Some memos
- Memo to women: Do NOT wear tight belly shirts if you have a beer belly and love handles (see picture). Do not wear men’s Levis which are about 8 inches too small to fit around your fat waist so you have to wear them as low riders. This look is not attractive and us men are repulsed by it. Please, if you are a woman and you want to wear a belly shirt ask yourself one question: “Do I have 6 pack abs?”
- Memo to my band leader: 3 tunes into the show, do not call a surf medley with an extended drum solo when I haven’t played a gig for 6 weeks.
- Memo to the two women who flashed their breasts at me during the last gig: Thank you.
- Memo to the drunk idiot standing in front of stage left: Stop looking at me and doing that Hawaii hang loose thing with your hand. I’m not gay, stop looking at me like that.
- Memo to Allie (my fantasy mistress and professional boxer): Congratulations on knocking out your opponent in the 4th round last week.
- Memo to drunk assholes in bars: Thanks for the compliments but please get out of my face. Stop spilling your pisswater beer in my shoe. Stop burning me with your stinky cigarette. Stop slobbering on me. Stop saying “you guys rock.”
- Memo to Andrew: You kick ass. You know why.
- Memo to that chick in front of the stage who puts her fingers on the sides of her mouth and pushes her lips into a smiling position to signal me to “smile”. (seems like there’s one at every gig): I can’t bash the hell out of the drums and have a shit eating grin on my face at the same time. Sorry.
- Memo to the band leader #2: Give me more than 2 hours notice that we have a gig.
- Memo to anyone: Don’t invite me to your wedding. I hate weddings.
- Memo to anyone who wants to hire my band for your wedding: We play rock & roll. We don’t do Kenny G. or dinner music. If you wanted that shit why did you hire an obnoxious rock & roll band?
- Memo to whoever stole my 1962 brass Ludwig snare: You’d better hope I never find you.
- Memo to pussy audience members: If it is too loud don’t come up and whine about it. Just leave.
- Memo to dudes with barbed wire tattoos around their biceps: Do you think this makes you cool or tough? If you were real macho, you’d use real barbed wire (thanks George).
- Memo to David Gilmour and Roger Waters: Can’t we all just get along?
- Memo to Phil Collins: Stop. Please stop. Please stop now. I’m begging you…stop.
- Memo the guy who always requests Free Bird (there’s one at every gig): I’d rather lose a limb than play that shitty song.
- Memo to the band leader #3: Why do you do encores when there are 3 drunk assholes left in the audience yelling “encore, encore.” But when we have a huge crowd, we don’t do one?
- Memo to the band I’m recording who asks “So what do you think of our band?”: Which answer do you want? The truth, or the one you want to hear?
- Memo to clients who bounce checks on me: Karma baby. Karma.
- Memo to whoever dropped a rock in my windshield while I was driving down the freeway at midnight: Karma baby. Karma.
I feel a little better now.
