All posts tagged "monologue"

"Agreeing to be the drummer for this Poison tribute band is easily one of the worst life decisions I’ve ever made"

I’ve done some crazy stuff in my life. I’m no daredevil, but I’ve certainly done some things in my life that I’m not so proud of. I’ve had friends whom I had no business being friends with, I’ve had more than a few poor business investments, I obsessively TiVo every episode of Jon & Kate Plus Eight, and I never finished high school.

But this one has got to take the cake.

Hey, could you turn me up a little? Check, one, two, three. Little more. Check, one, two. Perfect.

I think it’s safe to say that agreeing to be the drummer for this Poison tribute band is easily one of the worst life decisions I’ve ever made.

I mean, is this really what my life has come to? Playing hair metal covers to a bunch of drunken 43 year-olds in a dive bar in Davenport, Iowa on a Saturday night?

No guys, I think we should leave “Talk Dirty To Me” until towards the end of the set.  Crowds dig it and that way we’re guaranteed to go out on fire.

Oh my God, how did my life end up here? Am I really sitting in a tiny bar, wearing a ratty wig and a stupid looking hat? Tribute band, my ass.  I bet Rikki Rockett never had to wear a dumb looking hat like this. And he was in the REAL Poison.

Tim’s fur coat is so distracting. Does he really think that Brett Michaels wore the same stupid jacket every single night? It wouldn’t kill him to change it up once in a while.

I mean, I’m not saying that we have to leave it for the encore, but maybe get a little deeper into the other stuff first. Sound good, Br— Tim?

God, I keep almost calling Tim, “Brett.” I guess it means he’s doing a convincing portrayal but, still, it makes me look like a dick.

“Talk Dirty” already? No guys, not yet. Look at this crowd. You can tell they want something a little softer. Let’s give it to ‘em. Maybe throw “Fallin’ Angel” at them?

I wonder how long it took Tim to learn all of the words to every single Poison song. How can he look himself in the mirror and see a man? It’s almost 2009 and he knows the word to every Poison song. I’d kill myself. I would, I really would.

Okay, “Talk Dirty To Me” on three. And one and two…

The guys don’t even know I’ve never been in a band before. How pathetic is that? Just because you can spin a drumstick around in one hand doesn’t mean you have extensive drumming experience. God, they are so naïve.

And what excuse does this crowd have? The only thing worse I can think of than playing in a Poison tribute band is paying a $10 cover to see a Poison tribute band. These people are sick.

Timmy, can you tell the bar to send another Coors Light back here?

Why did I even answer that listing in the classifieds? I should have bolted as soon as I realized they were serious about a tribute band, much less a Poison tribute band. I didn’t even want to be a drummer. I thought this would pass some time until something else opened up.

Okay, can we at least NOT do “Every Rose” for the final song? I just really feel it’s too predictable. What if we switched it up, just for tonight? That blonde lady in the corner already said she’d flash us if we did “Look What the Cat Dragged In.” I mean, might as well, right?

I should have gone to college. I could have gone into business administration like my dad wanted me to. I promised I’d never admit this, but he was right. My dad was right. Wow, it almost feels good to say it. But I’ll only be 29 this year. That’s plenty of time to change things around, right?

Tim, how about that Coors? They can’t hear me from way back here and you got the microphone, man.

This isn’t how life should be spent. It isn’t. Tim must be really grasping in life if this is enjoyable for him. How can wearing a cowboy hat and jumping around on stage, pointing at the females in the crowd be pleasant for anyone?

Jesus, my favorite part of the night: the encore. Finally.

Okay guys, let’s go out with a bang. “Every Rose” on four. One, two, three, and four…
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"I Will Exhibit My Excitement At This Concert By Throwing Shit!"

Golly, am I eager for this! I have been waiting to see this band live for months! Months! And to think that I almost couldn’t believe that this faithful night would finally come. But alas it is actually here. My closest friends and I are soon to watch the inspiring experience that is live music! It is expected to be a moving, entertaining, and all around pleasurable time for all.

As the concert begins, so will the flashing stage lights and eerie smog courtesy of the fog machine at which time I will become much too over stimulated for my own good.

It is then that I will demonstrate my appreciation for the present moment by throwing shit. What kind of shit will I throw, you quietly ask yourself?

All kinds of shit.

Though I will be throwing a varying multitude of shit, I will be sure to make certain that none of the shit is enjoyable or convenient in a concert setting. This means I will not be chucking handfuls of fresh potpourri nor slinging just-out-of-the-oven muffins. Oh, no.

Perhaps just as the idolized lead guitar player completes a blistering solo to a sea of envious applause, I will pick that moment to hurl my half-filled plastic cup of domestic beer forward onto unsuspecting members of the audience. This action should no doubt receive a generous horde of high-fives from my surrounding brethren. For anyone who does not value this action clearly is not paying attention to the extreme level of elation this event brings me.

It is not only myself that will be prepared to alert all other concert-goers as to how excited I am through the measurement of how much shit I throw. My concert companions will come prepared as well, making certain to have brought a solid supply of neon glow sticks to fling upon the crowd at various intervals. Though glow sticks may initially seem like a nice prize to see reigning down on you at a concert, we will be lobbing them forward so that the future owners of these translucent tubes will not notice their newest trinket until it leaves a welt in the back of their skull. It is then that they will truly treasure the gifts that I ever so kindly bestowed upon them.

As the concert goes on, and the crowd turns to a large mass of pumping fists and barricaded companions, I will likely had half a dozen beers. It is for that reason I will not want to shove my way through the crowd and locate the bathrooms, so it is of great fortune that I will likely find an empty beer cup lying at my feet. The only issue to remain is what to do with it once I fill it to the brim with urine?

Wait, I know.

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"Christian Bale Gets a Call From His Publicist A Week Before The Dark Knight Premiere"

The time is almost here, my man. Hang onto your bat-hat because we are about to begin the ride of our lives. This movie is getting superhuman reviews and it doesn’t even come out until next week! Doesn’t even matter though; Ebert is about ready to say that this sucker makes Schindler’s List look like that 3 Ninjas sequel starring Hulk Hogan.

It’s gonna be big, my friend.

I hope you’re ready to go down in history, because this movie is going to take you there. Years from now, they’re going to show this movie in film classes, citing it as one of the finest examples of overall cinema ever created. This is going to be just an incredible reward for all of our hard work put in over the last few months.

This is the biggest buildup for any movie I’ve ever had the pleasure of being involved in. And I’m not going to lie, it’s pretty exciting. You are one week away from being the man the entire world associates with Batman. Women will swoon over you. Men will respect you. Directors will cast you. Children will idolize you.

I’ll bet you a cold one that we end up getting a solid 9.3 on IMDb. This… is going to be… epic. By this time next week, your box office numbers are going to be out of this world. Soon people are going to start forgetting that the last three letters in your first name even exist.

Before I let you go, I should probably give you the quick PR schpeel I run by each of my clients before their opening week. In a nutshell, just don’t do anything that even has a chance of portraying you in a negative light. Treat the paparazzi with the utmost respect. Stay away from nightclubs and casinos. No drunk driving. Sign autographs for every fan that wants one. Blah, blah, blah; you already know this so I realize I’m sounding really monotonous right now.

I’m not asking you to go volunteer in soup kitchens. Just remember that as part of your contract, you can’t do anything to muck up your image while this movie is raking in the bizank. The studio expects this hyped-up monster to smash previous records, so let’s just say you’ll have the privilege of being a whole lot more selective with future roles.

Oh, and Christian. Almost forgot. Whatever you do, do not assault any females in your immediate family.

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A Man Calls Domino's, Wondering The Whereabouts of His Pizza

by Morgan Freeman

Hello? How do you do. I don’t mean to cause a great deal of trouble here but it has now been over one hour since I ordered my sausage, pepperoni, and onion pizza from your establishment. It is currently thirty minutes past the estimated delivery time, and I, my boy, am hungry.

Click to read more.

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