Woah, getting my tax shit in order for '06. Looks like I had my best year as a broke-ass singer ever. I'm, like, non-famous musician aristocracy- we're talking 23-24 large, baby. When I was in LA my handlers would've paid that much in a month for payola and kickbacks and drug bribes and for the priviledge to play some shitass hole on Sunset in case some asshole A&R staffer from fucking Interscope might come down and wave some shitass paper at us. Those were th' days. Sleeping on floors in Reseda and still thinking it was the thing to do. Watching our manager buy lunch for a bunch of wanker creative directors at the Manhattan Beach Country Club and knowing it was coming out of my pocket later.
'Course I haven't paid my Haliburton kickbacks yet. That'll be ugly. Got a drawer full of 20's, though. Gotta keep a drawer full of 20's. There's enough to pay my protection money in there.
Money, you know? Christ, I hate that shit. Fucking waste of time. I fucking refuse to get a hard on over it like everybody. It's the grind
for me, man. Everybody's got some shit that takes their eyes off the fuckin' beautiful blue sky and tits and stuff. Mine's that relentless grind. I'll sit with a song or a mix for 12 fuckin' hours and not think twice about it but when I'm chasing my tail on somebody else's clock and I can't even get myself to feel like they're
getting their money's worth I just want to flush myself down th' terlet. And then you have to hear about Connie in Accounting and shit. I can't stand the idea of having a Connie in Accounting in my professional fuckin' life.
And there's no question about it: onstage can get to be a grind but at least I feel like I'm well above th' value for dollar mark. It's a long night when you do this rippin' shit like Soulfinger.
How much money you want? Remember when you didn't have a farthing or a polesmokin' sous
and you were still nancying about free as a fucking bird? Take heed! Take heed! There's an element, just an element
of sense and truth in there. Don't don't
get all wrapped around a fuckin' axle about it, O.K.? You could slip in th' shower and open your fucking face like a cracked snare head, man. You could stumble in th' living room and get a poker up your fucking ass, man. You could wind up like my drummer buddy Mike Gauya who wound up 'round a tree with his head further on down th' road. You could get th' sudden, irrepressible urge to fly a plane into a building. Believe it or not, you still have to try to be cool, man. Even if it's your own fucking definition. You know when it's wrong or right. I thought that surely by age 42 I wouldn't be hung up on being cool, but that's where it's at for me. I mean, it's easy
to be cool now. Just look at what a bunch of pimply scrotes young people are now-n-days. James Deans and Natalie Woods do not appear to currently dominate th' popular psyche. I mean, who's the coolest young person now? Fuckin' whatsername there, from MySpace? The British chick with the karaoke-sounding complaint reggae? Who? That utter
drip Russian chick with the horrible songs? Um....what the fuck is her name? I can't just google "utter drip Russian chick with horrible songs", you know? Actually I rekkin I could- look, here's what I got- 26,600 fucking hits
"Regina Spektor". Jesus, I wish Ronnie and Phil had taken care of that
little secret South of th' Border if you know what I mean.
It's like when someone would say they didn't like my music and I'd want to see their record collection because you fucking know
it's all Hootie and Matchbox 20. Man, if you think Bill Gates and Rupert Murdoch and Vegina Spektor and MySpace McIdol is where it's at please, please, please
give me a frightened and disgusted look. Because it's you cocks that I'm trying to revive the word "chode" to describe.
You'll think you've finally fuckin' gotten me and it'll be like a movie when my hand comes up out of the ground and rips the hair of your balls. Shraaaaakkk.
Now, what would you like to hear?
(And, in closing, if I might add that three down on that gliggle search was this link
of excellence which NOT ONLY led to a new and fresh form of comedy but introduced another instance of the underutilized "chode" although in this instance it was spelled "choad" (sic)).
Labels: that fried-bat-eating guy from American Idol