Bobby Lightfoot: 41

Yessiree, yesterday was that special, special day for me.


Special. Every year a little oranger. Hung with th' fam and got some fab gifties including a Shure SM86 stage mic which is so dope you wouldn't believe. It's a condenser that rejects feedback as well as yer 58 and and sounds fucking amazing.

And how do you think I celebrated after that? Why, of course. Sang my ass off. It's my job, man. It's what I do. And I don't fuck around.

And you know what? I'm going to give myself my own special present now. I'm going to give myself a well-earned pat on the back. Here it is:

I've been up on that god damn stage my whole life. I'm a musician, man. There's a lot of shit I've done. But you know what I've never done?

I've never been unfaithful, man. I've never been unfaithful. I've said no thank you good night many, many, many times. I've done this.

And I'm going to say it and I'm going to say it through a couple of tears because I've god damn earned it. Here goes: I'm a good man. I don't any power over anything in this crazy world but I've managed that. And if you think that's easy, compadre, you can guess again. Don't expect me to pretend it's been easy. Sorry.

Bobby Lightfoot: good man. Good, orange man.

Happy birthday, me.

George Bush: My Night With Santa

His voice came over the telephone, gruff, assured.

"Santa here," he intoned, "is this the White House?"

I was flummoxed and a litte intrigued. I might be the President of Amurrica but I'm still a little boy at heart.

Or a naughty teen vixen.

"Y-yes, this is President George Bush," I stammered, overwhelmed. I found his cologne oddly stirring.

"Well, George, word is up here that you've been a real stinker this year," Santa cooed manfully, "a real Naughty Scottie".

I shivered. "Am I going to be punished, Santa?" I squeeked ineffably, drawing my knees up to my chest and tracing the pattern on my bobby sock.

Santa laughed, ho ho ho. "Why yes, saddlepal, looks like you're in for the full treatment. Ho ho ho."

Santa. I shivered. His beard would feel like cotton candy against my cheek.




HA HA HA HA! All right, man, I can't continue this post, as funny and utterly bereft of redeeming qualities it may be. My mom reads this shit.

ha ha ha ha.

Carlos Santana: Top Ten Upcoming Duets

Santana! If you like th' fucking guy STOP READING NOW. Que sinverguenza es este pendejo sangano.

Fingers on a chalkboard with that pentatonic woodly-woodly. Just shut the fuck up already. Jesus Christ. And he's still all cosmic. Jesus. He's like Cheech but he hasn't got any weed for you. No fucking way does Santana have any fucking decent smoke, man.

Look. Fuckin' Santana in the day had a couple of fantastic albums, man. Everybody knows that, god fucking damn it.

Oooh, this fucking duet thing though. It makes me wish it was like that Natalie Cole shit where the other guy is fucking dead already. Fucking CHRIST. He's so Walmart-like in his corporate cash-sucking approach that pretty soon he won't give his fucking band health insurance. With this fucking duet thing.

Alright, Carlos. Got some duets for you for your next corporate venture:

10. Carlos Santana and Andy Partridge.
9. Carlos Santana and Karen Carpenter.
8. Carlos Santana and Dick Cheney.
7. Carlos Santana and that queen Ty Pennington from that house makeover show. They can turn that Right Said Fred song into a wheezing, whingeing, pentatonic shitestorm.
6. Carlos Santana and Usher.
5. Carlost Santana and Michael Hutchence's condemned-to-an-eternity-of-hanging-and- wanking ghost. Gentlemen, you can NOT fuck with Jesus' rules like that. There ARE consequences.
4. Carlos Santana and that FUCKING lesbian Clay Aiken. Can you imagine? CAN YOU IMAGINE? WHAT WOULD COME OUT? OHHHH. IT WOULD MAKE FUCKING "WE BUILT THIS CITY" SOUND LIKE THE LOST CUT FROM REVOLVER, MAN.

See? See what you do? You think of THE WORST THAT COULD FUCKING HAPPEN AND THE SHRITE THAT'S ACTUALLY GOING DOWN BECOMES ALMOST BEARABLE. ALMOST.

BUT IT'S NOT!!!!!!!!!! ARRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHAZZZ ZZZZZZZZK EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDFF!!!!!!!!!! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK!!!!!! FFFFFFFFFFU-U-U-U-U- CHHHHHHHHHHHHKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!

IT'S NOT ALL RIGHT. IT'S N,OOO,OOO,OOO,OOOTTTTTTTTTTTT ........T.........T. IT'S (N) OOO-OOO-OOOO T,

3. Carlos Santana and Mahat Magandi. And they can drink some nice piss together. Their own, man. Not each other's. That would be gross.

2. Carlos Santana and Jesus. Carlos can stink it up while Jesus does a dope-ass-money flow thing about pimpin' and getting his swerve all on.

AND THE FINAL TOP TEN UPCOMING SANTANA DUET:

1.

DRUM ROLL PLEASE:

Santana and Hitler. Doing "Freebird". yeah, man. Produced by Kanye West. He is just SO street but he's down with the Plight, man.

Haff to admit it's better than the hideous, unctuating crap we'll get in '06, like Carlos Santana and Asslee Chimpsuit or fucking Alanus. Or Avril Lavigne. Oh, won't THAT be a treat. THAT'LL BE JUST A SURPRISE PARTY. I'm ordering my tickerts onLINE for THAT little treat. Won't THAT just be a SILK GOD DAMN PURSE. A JOYOUS AFFIRMATION. Won't THAT just be a Weedless Cheech Moment.

I feel like I might be physically hurting myself so I'm going to stop. this.

Bobby Lightfoot's Best Ten Gigs Of '05 List

10. The Hot Fire Band at th' Hinsdale VFW, Hinsdale VT 10.8.05

Why: More teeth in band than in crowd. And crowd was huge.

9. The Hot Fire Band at th' Keene Bandshell, Keene NH, 8.17.05

Why: got picture in paper. Lots of retards. Retards rock. Everyone knows that.

8. Lightfoot at Paisano's; Southampton, MA 7.15.05

Why: Drummer Dave Barrett played 20-minute drum solo in "Moby Dick". That's why.

7. King Radio at The Elevens, Northampton, MA 8.22.05:

Why: because we played "Boddhisatva", "Kid Charlemagne", "Peg" and "Dirty Work". That's fuckin' why.

6. Bobby Lightfoot solo at the piano- open mic at The Basement, Northampton, MA 5.16.05

Why: because I played "For One Another", "Paul McCartney" and "Brattleboro April 6 12:05 AM" and no one knew what the fuck to make of it.

5. I can't even remember

Why: Because I can't even remember.

4. Rufus Wainwright, The Calvin Theatre, Northampton MA. 11.08.05:

Why: I didn't say it had to be MY gig.

3. Shocker at The Grapevine Grill, Belchertown MA. 11.19.05:

Why: 1/2 mile from my house.

2. Soulfinger at Cafe Manhattan, Springfield MA 12.1.05:

Why: Any gig where I get to sing "Let's Stay Together" goes in the top 10.

BEST GIG OF 2005:

Th' Harridans at Jay's, Arlington VA 10.29.05:

Why: Because Ned Jingo is th' guitarist and he has No Death About Him. That's one of the reasons I love th' fucking guy. You know how Death hangs off people in varying degrees? Shit, I get in my car and that cock is sitting in the passenger's seat talking about how funny "Southern Fried Movie" is. Death is such a cocko.

Back On Th' Fastrack.

Boy, that was scary. I had this dream that I was a washed-up 40-year old musician with a big, busted vision, nowhere to go and a ass pocket full of regret.

Whew! It was awful. Every day hurt in a new and different way. My failure, oh, it dogged me at every turn like an angry, dried-up doxy on meth.

I couldn't see tomorrow, baby. I couldn't see it. I could only see more regret and more hurt and oh, sadness too. Big Sadness. Like Big Tobacco without th' fucking settlement. All I could do was write, write, write and get up and get on th' wheel like a fucking ox every morning.

I was close to the end. No song to sing, dog. No songs inside. Haven't had a song since th' summer, man. You can't just keep writing about how bad everything is, man. The Cure notwithstanding. Nirvana notwithstanding. Those fuckin' guys never did nothin'.

But I answered the call, man. I don't know where I got the getupandgo but I reached deep, deep, deep and I accepted MasterCard as my Personal Lab and Spaniel, baby. And things are looking up in every way, man.

I'm in Soulfinger now. I'm safe, man. I'm safe; I'm sheltered from th' storm. Gone overnight is the desperation and the tears and th' nowheresville, motherfucking motherfucker.

Don't have to knock a fellow down to feel my oats, no sir. Don't have to hit a woman to feel like I've got some power. Don't have to kick a dog anymore. Oh, I was bad. Man, I was mean but I'm changing my scene and I'm doing the best that I can.

Thanks to Soulfinger.

I'm going to get Discovered, man. Who knows when? Who knows? Might be in Bridgeport or Hartford or god damn I don't know. But when you feel it, you feel it, man.

Been a long road, man. A long, tough road. Jesus. There were times when I didn't know if I could go on. But I knew somehow I guess, man. I knew. I knew there was something. I knew it couldn't all be for naught.

You see, once I was a boogie singer. Singing in a rock 'n' roll band. And I never had no problems, burning down th' one night stands.

But something was missing, man. Missing.

Being Discovered is going to rock so hard. I've got it all planned. The plane, the fucking mansions, the cars. You watch, motherfucker. You just watch.

Back on th' Fast Track, baby.

Th' Soulfinger Diaries 12.15-12.18/05

Thursday December 15, 2005: Cafe Manhattan, Springfield, MA.:

-No problems. I do my job to the best of my abilities which may I add are not inconsiberable. d.
-Drummer Manila Godown (Manila Godown!!!) gets lit up like th' proverbial Christmas pudding but rocks ably.
-drunk fucker poking me in chest and saying I'm Making It. No fucking duh, dude. Jesus.
-insane chick exposes her tits.
-I drive home and play Medal Of Honor.
-coolant leak steady but not disabling.

Friday December 16, 2005: Airport, Hartford, CT:

-see above.


Saturday December 17, 2005: Lighthouse, New London CT:

-see above

Sunday December 18, 2005: Del's Downtown, Groton CT:

-see above
-coolant leak considerably worse. Radiator meltdown imminent.