Yes I own the road
My monster truck compensates
For a tiny dick
I'm above the law
Your rules don't apply to me
Yeah right move it bitch
Green means go fucker
I haven't got time for this
Another long day
I've decided I should write some haikus about my experiences commuting, so here goes.
Semi dumped its load
Highway One was all fucked up
Dumb fucking truckers
How come Charles Manson doesn't have a blog? Is he too insane to have computer and Internet access in prison? Or maybe he has access but he's too insane to select Publish and just sets all his posts to Draft? Well I hope he figures it out or he wins his fight to get Internet access because I think his blog would make for a good read.
So my brother took me to see G3 the other night which was totally cool of him. This year it was Yngwie Malmsteen, Steve Vai and Joe Satriani. I was surprised that Tony MacAlpine was playing guitar and keyboards in Steve Vai's band. I wasn't surprised that Yngwie has developed quite the beer gut. I guess he likes his Heinies. My brother couldn't get over how big Yngwie's head looked. He still has the same hair and the same leather outfit (probably bigger pants) that he had when we saw him open for Dio in 1985. Fuck that's a long time ago. So Yngwie is pretty much the same guy other than the weight. And Steve Vai was amazing - the highlight of the evening. His guitar really does sing. And it sings about itself. And how it woke up that morning and ate breakfast and went surfing. Stuff like that. And I kept thinking about how every song Joe Satriani plays is like part of a soundtrack. So if you're ever walking down the street and you hear Joe Satriani music you're probably in a movie so get off the fucking road before a runaway van runs your ass down. I also couldn't get over the amount of reefer I smelled in the air that night. I guess it's practically legal in Vancouver now. And then there was the sour Canadian cigarette breath being blown into the backs of our heads every so often from some freak behind us. And it got me to thinking about how there should really be a "smellog". There are blogs and moblogs and now audblogs but there are no smellogs. And I thought since smells evoke memories better than almost anything else, smellogs would be a great complement to all the other blogs out there. So if anyone wants to invent one I'm in. As long as they're open source because I'm cheap. So where was I? Oh yeah. Different colognes and perfumes were wafting all over that night, plus the smell of sour cigarette breath and pot. And it was amazing how every different smell reminded me of different things. And now those smells will remind me of G3 and mostly of Steve Vai. We were trying to figure out whether or not he's gay. He kind of looks like Margot Kidder. Another Canadian! Oh, and I saw the idiot singer from Theory of a Deadman there. And my brother commented about how he thought he seemed like the kind of guy who probably got beat up a lot in school. So I felt better. Because I was upset that I had no rocks in my pocket to throw at his head as he walked by. And then we went to Tim Hortons and had maple dips and hot chocolate. THE END.
I think I or someone else should open a PayPal account for the Courtney Love Overdose Foundation. Or maybe that should be the Overdose Courtney Love Foundation, just to be clear. Everyone can chip in enough money so she can O.D. properly this time. She killed Kurt as far as I'm concerned. Whether it was intentional or not. And she should pay.