Listen, I'm in a hurry, so let's not get our hopes up. But something ought to be written this last day of the year, or I shant be able to sleep for the coming 366 days, or however many days there are.
Anywho, I like music. Yes! Confession time, girls. Sometimes, I look at you guys and I fantasize. In my dream, we are a band. And we produce a couple of records.
This is the cover of our Christian Rock album. It's called "Jesus is out there". We get really good reviews, with describing key words like truthful, emotional and hip. We tour the forest-covered south of Sweden for six whole months.
This is our feminist album. It's called "Vague Vaginas" and all the songs sound like bad versions of Le Tigre's Deceptacon. We get no respect and few reviews, but we don't care.
This is our romantic album. Its name is "heart". We get no reviews for this one, and Tiny thinks it's because we used the symbol of a heart on the cover instead of writing heart with letters. Newspapers don't like using symbols in articles, she says. We think she makes a lot of sense.
Finally, we're out of money and we decide to produce a good old Smurf Hits album. Basically, we sing covers of our previous material (mostly the popular Jesus stuff) using the reliable technique of smurf voicing. It sells. Poorly.
Then we O.D and die.
3 comments:
Could you skip the records and just hit the O.D?
No, see, our death will boost the sales and our records will be sought after across the globe.
Voilà! Dignity restored. Or established. Whatever.
i'm loving it.
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