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[Doctor Rock]

Here's a Hasil Adkins story a friend of mine who used to book shows in Kingston told me.  

I used to book a rock show in the 90's with a friend, and it was always a dream to have him play...

THAT SAID, A STORY:

so we contact his old booking agent, trying to get a gig and this is the story:

"you have to drive to West Virginia, upon arriving you have to hope he is home. If he isnt your trip ends here. If he is:

 a) hope he doesnt start shooting at you, or b) run away from you. If you get to this point, you have to pay him the gig fee in advanced, keep him stocked with smokes and whiskey and fed, housed there and back from canada.

....Oh, and he still might not play."

At that point, we concluded that having him play on a wednesday in kingston ontario might just not be worth it.

*EDIT: I also forgot, pot, he wanted a pile of weed as well.

[Just Some Girl]

One of the owner-agents left just left a little while ago, saying "well, it's Friday," to explain why she was leaving early. Did she say we could go early, too, since it's slow today? No. No she didn't.

[Moetown]

And now back to :

The Confession of Crappity's Moetown

Act I

Scene one
(A small room crammed with too much furniture littered with dirty clothes, blank cd-rs, computer game boxes, full ashtrays, and books, books, and more books. There is a black futon against one of the walls upon which is a large pile of clothes topped off by a sleeping black cocker spaniel. We hear the slow pecking on a keyboard of a person who never learned to type properly, and from bedhind we see a man with graying slightly mussed up hair and passable, but just barely, posture. We slowly wind our way around the side of his head to a frontal view of his face. His small fashionable black plastic frames hang down on his nose. He types.)

  Isn't it strange that the older I get, the more I seem to appreciate drugs? It seems like most people grow out of drugs, while I seem to be growning into them.

End Scene I

 

[Doctor Rock]

Sounds promising!

[Just Some Girl]

And now back to :

The Confession of Crappity's Moetown

Act I

Scene one
(A small room crammed with too much furniture littered with dirty clothes, blank cd-rs, computer game boxes, full ashtrays, and books, books, and more books. There is a black futon against one of the walls upon which is a large pile of clothes topped off by a sleeping black cocker spaniel. We hear the slow pecking on a keyboard of a person who never learned to type properly, and from bedhind we see a man with graying slightly mussed up hair and passable, but just barely, posture. We slowly wind our way around the side of his head to a frontal view of his face. His small fashionable black plastic frames hang down on his nose. He types.)

  Isn't it strange that the older I get, the more I seem to appreciate drugs? It seems like most people grow out of drugs, while I seem to be growning into them.

End Scene I

 

ILTS*


*Scene.

[Just Some Girl]

I've read worse scripts, I can tell you that.

[Just Some Girl]

I pretty much have to lie to clients about the "quality" of their "writing," but I've been ruthless of late when people submit shitty scripts in consideration of rep. Really? That's your best work? This is how you want to present yourself?


Ok, I'll shut up about work now.

[Moetown]

Yeah, I generally start off with something promising, but then I start taking drugs and lose interest. I suppose it could be worse. What if I always came up with shit and insisted on seeing it through all the way to its shitty end? Would that be better? Actually (sigh) more confessions: I always assume everything I could do could only be total shit, so instead of proving that to myself, I rarely...ok ok...never follow through on anything. Where'd I put that cough syrup? It's nearly 5:00.

[Just Some Girl]

Actually (sigh) more confessions: I always assume everything I could do could only be total shit, so instead of proving that to myself, I rarely...ok ok...never follow through on anything.

Are you reading my diary again, dude?

[Just Some Girl]

I write micro-fiction because I can't sustain a narrative for longer than two paragraphs, tops.

[Just Some Girl]

I have far more confessions. But don't stay on my account of anything, Moetown. Too late...

[matthew]

But how are they going to compensate me for the mental anguish I've suffered as a result of this injustice?

Remember that you can also tell them you have the posting history to prove this claim.

[matthew]

The temple of doom.

ow...my sides ache from that one.