(Warning: some salty language if you happen to speak Spanish, otherwise you’re fine)
Cocaína is a helluva drug.
I wouldn’t know, because the strongest thing I’ve ever taken comes with a childproof cap and all the tablets are shaped like little dinosaurs, but I imagine thata coke-fueled musical rampage must be interesting. I can’t vouch for how enjoyable it would be, but I’m sure that like a tire fire or honey badger attack, it would interesting to watch from a safe distance.
I’m sorry for my absolute lack of knowledge on all the cool drugs the kids these days are doing. I don’t get invited to many parties, and the parties that I am invited to are usually thrown by my mother or someone related to her. I’ve tried doing drugs at those, but my extended family always gives me funny looks when I ask if they have any ecstasy on hand. Every once in a while one of my cool cousins gives me a Tylenol, but that gets be about as high as the Titanic.
Despite all of my previous attempts one of my cousins hooked me up with a drug dealer who I’ve been visiting regularly. He’s got everything on the market: aspirin, Tylenol, acetaminophen, Advil; he’s even got cough syrup in five different flavors. Next time I got to see my him I’ll ask for some of that quote, unquote prescription stuff. Maybe I’ll buy some ibuprofen without asking my mom for permission.
Interestingly, I wrote this same song back in the late 1960’s right after the Beatles released Let It Be. I figured this number was a perfect fit for them. I wasn’t too keen on their “Letter B, Letter B” song or whatever. Figured they needed something with a bit more pizzazz, so I mailed it to Mr. Sargent Pepper at Abbey Road Studios and waited for their response.
I heard through the grapevine that Paul and George went crazy for it. Sadly, John rejected the song for being too lighthearted. Completely broke up the band, it did.
Elvis was looking forward to his next gig. Things were looking up for him. He marched onto the stage with confidence. However, after the spotlight came on, he realized that he forgot all of his songs. Suddenly, Elvis was nervous and fearful. In the heat of the moment and without any songs to sing, he just decided to do whatever. The King danced like a maniac and buffed the floor with his shoes. He smacked his guitar over and over, only sometimes producing an actual tone. Finally, he threw in some hollers here and there for good measure. It was the silliest show in his entire career.
And the crowd goes wild.
Coincidentally, Metal In Inappropriate Places Is The Name Of My Wham! Tribute Band
I’m unsure if there’s an appropriate place for metal after you’ve been kicked out of mom’s basement. There’s a 0 percent chance of you actually playing in front of real people, or girls for that matter, so you have no shot at finding a venue. If you were able to play music for girls you wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place, because metal would be the last thing on your mind. You’d have a warm couch to sleep on at the very least. And it’s not that you couldn’t find a venue if you really wanted to. I’ve just noticed the majority of metal heads tend to have absolutely terrible stage fright, life fright, and general fright. All the posturing in the world won’t make up for the moment when you step onstage, stare into the audience, and projectile poop yourself into another dimension.
Then again, wearing a sturdy diaper can usually counteract any on-stage defecation issues — unless that’s part of your act. In which case, poop everywhere and see where that gets you. At least you’ll be known as that guy who ripped off his pants and dumped all over the stage instead of that guy who plays a guitar that sounds like a chainsaw that needs a tuneup.