i'm on a roll
i'm going to do my best to not make this preachy, because no one wants to be preached, at. i mean i will try my hardest to not turn this into some sort of pseudo i have a dream speech.
so, anyways, last night, i had a dream
motherfucker.
fuckin dr. king. monopolizing the dream story telling niche.
so i had a dream. and it was pretty amazing.
i was playing a show. a musical performance, a complete blowing of minds via my raw and animalistic tendencies on an instrument, some people say they see god himself upon completion of one of my performances, some people think I'M god upon completion of one of my performances, and i may have misheard, but i believe the phrase "like the first time i heard the beatles," was tossed into the air to swirl around the heads of the unassuming....but, it's what i do. i'm an entertainer. a performer. a consummate dream..come true-er? i can make up words and terms, because of the gifts i bestow.
this dream was no exception. in fact it was so eerily accurate i had to pinch my own balls when waking up. after i pinched my balls for nothing more than unadulterated pleasure seeking, i had to pinch my arm to see if i was still dreaming or not.
so, let me paint the picture for you, using my finger brushes.
the scene was, my parents backyard. a home made basketball hoop (not those fancy new *GRAWW TOTALLY EXXXTREME GNARDOGSSSZZZ* basketball hoops), a cracked cement makeshift court and hockey rink (i initially typed hockey rick, and i was like, pshhhh, hockey rick wasn't in THIS dream...stupid kevin, hockey rick has nothing to do with this, greedy fucking rick.) but this athletic thunder dome was transformed into a cat walk for my tasty feline licks.
the crowd: my immediate family, aunts and uncles, cousins, parents..you know, the toughest crowd since the now infamous mall incident when a then barely out of shitty draws olsen twins had an in-store and did not perform 'brother for sale...' needless to say, i am lucky to have gotten out of there alive, i was in several pieces, but i was alive, miraculously...but what a rush...i mean the fucking olsen twins!! GAJHA!!!LKHEA...
the band: myself, and of course, my sister. i was on guitar, my sister was on, the hit sticks. yep. remember those hit sticks, where you could just take these electronic sticks and drum the air, and an unfortunate thwack would resonate from the tinny little amplifier that accompanied the hit sticks, simulating a drum god aesthetic for children of all ages, worldwide? yep, she was on the hit sticks.
and me? i was on....the half eaten dinner roll?
i shit you not. i was the guitar player from this "look the fuck out white stripes.." duo, and i was playing a half eaten dinner roll, in the fashion of a guitar. and i was makin it sing, man....i mean, if jimi hendrix would have stepped in, i would have buttered his biscuit something awful, by dripping my buttered rock and half eaten roll all over his stupid drugged up eyes, blinding him instantly with the deliciousness that is my hot roll.
and the crowd loved it. i believe at one point i was in complete rock god stance, or...sits....on my knees, back arched, head tilted to the heavens, summoning the dinner party gods, allowing them to speak through me and my limp biscuit, and i was just going for it. i really want you to stop for a moment and picture that. me on my knees, playing a bun, and distorted guitar notes coming out, in a backyard, on a slightly over casted afternoon. it's a beautiful visual. solo after solo, heather thwacking uncontrollably on the hit sticks, and my uncle dave roaring with approval....
i played the show of my life. all in attendance agreed, they had never seen someone play an edible object with such tenacity, passion, and moxie, than when i took an extended ten minute slow hand solo, almost telling a story through bendy noted buttery goodness....leaving the jaws dropped, exclaiming, "i can't believe it's not butter!!!!"
oh it was butter, you better fucking believe it. because i have a fucking dream. a dream where dinner rolls can change this world, and heal this world...... one guitar solo at a time.....
your move, mlk.
so, anyways, last night, i had a dream
motherfucker.
fuckin dr. king. monopolizing the dream story telling niche.
so i had a dream. and it was pretty amazing.
i was playing a show. a musical performance, a complete blowing of minds via my raw and animalistic tendencies on an instrument, some people say they see god himself upon completion of one of my performances, some people think I'M god upon completion of one of my performances, and i may have misheard, but i believe the phrase "like the first time i heard the beatles," was tossed into the air to swirl around the heads of the unassuming....but, it's what i do. i'm an entertainer. a performer. a consummate dream..come true-er? i can make up words and terms, because of the gifts i bestow.
this dream was no exception. in fact it was so eerily accurate i had to pinch my own balls when waking up. after i pinched my balls for nothing more than unadulterated pleasure seeking, i had to pinch my arm to see if i was still dreaming or not.
so, let me paint the picture for you, using my finger brushes.
the scene was, my parents backyard. a home made basketball hoop (not those fancy new *GRAWW TOTALLY EXXXTREME GNARDOGSSSZZZ* basketball hoops), a cracked cement makeshift court and hockey rink (i initially typed hockey rick, and i was like, pshhhh, hockey rick wasn't in THIS dream...stupid kevin, hockey rick has nothing to do with this, greedy fucking rick.) but this athletic thunder dome was transformed into a cat walk for my tasty feline licks.
the crowd: my immediate family, aunts and uncles, cousins, parents..you know, the toughest crowd since the now infamous mall incident when a then barely out of shitty draws olsen twins had an in-store and did not perform 'brother for sale...' needless to say, i am lucky to have gotten out of there alive, i was in several pieces, but i was alive, miraculously...but what a rush...i mean the fucking olsen twins!! GAJHA!!!LKHEA...
the band: myself, and of course, my sister. i was on guitar, my sister was on, the hit sticks. yep. remember those hit sticks, where you could just take these electronic sticks and drum the air, and an unfortunate thwack would resonate from the tinny little amplifier that accompanied the hit sticks, simulating a drum god aesthetic for children of all ages, worldwide? yep, she was on the hit sticks.
and me? i was on....the half eaten dinner roll?
i shit you not. i was the guitar player from this "look the fuck out white stripes.." duo, and i was playing a half eaten dinner roll, in the fashion of a guitar. and i was makin it sing, man....i mean, if jimi hendrix would have stepped in, i would have buttered his biscuit something awful, by dripping my buttered rock and half eaten roll all over his stupid drugged up eyes, blinding him instantly with the deliciousness that is my hot roll.
and the crowd loved it. i believe at one point i was in complete rock god stance, or...sits....on my knees, back arched, head tilted to the heavens, summoning the dinner party gods, allowing them to speak through me and my limp biscuit, and i was just going for it. i really want you to stop for a moment and picture that. me on my knees, playing a bun, and distorted guitar notes coming out, in a backyard, on a slightly over casted afternoon. it's a beautiful visual. solo after solo, heather thwacking uncontrollably on the hit sticks, and my uncle dave roaring with approval....
i played the show of my life. all in attendance agreed, they had never seen someone play an edible object with such tenacity, passion, and moxie, than when i took an extended ten minute slow hand solo, almost telling a story through bendy noted buttery goodness....leaving the jaws dropped, exclaiming, "i can't believe it's not butter!!!!"
oh it was butter, you better fucking believe it. because i have a fucking dream. a dream where dinner rolls can change this world, and heal this world...... one guitar solo at a time.....
your move, mlk.