My best friend died in a car accident four years ago. He's dead and gone. Iceland's his favorite place. I'm gonna build him a skatepark. You don't have be a musician to be an Earth Rocker. Andrew Stranberg is an Earth Rocker.
My other best friend is on heroin again. He's back in rehab for his sixteenth time. Good luck with that one. Sick of the bullshit. Sick of all this shit. I don't go out anymore, cause I hate every motherfucker, I don't care what they're up to. Four years I wasted, sippin on drinks at the bar, chit-chatting with fucking nobodies. Now I stay at home, like a fucking hermit. I'm not gonna take any shit from anyone.
I know what's going on. I got set up. I got jumped. Thank god Nikki wasn't there to watch me get my fucking ass kicked. She would have wound up with a black guy and prolly went to jail. She has a big mouth.
I live for this shit. I love it. Bring it the fuck on.
Yeah, but it's like those early 70s Beach Boys albums where they get Brian in to croak a syllable and say "look folks, Brian's back!" then call for the orderlies to bundle him into the security ambulance.
