Disappointment Number 6,345,985

Doomed. Doomed to bad decisions. Doomed to relying on humankind. Doomed to playing second fiddle to drunken oafs. Doomed to frustration, irritation and failure.

Doomed.

Fuck these people:

1. People who piss away opportunities.
2. People who can't recognize and capitalize on a good thing.
3. Spoiled wanking powertripping tossers with instruments. Or worse, microphones.
4. People who drink too much.
5. People who don't drink enough.
6. People who think they are playing a show for themselves as opposed to the audience.
7. See posts #35, 44, 22, 56, 78, 54, 45, 612, 4, 56, 678, 43, 34, 76, 12, 23, 43, 90, and also 100 through 456. Fuck all of these people.

I've realized that when you interact with a delusional person you have to decide whether to participate in the delusion or not participate. Gotta be a pretty HEFTY FUCKING PAYCHECK TO BE SISSY MCPHUCK FROM 11TH GRADE IN SOMEONE ELSE'S WANK FANTASY.

Yeah, this band I was so up about singing for? You guessed it. They're about as pro as an American Idol contestant on junk. Last night I had to be privy to NOT ONE, but TWO 40 minute bad drunken jams. Second one I walked out. This guy who leads this band is NOT used to being called on his wank. What a shock to his system. Yeah, 20 minute BASS SOLO anyone? There are JOKES about this. yeah, I can't wait to hear another 20 minute BASS SOLO. SWEET. I just can't GET ENOUGH BAD BASS.

The bass guitar is NOT A LEAD INSTRUMENT. The bass guitar is a SUPPORT instrument. You don't SERENADE YOUR TRUE LOVE WITH A FUCKING BASS.

Boy, you'd have to be a pretty amazing bass player to make a 20 MOTHERFUCKING MINUTE BASS SOLO GOOD.

All you tossoffs who play "solo bass"? Actually put out CDs of it and shit?

Wow. Fuck you. Fuck you good.

See, I'm going to be wishin' I had that 20 minutes to JACK OFF WITH when I'm on my FUCKING DEATHBED. Someone steals a chunk of your time on earth like that it's called A MORTAL SIN. Let's not DO THAT TO ONE ANOTHER. Oh, the HUBRIS. NOW OFFICIALLY MY MOST HATED WORD IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.

Oh- love the 40 minute breaks between sets, too. Yeah, that's pro stuff right fucking there. God damn it. When I played with those other jackoffs in Springfield at least I trained myself to BRING A FUCKING BOOK after a few of those. "Hey, who wants to KILL A PARTY? That's our job, right? KILL A FUCKING PARTY".

Oh, boy. Life is truly shit. Shit. Poison lurks deep in th' sweetest bud indeed.

Sometimes the decision is: 30 more years of this shit or no?

And then I have to retrieve accusations of being a sad sack. Fuck that. I step up bright-eyed and bushy-fucking tailed every time I get what looks like a break. Like a fucking IDIOT.

Depression. Depression. Look, find a pill that cures the fact that everything is a crummy laugh. I'll fork over for THAT shit. THAT and some fucking talk therapy.

Some fucking talk therapy.

There are things you can't talk away, people. There are some stuff. Several. Stuffs.

Lame. Double, triple lame.

Did I say that.

I keep forgetting to say did I say that.