dedalus Posted September 2, 2011 Share Posted September 2, 2011 Friday afternoon feels a helluva lot like Monday morning, Bubba, down here where we slouch around. The band is good, but we've only played a handful of gigs since July. Now it is September. The alcohol intake is excessively impressive, and we've written all of one new song: It goes, it goes ... never mind, it's total crap. The lead singer is out of his mind on drugs, trying to sleep with the keyboard player's girl. She's willing, I think, but he can't perform. Andy, the keyboard genius, is ready to quit. Idiot bitch. Pride. Fed up. Dammit, so am I! Hanging around with these guys is like ... like drowning in molasses, or lukewarm porrige. We had one good song, I'm sure you heard it. Top of the Pops, Number 14 in the USA. We were so, soooo fuckin good! Still are, in fact, tight and bluesy. The fame thing has been kicking us in, blasting us out of the water. Last time I drank a glass of water was in December. We're into vodka limes and expensive wines. Every now and then I meet a black musician, one of those guys from the old days, working as a doorman or a taxi driver, and I want to fall down and kiss his shoes. He takes me to a club, we play all night. I mean, who the hell needs drugs? I just love what I'm doing, man, can't stand the people I'm doing it with. Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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