirree it's wronger than shit. One minute I'm there, coffee mug in hand, coffee down my lapels, next thing it's sorry wrong number! That's no way to run a god damn blog reg. TM.

Problem is, time's tight. Tight. Tighter than Dick Cheney's knee veins. Oh, and what the fuck is with that? You hear about that? Fucking pussy. Knee vein surgery. What a god damn faggot that god damn Cheney is. And I don't mean homosexual. No, sirree. I know some homos'd come up my front and down my back and move on to the next victim and not break a god damn sweat. I wouldn't insult any of my dear homosexual friends by comparing Dick fucking Cheney to them.

What I said is "faggot". As in a nancy boy who can't hang. Like Dickless Cheney. What is it with these rich maggot pussy idiot cloacas? I guarantee pussies like Cheney get like full MRI's like 3 times a month so when, god forbid, the tinyest anomaly is detected they're on th' slab at the best hospital in the world in MINUTES.

Why?

a) They're pussies of the hightest motherfucking order

b) they're rich so they count more than you and I.

Me? yeah, got a physical in '02. Doc sez no lumps on me bigger'n a golf ball and nothing scary up my ass so we'll see you again in '06. BECAUSE I'M A MAN. YES I AM AND I CAN'T HELP ETC. ETC.

You got menfolk and you got rich Halibortions. You get a man, say Neddie Jingo. Gets his ass flayed halfway up his back and a week later he's taking to the streets of D.C. to deliver the sweet sting of justice to the sick, sick bastards that run this "country". Guy like that? Huh? Takes you back, doesn't it? Takes you back to when giants walked the earth. Guy like Cheney? What an asshole. A total asshole.

So, yo- here's what's up. Time's tight, man. You're tryin' to live a life? Trying to have a good year and clear 23 G's? Sometimes I have to make a choice. Sometimes I have to appease the Song God. So if I disappear for a while it's because I'm off Changing Music. Saving Music.

So in the time-honored tradition of busy songwriters, I'm introducing Bobby Lightfoot's Greatest Hits.

Today I give you this succulent tidbit from last spring. It's funny. It's angry. You probably read it. But you'll still laugh. That's right. I know you.















Rich people, huh? Holy shit; what a bunch of unmitigated assholes they are. I'm not talking comfortable people here, gentle folk. I'm not even talking people in the lower six figures. I'm not a fucking communist or anything. I'm talking about RICH people. What a bunch of COCKSUCKERS this gang is! Actually, I'm going to take that back; I made a vow to never again use the word cocksucker vindictively. Calling someone a cocksucker is stupid because it disparages what is really an extremely high calling. It's kind of like calling someone a "gourmet cook" or a "mechanic". And then your mechanic hears you going around calling people you hate "mechanics" and next thing you know he won't work on your car anymore.

And well, I really like my car being worked on, you know? I love having the mechanic work on my car.

Can we all pledge to use "cocksucker" disparagingly a little less? I really like cocksuckers. I think they are wonderful, giving people

UNLIKE THE FUCKING RICH.

Jesus, my disdain for the rich is well-nigh boundless. And don't give me this jealousy shit. That's some kneejerk shit right there, cocksucker. I can't decide if I hate fucking rich people more than fundamentalists. It's like trying to choose between puke and shit for lunch. "Hmmm...maybe some nice shit...noooo....puke looks good today..."

I sure as hell ain't jealous of the rich. You know who I'm jealous of? I'll tell you, so I can go on writing about the rich without having to listen to this jealousy shit 'cause I've already copped to it. Here's who I'm jealous of:

1. People who are happy with less.
2. People who set realistic goals in life and met them.
3. People who make a good, honest living doing what they love.
4. Better songwriters than me. Boy, that smarts.
5. Guys with great hair. I went from bad hair to no hair. I've had a bad hair life. I never got to look like any of my bitchin' 1979 heroes except for maybe a week. And that was Adam fucking Clayton. Don't get me wrong- I'm hot. Ooohhh, I'm hot. I'm just no-hair hot. You know how they have those Mohair suits? I've got the Nohair suit.
6. People with IQs under 143. 143 is the cutoff point, good folk. You get over 143 and life is a nightmare of SEEING THROUGH ALL THE SHIT. IT'S NOT RELAXING. And it hasn't done jack for me. Fucked me up pretty good, in fact. Being 8 and reading dictionaries. Being 8 and having read all of Poe. Being 8 and already knowing what a fucking hoax it all is. Yay. 60-odd years of knowing the fucking score. I think I'll start smoking young.

So, that's who I'm jealous of.

I am most certainly NOT jealous of scheming, penny pinching, selfish, arrogant suckoff rich people who eat steaks made of third worlders. Hell, I'd be rich too if I'd never given anyone anything. Let's say you have 10 people that you spend 25 bucks on each for Christmas. So, that's 250 bucks a year. So, since we know the truly rich have struck Mephistophelian deals and get to live for hundreds of years, you gotta figure they got 5-6 hundred Christmases under their belts. My math puts that at 150,000 dollars, just for being a selfish, sniffling, tooth sucking rich fuck. What's the interest going to be on 150 large in 600 years? I don't know, you tell me, rich wank. I've got rock to play. I've got people to give things to. I've got dogs to cuddle with. So I'm a little too busy for your faggy little triangle schemes.

You keep making all that money, the rest of us will keep having souls.

Let me break it down for you very, very simply so that everyone can understand, even stupid, arrogant, bought-their-college-diploma-anyway fucking rich people. Here is what you need in life (and I'm going to be extremely generous here. I'll never have 3/4 of these things):

1. Food, shelter and transportation. Preferably public, but hey, 99.5 percent of us don't live in Manhattan.
2. Enough money to take care of our children. This includes the money to send them to college.
3. Enough money to retire comfortably.
4. Enough money to cover our ass in case of some emergency.
5. A decent home is always a plus. A lot of people care about that, so we'll slap that in.
6. Enough money to take a fucking vacation and have a little fun. Go to the movies. Have some drinks. Share a drifter or two. Normal shit.
7. Enough money to indulge a creative whim or two. The universe encourages creativity. A darkroom, a li'l studio for art or music, some digital camera shit, computer stuff, Batik, y'know? Remember Batik? Hey- great stuff. If you make some stuff that's cool out of some raw materials like yarn or tape or whatever, you go to heaven. Did you know that? Straight to fucking heaven. Straight to Baby Jeezis' right side. You'll be sitting there with Baby Jeezis and Karen Carpenter talking about Batik. Jeezis'll be all like, "yeah, I did some tie-dye shit back in Galilee to take a break from all that carpentry." And Karen Carpenter'll be like, "you're not getting a break from THIS Carpenter, Magic Fingers!" And she'll wrap her bony arms around him and they'll be all making out and stuff and Jeezis will ask you for a rubber. One of those Magnums. It's JEEZIS after all. You know he's packin' heat right there yeah bra. Mary didn't raise no weenie winkie boys no sirrah. He got it from his Dad. You should see what God's packing. Fuck, if you invented the fucking thing you're gonna give yourself the best one, right? Henry Ford didn't drive a goddam Buick Skylark, right?

So anyway, that's about what you need, right? O.K.- I don't want to be judgemental. That's one thing I don't want in my blog. Harsh judgements. EXCEPT FOR RICH FUCKING SCUMBAG SATAN WORSHIPPERS. So, anyway- let's take all those things and times them by two so we're not being judgmental.

Fuck it- let's say you can sock away 5 million in your life. That's fucking generous, right? You're not feeling judged for making software or crunching numbers or having a good business, right? You're all good, down-to-earth folk, right?

I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT YOU. I'M TALKING ABOUT THESE RICH FUCKING BASTARDS. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, YOU FUCKING LEECHES. I SWEAR I COULD KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU AND NOT FEEL THE FAINTEST TWINGE OF GUILT.

When you have more than you can possibly spend in your lifetime and you don't give it ALL to poor people, well, sorry. You're a fucking asshole. You god damned corporateers, if you had a soul you'd give it all away and wear a barrel like one of those old cartoons. ALL OF IT. And DO NOT I repeat DO NOT give me this Bill and Melinda Gates BULLSHIT and expect me to swallow it. If Bill and Melinda want to be really generous they can GIVE IT ALL AWAY and keep a stipend of 50K each a year. That's fucking PLENTY.

Oh, I just CHOKE ON MY FUCKING TONGUE when I think of people buying your Humanitarian shit. Fuck you and shame on you. If you had a soul you'd drive into Appalachia and give every fucking person a million dollars. You'd go to Africa and give them ALL YOUR FUCKING ZILLIONS except enough to keep Microsoft plugging away breaking the fucking law EVERY DAY. You assholes (I was going to call them cocksuckers- oops).

Trump? Branson? Every fucking penny. Pony up, you fucking pigs. You keep 75k, no let's make that 50k a year. Your children are through school. That's plenty, unless you ABSOLUTELY just HAVE to have FRESH INFANT FLESH at every meal. You fuckers. You rotters. Every penny to Tsunamiland. Every penny to Darfour and Zimbabwe. The unemployment rate there is 70%. Every fourth person has AIDS. Pony up you fucking vampires. God damn you. How dare you draw breath, you vampires?

I don't care if you give 100 zillion a year in aid to poor people or what the fuck ever. If YOU still have 666 quintillion what the fuck good is it? What good is it? You fucking leeches. What are you going to do with it? Buy your place in history? Sock some away for when we finally grow balls and roll out the guillotine like the forward-thinking French did 300-odd years ago? It's not going to help, you fucking robber barons.

Do you know how every night when you slide between your luxurious human-skin sheets and blow the flame out on your human fat candle how you wonder if anyone likes you for yourself or just for your money?

It's the money, yo.

4 Comments:

Blogger Nobody said...

>People with IQs under 143. 143 is >the cutoff point, good folk. You >get over 143 and life is a >nightmare of SEEING THROUGH ALL >THE SHIT. IT'S NOT RELAXING. And >it hasn't done jack for me. >Fucked me up pretty good, in >fact. Being 8 and reading >dictionaries. Being 8 and having >read all of Poe. Being 8 and >already knowing what a fucking >hoax it all is. Yay.

Thanks Bobby, you completely summed up my childhood in one paragraph.

Day after day wondering why no-one asks questions, why traditions are followed with no-one asking why, why no-one challenged anything we were taught, why everyone just sits, shuts up and does as they're told and you feel so damn different to everyone else and can't understand how they just carry on as normal with all the bullshit going on around us.

They threaten you with dentention. You don't go. So they give you more detention.

Some hits you. You hit back. The teacher sees you and the principal tells you not to hit other kids, then hits you.

They trial some weird contract system in my last year of primary school where kids decide what they want to do in a week and as long as they spend the certain allotted hours on each subject they can choose when they do each one - which *still* makes no sense to me. And you realise you can do the entire week's work that's expected of you on the Monday, and when you feel guilty about it and ask for more the teacher says you can't get too ahead of the other students, so you spend most of the year in the library reading book after book.

Thinking a 'book' is a 'book' and not realising there were ones for different age groups, so spent most of my childhood reading books for adults.

Being in class and wondering what exactly I was supposed to find so shocking in 'The Chocolate War' when I'd read '1984', 'Lord Of The Flies' and 'To Kill A Mockingbird', which weren't taught until a lot later in high school.

Sitting around in the patronising music lessons in 6th grade where you were expected to sing such simplistic melodies as 'Kum By Yah' and 'Pick A Bale Of Cotton' and 'I Got A Robe' and be patronisingly explained to how music worked, when you were at home listening to the Beatles and Kate Bush and Talking Heads.

Knowing that you were timing when your teacher's nicotine withdrawals were due to hit, and asking to be let out early, (giving them the opportunity for a cigarette), but letting them think it was *their* idea.

Being the only kid in my class who had read 'The Catcher In The Rye' to know the school version was censored.

The class being given "Go Ask Alice" in Year Seven as a 'warning', but smelling the scent of total bullshit about the book, even knowing about the older teenager next door who used to play me *great* records had been a heroin addict, and had drowned himself in the river the previous year.

Being an 8th grader and the only ones who seemed to respect me were 12th graders who I could actually have interesting conversations with.

Being in Year 9 and all my friends having finished school.

Not going to one English class in my entire last year of high school because I knew my teacher was a God-Botherer, yet coming first in the final exam knowing the teacher's wanted me gone just as much as I wanted to be gone from there.

And what the hell is so interesting about kicking a goddamn ball around a muddy field?

And you know what I blame? (Since I'm a total moron I can't use any measure of my IQ or thinking I was somehow 'gifted' as my defence).

MAD Magazine. That little 'satirical' comic that comes out once a month and kids buy and laugh at even though they're running reprints from 15 years before and we therefore have no idea who Henry Kissinger was and why everyone was obsessed with 'liberals' and 'hippies' and what the hell 'sock it to me' means.

Unfortunately Mad Magazine had a habit of cutting through the bullshit. What some people might call cynical just seemed to me like speaking the truth behind the facade of bullshit society throws up. And when you're a kid who starts thinking that way life is going to be very long, and very hard for you.

That stupid little magazine taught me to think and to question *everything* and look for the truth of the matter, and i've never had a day's peace since I started thinking that way.

I'm torn between buying my nephew a subscription when he's old enough, or just letting him grow up to be a happy sports-playing vegetable.

One paragraph man, you killed me.

1:03 AM  
Blogger XTCfan said...

Halibortions? HALIBORTIONS?!?! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA......

That alone was worth the wait. You are indeed among Those Who Have Rocked.

That post was even better the second time around. Keep 'em coming, Mr. 'Foot.

And Simon ... yes. Mad about Mad, etc.

6:22 PM  
Blogger Bobby Lightfoot said...

Yeh, we got a thing or two in common, Simon.

Although I suspect you know more about music that is out there. I've been up my own ass for so long with that I don't have a clue.

For me there are two musics- shitty music and music I can rip off.

9:39 PM  
Anonymous Zeke said...

I'm not sure if I made the 143 cutoff, don't know, don't care, took me a lifetime to teach myself to see through the shit that makes the world go round and the hypnotized brainwashed manequins eating poison and soaking sponge brains with ad-puke, oprah and CNN's feigned I'm on your side" death chant screaming at them day and night. I thought I stood here naked, ashamed, alone saying "Fuck Jesus up the ass" you nut fucks, and "the Wal-mart and Hilton heiress cocksucker whores of the world can lick my butt hole" all by myself, shivering bleeding and mentally and soulfully starving to fucking death all by my fucking self. And here the rest of you are in pockets of air bubling up through this puke. All I needed to know is that you are here... somewhere.

11:30 PM  

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