May 18th, 2005

I dont know WTF this is, but I can't stop watching it:
Llama Song

Do you wanna know what the best thing in the whole world is to help a hang-over? Beatles records. All of them. That is, until you realize that your work is meaningless because every album you're assigned to review isn't fit to shampoo the Fab Four's nappy hair, and then you want to quit your job and spend your days in Strawberry Fields smoking and playing the sitar just for kicks.

Being a musician is as pointless as being a mortal striving to be a god; as fat-free ice cream striving to taste good. I urge everyone with a guitar to go chuck it into the river and go to business school. You don't need good grades for that. You just have to be mildly attractive and willing to do keg stands at backyard BBQ's, and then you'll be set for the rest of your lives. Hell, you might even one day have the money to buy the rights to your favorite Beatles' song (or ten) from Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch liquidation sale.

To speak in terms some of you understand, I'll list the Beatles songs I'd die to hear Tori Amos cover: "A Day in A Life," "Help," "You've Got to Hide Your Love Away," "In My Life," "Oh-Bla-Di Oh-Bla-Da," "Ticket to Ride," "We Can Work It Out," "Eleanor Rigby," "Hello Goodbye," "Rocky Racoon," "Something," "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," "Lovely Rita," "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," "Baby You're a Rich Man," "Nowhere Man," "Drive My Car," "Martha My Dear," "Blackbird," "Norweigan Wood," "I'll Follow the Sun," "Cry Baby Cry," anything off Sgt. Pepper, anything off the White Album, anything sung by John Lennon, anything with George Martin's piano, anything with an odd meter, anything upbeat, and most importantly, ANYTHING with a pulse. In other words, anything but "Yesterday."

"Well she was just seventeeeeeeen/ You know what I meeeeeeean"

After the number of cups of coffee in my system= the number of beers I drank last night, I will come back and write something. If eye crud were gold, I'd be in Rio right now.