i dont know who you are. i dont even know if you read this. i hope you do, but i doubt it.
i have to quit this life of crime
when it rains like it does today i dont get to fly chopper one. i get stuck in a car. driving around. talking to our marks. shaking down our stoolies. like peter gabriel we shake the tree.
this is the part of the job that i hate.
the muscle. the strong arm. the beat down. the ooomph.
if you dont sign me up to work for you im going to do the unthinkable.
im going to be a highschool english teacher and turn my back on the world.
im going to marry a cute little woman and get a minivan and sell out and harvest kids that look like me and go to soccer practices.
this rocketship of rock has been sitting on the takeoff platform for some 79 years and it is ready to blow.
let it be known. i am ready to rock and i have been ready to rock for quite some time.
ive tried to distract myself with Lick and the ladies and charities and haircuts and baseball and rock shows and liquid courage but at some point a motherfucker has to tap out.
i want a job where i can rule the world.
i want a job that will pay me more than any showdog can jump over.
i want a job where i can use whatever this is that ive got and share it with the good people of the world.
i want a job where i can see a rainy day like today and say i know lets go to the mall and talk to the old ladies and ask em about moonshine in the 40s.
i want a job where people dont come up to me and say, would you mind turning down that billy joel, its too loud.
yes that happened to me.
i want a job where the management actually knows my name and remembers where i came from and where i want to be.
if i cant get that, then fuckit, i’ll grade the stoners’s shitty ass essays about catcher in the rye and get my summers off.
this is the gospel of the dumbass.