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listen to this . . .
Hey you. You on the train. Yeah, you pillowhead. With the white i-poddy nubs commin out your head. Come here a minute. What are you listening to? Oh yeah, you write that?
No?
I'm listening to songs that I wrote. I like them much better than other songs.
They suit my taste just fine.
I'd give you a listen, but they'd make you want to kiss my pants and we can't have that here on the T now, can we?
I only listen to songs that I wrote.
So what's that you got there? Justin something? Yeah, you like him? Well, my songs are much better. Does he write songs about his drag racing grandmother?
I didn't think so.
I'm not narcissistic; I just like to enjoy myself. Why limit my self pleasure to the sin of Onan when I can participate in auto-erotic-aural-sex?
So, what's your favorite version of "Kick out the Jams?" How about "Changes?"
"Dancing Queen?"
Mine are the ones that I played and recorded.
I can anticipate each breath, each missing note, each fumbled solo.
Can you say the same thing? What the fuck do you do in your spare time anyway?
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