i fell asleep tonight watching PBS. some speculatory documentary about what if Hitler had won this and that?, and then woke up to that pansy-assed motherfucker Josh “I’m the male Celine Dion” Somethingorother. fuck that twerp. i felt all testo and wanted to go and kick his ass for being such a fucking dumbshit with all his stupid contrived ballads. i still want to kick his ass now. just shove my electric fuzz machine right down his pretty little golden throat, plug him into my amp, and make him scream.
jesus. i hope that didn’t sound as gay as it, in fact, DID. even i’m not nancy enough for that nancy. pooffy wanker!
i HATE singers who don’t play an instrument. they should all be rounded up and locked in a karaoke bar together. they’re no good at all. they do nothing for Art. yes, lock them all up together and let them get all creepy and tribal and Lord of the Flies when they realize that they can’t actually write songs anymore because none of them know how to make a chord or how to accompany themselves or each other on anything. let them go crazed and feral and start killing themselves off and going cannibal and wild.
the winner – the last one alive – gets free piano lessons. and a serious beating.
LEARN AN INSTRUMENT OR GET OFF MY FUCKING RADIO.
the next time i hear about some fizzy little “I’m a singer!“-type who claims to have written a “song” (in actuality, lyrics, but go figure, no music), i am going to go feral on them my DAMN self.
i generalise, yes. it’s what i do. no disclaimers. fuck off if you’re offended, karaoke-person or -persons!
