*Yet another totally fictional band bio, #4 in our continuing series.
It should be noted that each band I attempt to skewer with these entries deserves to be skewered for one reason or another.
In the case of the STYX story it was pretty much due to Dennis DeYoung's broadway leanings in addition to the whole Mr. Roboto thing. Easy target.
For Supertramp it was just the fact that they took their music WAY to seriously. That, and the fact that Rick Davies used to look like Gimley from the Lord Of The Rings trilogy. For the record (blush! blush!), I actually enjoy Supertramp!
For Jeff Lynne (and I enjoy some ELO stuff, also), it was his obsession with UFO's and outer space imagery. Coupled with his ridiculous afro, of course.
Though I attempt to write these as absurdly as possible (for example, Tommy Shaw calling Ted Nugent a "fellow homosexual and animal rights activist" in the STYX bogus bio), some readers of this blog have taken serious 'hombridge' to me poking fun at their favorite band (especially the Supertramp one; you Supertramp fans are some real serious mofo's!!).
So please, remember that these wacky posts are NOT REAL. They are fiction.
I don't need any people clicking on the "Flag this blog for objectionable content" button!
Now that that's out of the way, LET THE MOCKING CONTINUE!
JOURNEY: Who's Crying Now?
As Steve Perry stumbled out of the Tijuana brothel, a small boy wearing a “San Diego Padres” baseball cap approached him and tugged on his pant leg.
“Cheeklets, meester? Cheeeeeklets?”
Drunk, ashamed and very tired, Steve stuffed his hand into his pocket and eventually handed a crumpled dollar bill to the boy.
“Gracias, Signor!” shouted the boy, and skittered off into the shadows. Steve popped a Chickelet out of the pack and into his mouth and attempted to make his way back across the border. At the entrance to the border tunnel he suddenly felt light headed, and more than a little sick to his stomach.
'How did I let this happen?', he mused.
Thinking it would help his nausea he awkwardly dug for his flask of tequila, eventually finding it in his left hip pocket. He unscrews the cap, throws it into the street, takes a large swig and swallows hard.
"Shit," he says. "Where am I? And where the Hell's my band?"
The last thing Steve remembered before he passed out was the sound of breaking glass and the smell of urine.
…to be continued.
6 hours ago