I find music confusing and annoying. Not all music, but most music. By most music I mean all music. Unless it’s Ride of the Valkyries, the 1812 Overture, or anything by Herman’s Hermits — that is acceptable. Everything else is garbage.
(Warning: there is some salty language.)
I’ve always fancied myself as a magician. I don’t look like a magician, or know any tricks, but I can be very forceful. Even if a trick goes wrong, confidence and assertiveness can bail you out of any situation. I’ve bluffed my way out of card tricks, escape acts, and accidental amputations. Saying: “It’s okay, they’re supposed to be screaming!”, will get you out of a lot of sticky situations. However, cleaning up afterwards in unavoidable. The human body has a lot more blood than you might realize, so come prepared. Always keep a mop and some bleach in your hat, next to the doves and rabbits.
Way out East there was this fella — fella I wanna tell ya about. Fella by the name of Karate Master. At least that was the handle his loving parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. Karate Master, he called himself Karate Master. Now, Karate Master — he didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And a lot about where he lived, likewise.
Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence