steve angel

That’s it! I want out of Malachai. Malachai doesn’t know how to play guitar, doesn’t know how to work his drum machine, can’t sing in key, and all his songs are swears music, so I can’t even let my mom listen to them. And Sweetbeak makes fun of me too much. Whenever I break a string, or trip and fall into his Marshall half-stack, he’s all “well, leave it to steaver to **** everything up all the time.” I mean, I joined this band because I wasn’t afraid to see the world. I wanted to see mountains again. Mountains! But all Malachai has shown me is Mike’s shanty above this country-western bar, woodland park, and the mall. And Malachai initially told me that he was a man with a slow hand, and that I’d achieve ALP (ass loads of *****), if I rolled with him. I swear to god that Malachai actually seems to repel women. I’m actually getting reverse ALP. No new ALP, and the ALP I have stored in memory literally seems to be vanishing. Hanging out with Malachai degrades any sense of sexual experience whatsoever. Oh, and the band uniforms we have to wear! Malachai dresses up like a sous chef, as he claims this is relevant, because he’s always “cooking up jams.” and Beak gets to wear this cool dead wolf pelt over his head, and....well he looks pretty cool. But then they make me wear a ****ing donkey harness. Malachai demands that this is cool, but when he yanks on the reins, it hurts my cheeks. And then when I try to say something, he yanks harder, and then I fall down and Beak makes fun of me. Those guys are so mean to me. Like, this morning, Malachai made some juice. But just enough for himself and Sweetbeak, and didn’t even ask if I wanted any, and then drank it in front of me. And I was really thirsty because I had to carry all of the amps and guitars around, because Malachai claims that he’s still “breaking me in,” even though I’ve been in the band six months longer than Beak. And then they try out all these karate moves they’ve been learning from this kung fu book Sweetbeak got on me. Malachai’s all, “just go limp, and don’t resist. I won’t hurt you.” then Beak runs up and kicks me in the sternum. Bitch ass hoes! ****ing kill those mother****ers! Oh, and the incompetence. I’m sitting here at the family HP pavilion, trying to make the website ( www.4xbeaver.com ) look presentable, and Malachai didn’t even put the address on his new CD, because he “forgot.” more like drank 1087 bottles of bourbon. And I put all this time into making fliers and....get this!....Malachai was making me load a pony keg into his trunk, because he had to make an “important call,” and when I got in there, I found all of the fliers from the last 5 shows we played. So when I got back in the car, I asked him about them, and he’s all “there’s no fliers in the trunk. Shut the **** up and put on your seatbelt.” I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE. This whole god damned spirit world thing! I SAW those ****ing fliers, but Malachai still demands that I didn’t. God damned horse whispering mother****er. ****ing whimsical bitch, musing about himself and the meanest girl by waterfalls as unicorns prance by. And god damned Sweetbeak, knocking my guitar out of my hands all the time. He ain’t tough! That’s it! No gang. 4XBeaver Records

jibber

is anyone else confused.....and slightly scared.....?

__________________
What you've done becomes the judge of what you're going to do -- especially in other people's minds. When you're traveling, you are what you are right there and then. People don't have your past to hold against you. No yesterdays on the road.
William Least Heat Moon, Blue Highways

Your toughest competitor lives in your head. Some days his name is fear, or pain, or gravity. Stomp his ass.

HOOKED ON THE WHITE POWDER