Today you’re going to quit playing fart guitar for an aspiring parody rock band that parodies popular rock songs in the vein of Weird Al, except without anyone knowing that you do it because you don’t make recordings that people can buy.
“I just don’t think there’s a future for me in Ned Bleppelin,” you’ll tell your lead singer.
“We have that gig at the orphanage in July. You’re just gonna let those kids go without hearing some funny music?”
“It’s not even a gig,” you say. “We just stand outside the orphanage’s window and play. They called the police the last time.”
This makes your lead singer cry. He grew up in that orphanage and his dream was that one day he would come back and perform there as a famous pop song parodist. After a few years of trying to make it, he grew impatient and just started playing outside the orphanage’s windows.
“What are you gonna do?” your lead singer asks.
“I’m going to join a song parody cover band” you say. “We’ll play parodies written by other people, like Al. There’s good money in it.”
“And the integrity?” he asks. “Is there much integrity to be found in that line of work?”
You shrug him off.
“Hey man, maybe one day we’ll parody one of your songs,” you say. “’My Fart Will Go On’ is bound to hit it big one day.”
Your lead singer loses his shit and starts throwing whatever he can find at you. Whoopie cushions, punching nun puppets, George W Bush masks. Whatever’s lying around the rehearsal space he sends flying at your head and cursing. You get the hell out of there and go meet your other band, Dare To Be Stupid, for practice. Tomorrow you’ll find out your former lead singer attempted suicide and is in the hospital. You won’t go visit. This is the business you’ve chosen.
PS: Pick up "You Are A Miserable Excuse For A Hero," the new book by Bob Powers. Out now!
