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So everyone loves stories about my crackpot family, right? I know you do.
Tonight we went out for my cousin's birthday. She's a lot older than me, and was in fact my babysitter as a kid where she would sneak off to smoke pot and blows guys and leave us alone to blow things up and swim in the water moccasin-infested creek. That is excellent all around. Her husband (her third) is one of those dudes for whom the word random was invented to be used by others to aptly describe his behavior. Tonight as we're having dinner I ask him about the band he was in back in the day to entertain myself. This is my cousin-in-law's story:
Back in the day, he was in a band with some dudes. They were all strange dudes who didn't title their songs. Rather they numbered them. When practicing, they would say "Let's play 11!" or "23 needs work!" Over time they developed a method for constructing their songs--one dude would lay down some random track then pass the file to the next guy who would then add his part absolutely independently of the other dudes. Each guy would do this. At the end, they had their song. I said to him "so, like Choose Your Own Adventure, but a band?" and he said "Exactly! I can tell you're a writer sometimes because you can always describe things well!" to which I uncharitably thought about what he might he been like before the cocaine. So, he's in this weird prog/jazz/metal band and one day his brother, who he is in the band with, tells him "look M, you know I love you, but you're just playing at a higher caliber then the rest of us, we're going to have to go." Kicked out of his band for being too competent by his own brother! M didn't let this phase him, for one thing he was too drunk and high to care, but for another, he had a new plan!
M laid down a few tracks and put an ad in the paper "If you want your poetry set to music, I can do it!" A veritable flood of young women deluged him. He had three styles of song: jazz, pop, and what he referred to as "ballad," I think ballad means shitty chick music, I'm not entirely certain. According to M, pretty much 99% of these chicks wanted the ballad style. They would come in, sing their crappy poems over M and buddies playing accompaniment, pay an arm and a leg and walk away with, what M called "relationship destroying testaments to their shitty poetry skills." "What?" says I. "You know, their boyfriends would see them coming with those tapes and be all 'oh, shit, this relationship's way too serious for me! Bail! Bail!" "So, you raked in the cash as you purposefully destroyed the lives of others?" M: "Yes, exactly. HAHAHHAHAHA!" The rest of the family "HAHAHHAAHHAAHHA!!!" Then I ask M how many of these ballads he wrote. "Oh, no, just the one." Yes, he recorded these chicks' poems over THE EXACT SAME MUSIC EVERY TIME. At this point, I decided he was my new hero. He said he made enough to support his coke habit, so I assume this was quite the enterprise.
This is the most amazing scam I have ever heard of! Committed by one of my own! I'm so fucking proud, I swear. My aunt and I laughed all the way home over how many of these chicks have these songs as their most valued possession, lovingly kept in a locked, fireproof safe, taken out to be listened to exactly once a year on the occasion of their break up with Him.
In other news, my cousin is now making these creepy articulated goth dolls.
Me: Can you make one that looks like Gerard Way from My Chemical Romance? [this was in public and in front of my WHOLE FAMILY--shame, it's been cooked alive!]
Her: Who?
Me: You think you're goth and you don't worship Gway? This needs to be remedied *explains The Black Parade in excruciating detail*
Her: Huh, you're right, this band was made for me, why don't I know about them?
Her son: Because they're lame?
Me: Stfu, teenager, your mom and I are co-opting your youth, suck it whiny baby.
Her son: hahahaha You're a loser.
Upshot? She can totes make Gerard Way dolls. I am going to convince her to make the whole band, plus probably Pete and Patrick and put them on etsy. You're gonna buy one, right? I know you are. I have dreams of customized MCR dolls that I can make a mobile out of and hang in my bedroom from nooses around their necks. Sweet or sweetest? Come on, you know it's sweetest!
Tonight we went out for my cousin's birthday. She's a lot older than me, and was in fact my babysitter as a kid where she would sneak off to smoke pot and blows guys and leave us alone to blow things up and swim in the water moccasin-infested creek. That is excellent all around. Her husband (her third) is one of those dudes for whom the word random was invented to be used by others to aptly describe his behavior. Tonight as we're having dinner I ask him about the band he was in back in the day to entertain myself. This is my cousin-in-law's story:
Back in the day, he was in a band with some dudes. They were all strange dudes who didn't title their songs. Rather they numbered them. When practicing, they would say "Let's play 11!" or "23 needs work!" Over time they developed a method for constructing their songs--one dude would lay down some random track then pass the file to the next guy who would then add his part absolutely independently of the other dudes. Each guy would do this. At the end, they had their song. I said to him "so, like Choose Your Own Adventure, but a band?" and he said "Exactly! I can tell you're a writer sometimes because you can always describe things well!" to which I uncharitably thought about what he might he been like before the cocaine. So, he's in this weird prog/jazz/metal band and one day his brother, who he is in the band with, tells him "look M, you know I love you, but you're just playing at a higher caliber then the rest of us, we're going to have to go." Kicked out of his band for being too competent by his own brother! M didn't let this phase him, for one thing he was too drunk and high to care, but for another, he had a new plan!
M laid down a few tracks and put an ad in the paper "If you want your poetry set to music, I can do it!" A veritable flood of young women deluged him. He had three styles of song: jazz, pop, and what he referred to as "ballad," I think ballad means shitty chick music, I'm not entirely certain. According to M, pretty much 99% of these chicks wanted the ballad style. They would come in, sing their crappy poems over M and buddies playing accompaniment, pay an arm and a leg and walk away with, what M called "relationship destroying testaments to their shitty poetry skills." "What?" says I. "You know, their boyfriends would see them coming with those tapes and be all 'oh, shit, this relationship's way too serious for me! Bail! Bail!" "So, you raked in the cash as you purposefully destroyed the lives of others?" M: "Yes, exactly. HAHAHHAHAHA!" The rest of the family "HAHAHHAAHHAAHHA!!!" Then I ask M how many of these ballads he wrote. "Oh, no, just the one." Yes, he recorded these chicks' poems over THE EXACT SAME MUSIC EVERY TIME. At this point, I decided he was my new hero. He said he made enough to support his coke habit, so I assume this was quite the enterprise.
This is the most amazing scam I have ever heard of! Committed by one of my own! I'm so fucking proud, I swear. My aunt and I laughed all the way home over how many of these chicks have these songs as their most valued possession, lovingly kept in a locked, fireproof safe, taken out to be listened to exactly once a year on the occasion of their break up with Him.
In other news, my cousin is now making these creepy articulated goth dolls.
Me: Can you make one that looks like Gerard Way from My Chemical Romance? [this was in public and in front of my WHOLE FAMILY--shame, it's been cooked alive!]
Her: Who?
Me: You think you're goth and you don't worship Gway? This needs to be remedied *explains The Black Parade in excruciating detail*
Her: Huh, you're right, this band was made for me, why don't I know about them?
Her son: Because they're lame?
Me: Stfu, teenager, your mom and I are co-opting your youth, suck it whiny baby.
Her son: hahahaha You're a loser.
Upshot? She can totes make Gerard Way dolls. I am going to convince her to make the whole band, plus probably Pete and Patrick and put them on etsy. You're gonna buy one, right? I know you are. I have dreams of customized MCR dolls that I can make a mobile out of and hang in my bedroom from nooses around their necks. Sweet or sweetest? Come on, you know it's sweetest!
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