“Look out! Cause I'm just too fake for the world
I know it's just a game to me, I'm just too fake you see
I wish i didn't have to be but watch out
I got too much soul for the world
and it's breaking my heart in two
I got too much soul for you
I got too much soul for you
I don't like it but it's true” Too Fake - Hockey
I got Facebook and last went on it in December I think, so twice I‘ve used it. I don’t care for it at all but see the constant array of friend requests coming into my Gmail, most of which have names that sound like they belong on the ever so popular “US No Fly” list. However, I will have to break with tradition and go on this week at some point as an old band mate’s name has recently parked in my inbox.
He was a great drummer and in our late teens he brought this guy in to play guitar for us that I wasn’t too keen on as he had a drug history. I was assured he was “clean”, but I was young and naive. It’s one thing when it’s pot or LSD experimentation, but when someone regularly uses heroin at any point in their lives, you should NEVER EVER (Simon Cowell ego size EVER) trust them.
I’ll never forget our last practice in a storage unit place all the bands rehearsed in off of Skipper Road in Tampa. We were mostly surrounded by death metal bands, but the dude next door to us was a lone drummer that busted skins 8 hours a day whilst secretly tending to the most well cared for hydroponic pot plants behind a fake wall he built into his space. Robby. If he’s not in jail, I bet he’s still there banging out a Rush song (ick). If not, I bet you can still smell that Christmas tree WEED smell when you walk by, heh.
Jon (no “H” which is ironic to say the least) was the guitarist’s name and he was talented but bossy. Most drug freaks are controlling and he was no exception. We packed up early as we had to be at a photo shoot for the band at 8 AM. The photographer was hard to come by and he wanted “natural” light, but it was also hotter than Satan’s balls during our normal wake stays so we had to comply with this early appointment. Had I known it was going to be the last time I’d see our PA system, I would’ve bid it farewell, but alas there were no final exchanges between us.
Jon basically left in our succession of cars and then doubled back and took all that he could sell, right down to foot pedals and even piddly drum sticks. We had no idea till his fake ass didn’t show up at yikes o’clock the next morning for pics. It was bad enough to be left and robbed, but embarrassed in front of the hot photographer dude just enhanced the event to a level that I’ll vividly remember when I’m beating people senseless with a cane in my silver years (I don‘t do gold, that‘s just tacky).
You’d think that would’ve been enough, but I got conned again by a heroin addict the next year. My best friend had just passed away from Leukemia and I received a handwritten letter from a former roommate that I had in DC saying she too, had gotten cancer and had no money for meds. She moved to San Francisco and pleaded with me to wire her some cash. Drowning in grief, I couldn’t bear the thought of another friend dying and quickly wired her a hundred bucks only to receive a call the next day from her sister telling me she got fleeced for 3 grand and to “Watch out for Karen, she’s on the horse”.
That bitch’s birthday is this week now that I think of it. I hope she’s dead.
I got Facebook and last went on it in December I think, so twice I‘ve used it. I don’t care for it at all but see the constant array of friend requests coming into my Gmail, most of which have names that sound like they belong on the ever so popular “US No Fly” list. However, I will have to break with tradition and go on this week at some point as an old band mate’s name has recently parked in my inbox.
He was a great drummer and in our late teens he brought this guy in to play guitar for us that I wasn’t too keen on as he had a drug history. I was assured he was “clean”, but I was young and naive. It’s one thing when it’s pot or LSD experimentation, but when someone regularly uses heroin at any point in their lives, you should NEVER EVER (Simon Cowell ego size EVER) trust them.
I’ll never forget our last practice in a storage unit place all the bands rehearsed in off of Skipper Road in Tampa. We were mostly surrounded by death metal bands, but the dude next door to us was a lone drummer that busted skins 8 hours a day whilst secretly tending to the most well cared for hydroponic pot plants behind a fake wall he built into his space. Robby. If he’s not in jail, I bet he’s still there banging out a Rush song (ick). If not, I bet you can still smell that Christmas tree WEED smell when you walk by, heh.
Jon (no “H” which is ironic to say the least) was the guitarist’s name and he was talented but bossy. Most drug freaks are controlling and he was no exception. We packed up early as we had to be at a photo shoot for the band at 8 AM. The photographer was hard to come by and he wanted “natural” light, but it was also hotter than Satan’s balls during our normal wake stays so we had to comply with this early appointment. Had I known it was going to be the last time I’d see our PA system, I would’ve bid it farewell, but alas there were no final exchanges between us.
Jon basically left in our succession of cars and then doubled back and took all that he could sell, right down to foot pedals and even piddly drum sticks. We had no idea till his fake ass didn’t show up at yikes o’clock the next morning for pics. It was bad enough to be left and robbed, but embarrassed in front of the hot photographer dude just enhanced the event to a level that I’ll vividly remember when I’m beating people senseless with a cane in my silver years (I don‘t do gold, that‘s just tacky).
You’d think that would’ve been enough, but I got conned again by a heroin addict the next year. My best friend had just passed away from Leukemia and I received a handwritten letter from a former roommate that I had in DC saying she too, had gotten cancer and had no money for meds. She moved to San Francisco and pleaded with me to wire her some cash. Drowning in grief, I couldn’t bear the thought of another friend dying and quickly wired her a hundred bucks only to receive a call the next day from her sister telling me she got fleeced for 3 grand and to “Watch out for Karen, she’s on the horse”.
That bitch’s birthday is this week now that I think of it. I hope she’s dead.
2 comments:
Excellent post.
Thanks man =)
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