I'm so lonesome I could die
*walks onto a stage, facing empty seats*
*remembers a time when these seats were filled with celebrities, desperately waiting for their name to be called, in acceptance for an award*
I ain't never been up here before. Have I? Wait...was Under Siege good enough to win me-DAMN YOU JEAN CLAUDE! DAMN YOU TO WHATEVER WRONG HELL YOU BELIEVE IN!!!
*Most of these celebrities never even called him in the first place*
*well, unless they needed 'medicine'*
*or a voodoo spell*
*So, basically Johnny was the only one*
*But he remembers them all with tear-filled eyes.*
*kicks a wadded up piece of paper across the stage*
*shoves hands in pockets*
*sinks head*
*lifts head to the side, slowly, looking into the soul of no one*
*how he misses that...the...the looking into a soul thing*
*hears a voice echoing over the cavernous emptiness*
HEY! HEY, OLD MAN! You can't be in here! I gotta wax that floor in a bit and you're all on it with your feet! How'd you get in here? Get out 'fore I call the cops!
*sighs*
*shakes head from side to side*
*slowly*
*air guitars an awesome riff...probably something from Dream Theater*
*That'll show 'im. Busey's still got it*
Old man, is you retarded? I SAID GET OUT OF HERE!
*walks off stage*
*with each step, he feels his heart sink into his big, saggy, kinda red leathery-skinned chest, a chest which once held the heart of a dragon. "Dragonheart" he called it, until that name was stolen from him, too. Now he just calls it "Scaled Throbbing Thing Which Makes Blood".*
*wishes he had a pen and paper to write a poem about the benefits of St. John's Wort*
*remembers a time when these seats were filled with celebrities, desperately waiting for their name to be called, in acceptance for an award*
I ain't never been up here before. Have I? Wait...was Under Siege good enough to win me-DAMN YOU JEAN CLAUDE! DAMN YOU TO WHATEVER WRONG HELL YOU BELIEVE IN!!!
*Most of these celebrities never even called him in the first place*
*well, unless they needed 'medicine'*
*or a voodoo spell*
*So, basically Johnny was the only one*
*But he remembers them all with tear-filled eyes.*
*kicks a wadded up piece of paper across the stage*
*shoves hands in pockets*
*sinks head*
*lifts head to the side, slowly, looking into the soul of no one*
*how he misses that...the...the looking into a soul thing*
*hears a voice echoing over the cavernous emptiness*
HEY! HEY, OLD MAN! You can't be in here! I gotta wax that floor in a bit and you're all on it with your feet! How'd you get in here? Get out 'fore I call the cops!
*sighs*
*shakes head from side to side*
*slowly*
*air guitars an awesome riff...probably something from Dream Theater*
*That'll show 'im. Busey's still got it*
Old man, is you retarded? I SAID GET OUT OF HERE!
*walks off stage*
*with each step, he feels his heart sink into his big, saggy, kinda red leathery-skinned chest, a chest which once held the heart of a dragon. "Dragonheart" he called it, until that name was stolen from him, too. Now he just calls it "Scaled Throbbing Thing Which Makes Blood".*
*wishes he had a pen and paper to write a poem about the benefits of St. John's Wort*