I have a super power and my friend asked me to explain it. I can write shitty songs about shittier people on demand. I call it a fuckyougram, because it's nice to roast somebody over the coals to thrashy chords and d-beat, I'm no fuckin Leonard Cohen, that's for sure. As I say, "fuck 'em, I could do this all day." Out of 200 or so published songs, I'd say about 30 of them are hateful cacophonies.
The first fuckyougram I ever wrote was a little ditty called Art School Bitch, I think it was the first time I wrote a song that shreds a poser. I dated a girl who went to the New School for Design for photography, and her skill level is eternally pedestrian at it at best (I shouldn't talk.) It's hard to be an artist when you're more interested in paying homage to more talented people rather than cultivating a style of your own. I'll never forget overhearing her argue with her mother about living on campus instead of living at home and commuting a half hour into the city. Her mother said "I write an $80,000 check, if you lived at home it would be a $40,000 check." Must be nice to find $160,000 dollars worth of yourself on someone else's dime. She's probably married with kids now, last time I looked at her website it was the same one I made her in 2006. Pathetic.
At some point in the 90s after the internet came and ruined everything because dipshits wanted to sit home and chat on AOL, a lot of shows became "pay to play", which means some lazy asshole, a "promoter", gives the band tickets to sell instead of actually doing the honest to goodness "promoting" part of their job. The day of the show, the bands, like suckers, hand the money to the promoter or they don't play. We did it once to open for Wednesday 13 at a School of Rock, it was definitely the wrong bill for us and the goth band who played before us. The promoter told me I was 4 dollars short after I paid him 400 dollars. Fuck you Casey McCabe, I still remember your name and I should've taken that 400 back to my car to count it and just driven the fuck home. Prickface. Next.
Imagine if you will, some pathetic excuse for a parent vicariously living his failed rock star dreams through his early teenage child calls you and asks you "My teenage son's twenty something year old high school teacher girlfriend is coming to visit, what do you recommend I do? They want to fuck. Should I get them a hotel room?" YEAH DIPSHIT GET A HOTEL ROOM FOR YOUR TEENAGE KID TO FUCK A HIGH SCHOOL TEACHER, NO LIFETIME MOVIE HAS EVER STARTED LIKE THAT. I never wanted to scream "BE A FUCKING PARENT" more in my entire life. Instead I mumbled that "I don't know, this is why I don't have kids", hung up, and removed myself from the situation with this song. This was the second weird phone call I got from this guy, the first one was begging me to be friends with his kid. I'm good with the friends I have, weirdo. I'll never pity anybody again, that's for sure. I pray for that kid.
I've banged some smoking hot, red flag waving crazy women. I wrote err...nice songs about them too like Vampire Pinup Girl or Transylvania Tramp, but sometimes I fire up the coals and rake somebody over it. I can't help it. Don't put your dick in crazy. Don't let crazy put his dick in you. That's a good message.
The final one is a going to be on the next Bad Whoremoans EP. It's an amalgamation of two Misfits collectors that I dread dealing with, when I see them I openly despise them, I'd literally burn the rare Misfits shit I have before I'd consider selling it to them. Those mouthbreathers were at Danzig's mom's house when she died, vultures trying to procure more shit for their collection. Collector Scum. I love watching someone spend thousands of dollars on records, action figures, latex masks, and whatever else, to then launch a GoFundMe to pay for their medical bills, that makes me super sympathetic to their situation. GoFundMe guy was also in the shittiest most derivative band I've ever heard, for all of his diva bullshit and theatrics, he's a worse fuckin singer than me, and I suck.
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