fragment

Drugs, drugs, drugs
Shootin' China White with a rehab syringe
Drugs, drugs, drugs
Passed out in my vomit from a Stoli binge
Drugs, drugs, drugs
Brain singed, my eyes cringe

Those of you who are skilled at 'rocking the rhyme,' as they said 'back in the day,' can continue this, as I'll probably never touch it again. A more amusing 'bit' would be talking about all the places in Sarasota where old people with no teeth like to eat dinner, but practically no one would 'get it.'

I think it was Hunter Thompson who said that parody is the absolute lowest form of comedy; but I don't think when he said that, he knew that there was going to be an exaggerated carbon copy of himself portraying him on the big screen. I doubt it would have changed his mind on the matter.

The problem is, you can't have a really vicious parody artist, because they'll never get the rights to use whatever they're ripping apart. Like for instance, what I wrote might be interpreted as making fun of Vince Neil's drug-induced manslaughter, when in fact it's just me being bizarre, and my subconscious being vicious. The subconscious never sticks around to explain, however.

I live near a lot of the places they mention in the Motley Crue song, by the way. They look like shitholes. Every boy's dream is to loiter in a series of crummy bars full of exploited women. I guess the song is supposed to contribute to the Crue's 'bad boy' image, but we call such people 'losers.' When I'm on tour, you will find me half-unconscious from Jagermeister shots, reading Noam Chomsky to huge-breasted groupies who wish I would shut up and let them touch my cock.

(no subject)

If you're not real fond of rum, I strongly suggest you pour it into a pina colada Slurpee. It's the only thing the latter is really good for.