David Jacobs Episode 4

David Jacobs Episode 4

After that wonderful little debacle where I find out that my hot girlfriend was cheating on me, I decided to clear my mind and get really fucked up at one of my mainstay clubs. The night was still young. To me at least it was pretty young. Two in the morning.

I drove past busy streets watching the lights flash. I saw the bright neon lights outside of my mainstay. People were lined all the way down the block. I knew I could cut through all that bullshit due to my name. I may not have been that famous, or ever really, but I always, let’s just say “supplied” the bouncers with some “medicine” that they wanted.

I drove around the block to park, but saw that some asshole had taken my specific spot, so I had to drive around, and parked in fucking Africa and had to walk an extra three blocks to the club. Poor me.

I went up to the door, and got waved over by the bouncer to come in. People behind the rope were bitching and griping that I could get special treatment. Sorry, suckers.

Aquatone is amazing. It’s just how anyone would expect a place to be with “Aqua” in the name. There’s translucent blue detailing over the bar with a full aquarium behind the bartenders. There’s cloudy white and turquoise detailing all over the place with white chairs and tables. Okay, think of the group Aqua and the cover of their “Aquarium” album. That’s what this shit looks like. Like Aqua threw up the “Barbie Girl” all over the fucking place. I took a seat at the bar.

“Hey, Seth, can I have a rum and coke?” He dried his hands off with a white rag. His brown hair was slicked back. He still looked tan from his trip in Cabo, and he was wearing a black button up dress shirt underneath a white button up vest. My man was looking fierce as fuck.

“What up, Dave?” We bumped fists. “How’s the music been going lately?” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Shit, kind of. I got a new assistant, and she’s so fucking clueless and stuck in 2008 style, so you know how that goes. Plus, it’s all new dudes now with all new music.”

Seth put the drink I ordered in front of me.

“Sorry, man. How’s Demitria?” His eyes expressed genuine concern, but I wasn’t having any of that.

“That stark raving cunt who’s now with a guy who looks like he shops at Home Depot? I just found out tonight she cheated on me. Dude was in my fucking house.” Seth was busily pretending to clean a glass. He threw the white rag onto his shoulder. Seth shook his head.

“Ouch, fuck man, that sucks!” Ever the sensitive one, Seth.

“Meh, it’s cool. I got to focus on my career more than these bitches.”

“Well, tonight’s looking pretty good, Dave. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a lady to take home.” I gulped down the rest of my drink.

“Christ, Seth. I’m not looking to hop in the sack right now, but thanks for the suggestion. Catch up later, okay?” Seth nodded, and we did our hand shake man thing-a-bob.

“Take it easy, Dave.” I said yeah, yeah to myself and trekked around the club.

As I was wandering around, I heard some people laugh near the lounge in the corner. This guy with a weird voice was going on about on about his new car. He described the make and model. What the fuck? That’s the EXACT same type of car that took my parking space.

I turned to this guy. Him and his group of friends looked like rejects from a bad documentary on CBGB punk from 2006. Oh, fuck no. Some girl who looked like an acid washed, cute, but not as beautiful version of Debbie Harry had her arms around his neck. This guy had average, kind of spikey bleached blonde hair with dark roots, super pale, wearing super tight, black leather pants, leather black boots, black sunglasses. Like fuck, dude. Come on, there are more colors than black in the rainbow. I cleared my throat.

“Hey, man, can I speak with you.” I tapped him gently on the shoulder. His friends all stopped talking, acting all testy and giving me weird looks. Fuck you, you 24 year old hipsters. I’ve been a God since I was 16, and you were 5 when my first album dropped. Whatever. I can’t math right now.

“Yeah, dude? What is it?” He was slurring his words a little bit. He was getting sloshed. I could tell, but dammit, he was going to respect me.

“Let’s talk over there.” I motioned towards a back room. His gangly ass got up all drunkish and wobbly like. His friends were still looking at me oddly.

“So what’s your deal, man? I was just chilling out with my friends, and you came over all…” I cut him off. I noticed that he did have a bit of a slur, but it didn’t sound like a drunk slur, more like a speech impediment. Then, I noticed he had snake bites and his tongue was pierced. He also wasn’t wearing a shirt under his jacket. He took off his glasses now, and his bright blue eyes had a rim of red around them.

“Well, asshole. You took my parking spot, Sylvester. I heard you bragging about your cock rocket car to your dickhead friends, and I don’t appreciate being stood up by a high schooler who’s out on senior ditch night.” I was being too feisty, but who gives a fuck? Sylvester just flicked his tongue ring up and down in his mouth.

“Okay, so I’ll move my car. Don’t be an asshole.” I pushed him up against the wall.

“Don’t fuck with me, Sylvester.” I glared him down. He fumbled for his keys in his pocket.

“My name’s Radcliff, not Sylvester. By the way, cool accent. Don’t take it off. ” I was right up in his face. Who says shit like that? This dummy obviously hasn’t passed seventh grade.

“Dumbass, my accent is real, and it’s a dialect I picked up while living in Australia, my home country. It’s not a knock-off, cheap, imitation Marc Jacobs jacket I can just take off and then put back on.” He stuck out his tongue ring again. I bit down on the bar. He just looked at me shocked. I put my hand up against his cheek.

“Actually, I’m willing to make some sacrifices just because you’re somewhat sexy and handsome.” Radcliff smirked at me, and the keys he had finally pulled out of his pocket, he put back in.

“You know, that’s not the only place I’m pierced. I’m pierced some place lower,” he whispered in my ear. I ran my hands over his skinny pecs and his even skinnier ripped abs. His nipples weren’t pierced. He put his mouth near my ear.

“No, lower than that.” he said with a chuckle. His slur wasn’t as bad as I thought it was five minutes ago. Damn, I must be drunk.

I wrapped myself behind Radcliff. I put my hands on his hips, or hip bones, because there was like nothing there, but maybe a centimeter of skin. He was also wearing a girly looking black studded belt with studs going all over in rows of three. His jacket slipped a little off his shoulders, and I started kissing him along his collarbone. I then started kissing his neck.

“I’m going to lick you all over your body.” He jerked his head a bit, but didn’t move.

“What?” He semi-slurred.

“Shut up.”

* * *

The next day I was nursing a hangover, but I was also had to deal with the wrath of Arthur, Mike, Rex, and Meesha bitching me out. Apparently, Slurry McSlurryson can’t keep his mouth shut because he went on some radio show the next day bragging about our encounter.

“So, I heard you two hooked up?” Mary, ever the quizzical one asked. This time she was wearing black Vans, ass tight yoga pants, and a business casual looking sleeveless shirt with a wraparound faux scarf that was green with little white and little blue shit looking designs all over it. I can’t figure this bitch’s style out like I can’t figure out the distance between the sun and our planet.

“Well, duh.” I rolled my eyes up at the ceiling, and rubbed my head. I can’t deal with confrontation so early in the morning at 2 pm.

“What’s the deal with this guy Radcliffe, anyway?” Rex ran his hands through his semi-wavy, semi-short light brown hair. He had gone out for some drinks, too, last night, but he wasn’t as fucked up as I was. Mickie just rolled her eyes and started talking like an encyclopedia.

“Radcliff Montgomery is this fake, bleached blonde, punk rocker Ken Doll who’s in this band St. Grenade. He’s their bass player, but he can’t play bass at all, really. He’s also, like, some kind of Instagram male model. He thinks he’s the shit because he’s like six feet tall and weighs one thirty,” I glared at Mixi. I couldn’t believe she was being this judgmental. Like okay, she may be somewhat smart and career driven, but on a good day, she was a 7. I know Radcliff is dumber than a box of crayons, but homeboy was an 11 out of 10 with excellent, natural, perfect, straight white teeth, and his Prince Albert was amazing along with his big cock. Judge me. I don’t care. Also, six feet tall and one thirty? Damn, hashtag body goals. I’m tired of my slightly thick, one sixty at five foot ten frame.

“Maya, you don’t have an Instagram. I know you. You’re uncool and still living on Facebook. So shut up!” She gave me this what are you talking about face? I have Twitter. Doesn’t count.

“Why do you care so much what I think of him, David? Plus, he’s like half your age. Did you guys have butt sex?” Of course, she would ask something that dumb. She’s so juvenile.

“For your information! He’s not half my age! 16 would be half my age, not 24. We did not do that! Okay, let me see this video clip of him going on about us doing more than everything, but butt!” Mike gave me his cell phone and showed me the interview he found on Youtube. It was also posted to Radcliff’s Twitter, but I didn’t follow him, and honestly, that was a very smart choice on my own part, if I say so myself. We all gathered around the iPhone.

The first few images we saw were just cutaways of St. Germain performing at some ragtag bar looking like either the UK or the dungeons of the Midwest. I wasn’t so sure. There were closeups of the singer, the guitarist, and the drummer, but when they showed Radcliff, he was struggling with the strap on his bass. Finally, he fixed it and played. He actually didn’t sound as musically inept as the critics bitched about. Then, there were some more cutaways of paparazzi type footage of Radcliff walking with the girl I saw with him at the club. The Debbie Harry clone. Then, some more of him on stage pouring beer out of the bottle at people. Finally, two radio DJs appeared in their station. One was a thirtyish guy with brown hair, and the other was a thirtyish girl with brown hair. They looked like they were related, but I think they were a couple. They were dressed so Old Navy, like they should’ve been hosting a family morning station radio show, not some hip hop or top 40 station.

“Our next guest we have today is Radcliff Montgomery,” said the boring brown haired guy with his turquoise blue and white striped polo shirt. Barf.

“Yeah, we usually don’t have a lot of rock stars on our show. Last week, we had Faith Hill talk about her steamy married life. Sizzle,” said the boring brown haired lady with the fuscia pink three quarter sleeved shirt. Double barf. I don’t find Faith Hill sexy. I mean, she was hot when I was, like, 20, but still in kind of a too mature for you young guys way.

The boring brown haired guy made annoying, horny French guy sounds that Dan used to make in “Roseanne.” Triple barf.

“Radcliff is right here with us now, and he’s here to talk about the rock life with his band St. Germain. They’re about to release their debut album this week.” I noticed that the boring brown haired lady had to look down to double check his band name on the script she was reading off of. These people were so out of touch with what was somewhat popular, it wasn’t even funny.

“Hey, Radcliff, what’s up man? How’s it been going?” The camera switched over to Radcliff. He was wearing black sunglasses, his black leather jacket, black leather pants, black leather boots, but instead of being shirtless under the jacket, he was wearing a loose, ripped up white tank top.

“I’m doing all right. I’m doing all right. I’m excited for the new show coming up, and the new album.” I noticed that Radcliff stuck out his tongue ring once and he said “excited” like “exchited” due to his impediment.

“So tell us all about how things have been going for you now that you’re a big, famous rock star,” laughed the boring brown haired lady. They continued to gab on and on incessantly while poor Radcliff just looked semi-hot and slightly drugged and definitely hungover. They both were asking such stupid inane questions that anyone would’ve known just looking at Radcliff’s Insta or Twitter until Fuscia Lady dropped a biggie.

“I know you’ve only been famous for about a year, Radcliff, but have you met anyone more famous or anyone you idolize?” Radcliff was obviously too dumb or too drunk to notice Pink Lady’s somewhat backhanded compliment. That’s when I knew shit would get real.

“Well, last night at the club Aquatone, I did catch up with David Jacobs.” The Boring Brownies just stared at each other like who? Fuckers, they are.

“Oh, yes! Him. Honey, Sarah, don’t you remember? Goldlamp? We saw them in concert when we were in high school as seniors back in 1998. They were who we went to see on our second date. Toledo,” Boring Brown Haired Guy finally had the lightbulb, but he was acting like Rain Man.

“Third date, Craig. Third date,” Sarah said kind of cuntily. She seemed to be irritated he could possibly forget a date that happened nearly twenty years ago, Heaven forbid. Totally ignoring the Bitchy Brown Haired Fuscia Lady, Craig rambled on.

“So, how’s he doing these days? I honestly haven’t heard diddly squat from him in over ten years,” Boring Craig said. Not only do I hate the expression “diddly squat,” but if the dumbass actually used the internet, and I’m pretty sure he and Bitchy Fuscia Brown Haired Lady still had AOL, he would know I STILL DO SHIT!

“He was just chilling. I mean, he had some drinks. There was a little mistake about me parking in his spot, but we resolved our conflict,” Radcliff sounded so diplomatic. Well, anyone would compared to the Couple Bozos. It’s sad when Radcliff is sounding like the smart one in the room. There could only be damage to come. And there was.

“Well, it sounds harsh of me to say, but I thought David died. You know, all these rockers have been dropping left and right due to drug overdoses,” rambled on, Boring Bitch Fuscia Lady.

“Yeah, I thought David was dead like, what’s that guy’s name again?” it continued to ramble.

“You know…Stone Temple Pilots…Scott Weiland!” yelled Brown Haired Boring Stupid Fuscia lady.

“Yes! Scott Weiland! They’re like the same age aren’t they?” Stupid Dumbass Boring Brown Haired Guy said. I gasped. I was FUMING now. Not because he thought I was dead, but because he thought I was as old as Scott Weiland. Scott was old enough to be my dad. Fuck you very much.

“Geez, apply ice to burn,” Mae said under her breath.

They were all giggling like idiots because they thought I died of drugs, and then Radcliff said something stupid.

“Well, I don’t know who the Stone Temple Pyramids are, but I’m sure I’ll catch them on the classic rock channel.”

“Remember, Craig? David was married to that really pretty singer who’s also Australian? Her name was Nattie,” Bitch Brown Haired Lady said. Right. Bring up all my exes. While they’re at it, bring up Demetria, and how she cheated on me with a Hobbit.

“Well, I don’t want to say anything bad about David. He’s very talented. He’s a very good singer, and it’s not just because he’s good with his mouth because he is,” Radcliff then does the blow job gesture. It and It just stare at…That.

“What are you talking about, Radcliff?” asks Boring Brown Haired Guy. Radcliff jumps up and yells:


Stunned silence. Well, for the Dumbass Couple, they were silent, but I screamed. Mila jumped, Rex said what the fuck? Arthur sighed, and Mike covered his ears.

“We’re going to have a little commercial break,” said Boring Brown Haired Guy.

I thew the phone back to Mike. I paced angrily around the room. Everyone just looked at me like I would snap. No, I wasn’t going to snap. I was going to fucking explode.

“You know, there’s only one way to solve this!” Everyone looked at each other blankly, then at me.

“Rap battle.”

I know. So 2003. I wasn’t trying to be Eminem because, duh, I’m sexier and better looking. It was that or murder Radcliff, but he’s too pretty for that, so a battle on James Corden would have to suffice.

Or in the streets.

Well, as street as the Hollywood Hills would suggest.

Shut up, I’m a white Australian guy.


David Jacobs Episode 3

David Jacobs Episode 3

I decided to go to the grocery store today. As fucking lame as that sounds, I needed some food and sustenance, and since I fired my personal shopper for saying I needed to eat more food, I now have to shop myself.

I always make sure I get all the essentials. I needed to be healthy, so I got my basket and threw in my tofu, kale, wheat bread, chocolate peanut butter, quinoa, Bud Light, vodka, Camels, oh, and I’ll get the tequila at a liquor store.

I was just debating whether my fatass really needed some tomatoes or not near the produce when I heard a familiar voice call my name. I knew who it was EXACTLY, and I wasn’t high.

“Oh my goodness, David! How are you, hun?”

Natasha Berrington. My ex wife. Mrs. Perfect all the time, and a sparkling beauty all wrapped in one talented ball of environmentalist, volunteer for the hungry, reader for the blind children, and she also sings. And sometimes writes…

“David! It’s awesome to see you! I never see you, anymore!” She gave me a hug, and I hugged back. Not a stiffy, but a friendly, oh yes, I remember you, but don’t really want to type hugs.

“Hi, Nattie.” Nattie is the pet name aka nickname I gave her instead of Natasha. She was looking kind of cute, okay fucking gorgeous, in her black capri Nike leggings, black and white Nike runner sneakers, and oversized tan knitted cardigan. She was wearing a high cut white cami tank under her cardigan. Of course, it was high cut. Nattie is so prim and conservative. Her dark brown hair was in a ponytail with a few strands of choppy bangs hanging down to the left of her head.

“So, what have you been up to, David? I’m getting ready to write my second book. I’m recording a new album, and I’m going to Haiti to help out with the children…” She was droning on an on about how perfect she is. Then, she started blabbing about a bike race.

“I made third place…” I snapped back to reality because I was about to fall asleep on her.

“Aw, I’m sorry, Nattie. Next time, maybe you’ll make first place…”

“Out of 100 people, David. I was so proud of myself. I practiced so hard.”


Nattie continued to drone on until she asked me the five most dreaded words…

“What have you been doing?” She smiled so sweetly with both of her dimples on either cheek. Her crystal blue eyes glanced back up at me. I took off my knitted blue cap, and ran my hands over my head. I hate confrontations like this!

“Well, I’ve been messing around a lot on my keyboards at home, chilling with the guys, and smoking hella weed.” Dammit, I should’ve told her I was writing a book, but I can barely sign my autographs. Nattie just gives me a scrunched up weird look.

“Well, good for you, David. I wish I had more free time to do nothing.” Ouch, harsh much? Actually, I couldn’t tell if she was being sympathetic or passive aggressive. I smirked back at her.

“Nattie, I’m super pleased that we could talk, but I need to head out. My super hot 21 year old model girlfriend who’s part French and I are going out tonight, but before that, we’re going to have hot Karma Sutra sex. Ciao, bia.”

I rushed out quickly to go to one of the self-checkouts. I briefly peered over my shoulder to see Nattie’s face totally agape. Serves her right for bragging. Plus, I wasn’t lying. Demitria and I were going out tonight.

* * *
Demitiria and I came home late that night. We were both pretty wasted. I stumbled with the keys trying to unlock the door to get into the house. Demitiria and I couldn’t stop laughing about the scene we caused.

“I can’t believe you knocked over the dessert tray, David.” I was wiping away tears from my eyes.

“Hey! It wasn’t on purpose!” Demitria took off her shawl cover type of thing exposing her slinky little black dress. I picked her up and slung her over my shoulder. She squealed.

“Oh, my God! David put me down! I think I’m going to totally hurl!”

“Spinderella!” I yelled as I started spinning Demitria around and around. I heard shuffling near the kitchen, and a man’s voice.

“Hey, Demitria, is he gone yet–” I stopped spinning and dropped Demitiria. She made a rather loud thud on the ground for someone supposedly so light.

“Wait, who the fuck are you?” I should’ve made a mental note to lock up the back, but no one uses the backdoor, anyway. This kind of short, dark haired guy wearing khakis (ew, what the fuck) and a plaid shirt under a blue jacket was acting so bizarre.

“I’m here to see Demitiria.”

“Who is she to you?”

“My girilfriend.”

I kicked the leg table. Demitria yelped. It was her leg, not the table’s.

“Get the fuck out. Both of you,” I said really sinister and scary. I narrowed my eyes even more because this time I was really fucking pissed, not just high. Demitria got up and started shielding the asshole. Which was funny because she’s half his size. She put up her hand.

“David, it’s not what it looks like!” I grabbed my baseball bat from the couch. Why the fuck was it there? I don’t kow.

“GET THE FUCK OUT! NOW!” I started chasing after them with the baseball bat, and accidentally caused a dent when I hit my table.

Ugh, so a really horrible night when I have to see my ex wife at the grocery store, and I also find out my girlfriend is cheating on me. That night I just decided to recollect my thoughts, meditate, and take a hot bath.

Just kidding. I deleted Demitria from my phone before calling her a sleazy cunt, Insta, Twitter, whatever. Then I got a little more drunk, and went to the club.

I’m a free bitch, baby.

David Jacobs Episode 2

David Jacobs Episode 2

I’m trekking down the slightly bumpy path with my new exercise bicycle. I’m not allowed to do Soul Cycle or whatever anymore on the account that I came in hungover last week and barfed all over the yoga mats left over from the former class. I guess I can’t shoot vodka like I used to. So anyway, I have a new somewhat agent named Massie. The last agent I had I had to punch him in the face for saying the tracks on my new album were “weak.” I said his hair plugs were weak and then I just went off. I’m really not a mad person. I just know what I want.

People were giving me odd looks. I refuse to look like a fucking traffic fluorescent cone when working out. It ain’t my style. I see nothing wrong with my red sweatpants with the elastic on the bottom, bright red, by the way. I don’t need a shirt on, but the sun is blazing, so I need my Gucci sunglasses, my knitted blue hat and knitted blue scarf. What? My neck get’s cold easily. No, actually I’m hiding my hickies. Shut up. People do that, you know.

After my little ride on the bike, I jumped in the car to meet Massie again. I don’t get her. First of all, I can’t tell if she’s old, but looks young, or is young, but looks old. She’s cute in that “I’m not really that hot, but I am” kind of way. I think if she wore tighter leggings and showed more cleavage, didn’t wear her ponytail, put on some of that smokey eyeshadow, she’d be bomb as hell.

I walked back into the same shitty Starbucks with the rude barista who wouldn’t serve me a unicorn frappuccino. I actually peaked a glance and saw the same bitch again today. She quickly diverted her eyes. Good. I don’t want to have to be arrested today. Twat.

Little Massie was already sitting down at a table. She was scribbling some nonsense in a generic drugstore looking notebook, probably already plotting my demise. When she heard the door open, she looked up for a second then looked back down at her notebook. When she realized I was right in front of her, she stopped scribbling.

“Hey, David! It’s good you made it!” She clicked her pen. Annoying. She was wearing a blue fitted blazer, black leggings (of course), black flats with bows on each toe, and some I guess shirt underneath the blazer. I couldn’t really tell the color because I was still half high.

“I want you to sit down! We need to go over the rules, some set-ups, and what shows you’ll be doing!” I raised my lip at her and stared at her blankly. She is way too damn happy so early in the morning. Swinging ponytail and light brown eyeshadow and all.

“I know what to do, Matilda. I’ve got all my shows set-up with my new band. I heard it all before.” I pulled out my vape. God, I know when I go home I’m going to have to smoke a cigarette.

“David, stop vaping. This is important. Now, I’m laying everything out for you. Here, take these papers. Look over what I wrote, and then later tonight I’ll drop by your place to see how practice is going with the other guys.” Damn, she was professional and forward. I clutched the papers.

“Six o’clock, sharp, Madeline. Okay?” I headed towards the door. “The boys and I are practicing some banging songs.”

“Um, okay. Text me directions, and David, it’s not Madeline. It’s Macy.” I had already walked out the door before she finished her last sentence. Sucker.

* * *
I was having a mini jam session with the guys in our recording studio. I just happened to be plucking some random chords on my guitar. I was totally in the zone, almost sleeping, but not really. Duh. I’m not Johnny Thunders, but people really paid to see him perform like that.

There I was totally in the zone when I hear a loud bang on the glass plated door of our studio. I jolt awake. It’s Madison. She starts knocking and waving at me.

She’s so juvenile. I roll my eyes at her. I barely wave at that.

“GET IN YOU CRAZY SHIT! THE DOOR IS RIGHT THERE!” I don’t mean to shout, but Mabel is, like, so dumb.

“Hey, David! I’m just going to sit in and listen to your jam session. I’m going to take some notes.” Now, she was wearing some loose fitting tank and skinny jeans with those damn bow flats. Ugh, at least she was showing some skin. Her arms looked decent. Not that skinny skinny, but kind of toned when she flexed, but not manly. Ew. Her ass looked fantastic in those tight jeans. Like I wanted to grip it fantastic, but she’s so dorky and fucking bland, so that’s a huge turnoff. I watch her pull out that crappy notebook. Ugh, is she always writing or does she do anything fun?

“Go ahead, David. I want to hear you! I used to listen to old Goldlamp cds, so I bet your new music is just as good.” She clicks her pen. Stop. Also, “old?” I grab my towel and wrap it around my neck. I was now wearing gray sweat pants and a white tank top, kept the knitted hat. I changed after getting done with my bike ride and my meeting with Her Highness. Actually, I was high, but Mason’s too “go getter.”

“Listen, Maybelline. My music isn’t old. It’s classic. Okay? Second of all, the new shit sounds nothing like Goldlamp. I’m not going to sound like the 16 year old grunge kiddie everyone expects me to still be.” She just stares up at me like I told her her family died in a tragic car accident that caught everything on fire, including the car.

“Um…Okay? Sorry, I won’t call it old again. Go ahead.” I tell Mike to tune his guitar. Rex is behind his drum set. Arthur is on keys, and I got my bass, but I don’t need it right now. They begin to play. I’m singing. No shit.

“I got that sensual feeling, woman, when you…touch me. I get hot…just like you…when you’re feeling me.” I turn to look at McCoy. She has this look on her face as if someone told her she’s stepped in dog shit. Excuse you? Like you can write better lyrics, Junie B. Jones? I continue on.

“I just want to grab you…and fuck you…when you’re feeling me.” Now, I look over and she’s giving me this dead stare. I start pushing up my tank and feeling up my torso. If she doesn’t like that, she’s a total zombie lesbian.

“Aww, baby, it’s just a…sexual feeling, a fantasy of you and I…In a bed, on the beach, in an ocean…I want to feel you.” I continue on in the zone while side eyeing Miss Judgmental. She just has this scrunched up face. Squirrel looking ass bitch. I finish. Both vocally and in my pants. Yes, I can make myself cum just singing this song and sound good. It then get’s up.

“Wow, David. That was…Um?” I unwrap the towel from my neck and glare at Missy.

“Thank you!” I say before she can say anything else. I walk out the door and take off my shirt. I know she’s staring at the sweat dripping off my back.

She wants me, too bad.

My (Over Analysis) of Richard Hell’s “Blank Generation” Lyrics

richard hell 5

I’m currently in the works of beginning a band with a man I know named Tom. He’s the bass player and I’m the singer. We’re currently searching for a drummer and a guitar player. Anyway, one of the songs we like to cover is “Blank Generation” by Richard Hell and the Voidoids. The song grew on me over time. I always thought it was catchy in the chorus, but I never could understand what the heck Hell was trying to say in the verses.

A short history on Hell, he’s one of the fore runners of the CBGB New York American punk scene. He was in the band Television, the Heartbreakers (with the awesome Johnny Thunders), and later the Voidoids. He’s originally from Kentucky, but moved to New York to become a poet. Richard Hell has been published before and has written a few books, namely “I Dreamed I Was a Very Clean Tramp, a memoir. I read “I Dreamed I Was a Very Clean Tramp” back during spring, and it’s one hell of a read, no pun intended, or maybe intended. You decide.

I was sayin’ let me out of here before I was
Even born, it’s such a gamble when you get a face
It’s fascinatin’ to observe what the mirror does
But when I dine it’s for the wall that I set a place

The first line could mean many things. Hell was born in 1949, so this was a little bit before the Pill (as Chrissie Hynde calls it in her biography I’m reading right now). It’s almost as if Hell is claiming that he was an unwanted child, or a mistake, or an accident, or a beautiful disaster. He was probably all three. “It’s such a gamble when you get a face,” could refer to how no one really knows what their life is like until they’re actually born, but there’s always defining factors that make us who we are. Our families, our gender, our race, even the area where we grow up defines us. This could go deeper as to when a baby is really a baby, or just a clump of cells. Are we not considered alive until we get a face? The gamble could be whether the baby is wanted or not, as in abortion, or is lost due to miscarriage or illness or accident.

“It’s fascinatin’ to observe what the mirror does,” could be about how we feel about ourselves. Some people are insecure, and don’t like their looks, physically of what they see in the mirror. Everyone maybe wishes they were thinner, fitter, had a smaller nose, fuller lips, etc. Then again, the mirror could distort our perception into believing we look better or seem better than we really are. In all reality, the mirror is just a plate of glass, not a crystal ball. No one knows what the future really holds, so our reality of the present is distorting our future for various reasons. This causes people to further doubt themselves into achieving what they want to achieve.

“But when I dine it’s for the wall that I set a place,” refers to the lack of interaction people have with one another. This could feel like someone is being anti-social. They lack the real feelings of people interaction because they are self-absorbed, and they don’t want to share or express their feelings with anyone else, whether this is a form of insecurity or selfishness, I’m not too sure. It could refer to both.

Triangles were fallin’ at the window as the doctor cursed
He was a cartoon long forsaken by the public eye
The nurse adjusted her garters as I breathed my first
The doctor grabbed my throat and yelled, “God’s consolation prize!”

The first line of the second verse sounds a little tricky because Hell mentions triangles. I read somewhere that he uses a lot of triangle imagery in his songs, but I’m not quite sure why they are his favorite shape. I think the triangle is metaphorical for the Holy Trinity, which includes the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The doctor cursing could refer to him not being a very “Godly” man in the sense that he’s swearing, but also in the sense that he doesn’t want to “see anything religious,” like the triangles literally falling outside the window. It could mean that he just doesn’t like seeing anything visually religious, or he’s a non-believer, maybe an Atheist, or someone who’s just apathetic about life because he feels he has been wronged by life and by various people.

The second line gives way to the doctor not being accepted by the public. He was viewed as a quake, or a phony who wasn’t really appreciated or revered for his skills. The nurse adjusts her garters probably in a nervous or paranoid way because the weird, little creature is actually breathing, which she and the doctor didn’t believe was possible. A consolation prize is something that is given to a “loser” or someone who came in last place. They’re like a participation award. Hell is the consolation prize meaning the doctor and society have already denounced him a creepy, little loser who does not fit in with the rest of the world.

To hold the T.V. to my lips, the air so packed with cash
Then carry it up flights of stairs and drop it in the vacant lot
To lose my train of thought and fall into your arms’ tracks
And watch beneath the eyelids every passing dot

The first line about the T.V. and air being packed with cash could refer to how televisions cost money, but also how ads such as commercials cost a lot of money, too. The viewers feel obligated to buy something just because the pretty person in the commercial is telling them to buy that particular product. Hell could be referring to throwing out actual money since he’s breaking his television set. In a literal sense, the T.V. The third line gives way to an unlikely passerby who catches the T.V. They become the unfournate soul who is addicted to advertisements and what the media tells them to like.

Something I find interesting about the first two verses compared to the third verse is that the first two involve Hell as a baby whereas the third verse involves Hell as an adult. I understand that he speaks as if he’s older when he goes out to “dine” in the first verse, but it’s fairly obvious the last verse involves Hell as an adult who realizes he’s different and doesn’t want to fit in with the mainstream. I think this is very telling for a lot of people who feel they don’t fit the mold. They don’t really think of the American Dream in terms of a white picket fence, with a spouse, and two and a half kids. Hell as well as many of the punk regulars at CBGB’s felt this way. Was it rebellion, a lack of direction, a lack of parenting, or the questioning of authority? Probably all of the above.

The beginning of American punk had bands who wanted to be more intellectual and artistic whereas the English punks were more angsty and violent. Yes, they were angsty from both sides of the world. The American punks wanted more free expression, the English punks were angry about their socio-economic status. The American Dream is middle class and a chance of upper mobility, something that England doesn’t really believe in.

Maybe Hell’s “Blank Generation” is more of a commentary on the lost idea of the American Dream? That’s for another analysis.

Image from Google

“It” the 2017 Movie Remake

it pic

I was able to see “It” last month. Needless to say, I thought it was a good and well-made movie. Before I saw the remake, I only saw bits and pieces of the original mini-series with Tim Curry back when I was fourteen.

What I enjoyed most about the movie was the setting. I liked how the remake was set in the late eighties, but there was a feel of the fifties with the town being so antiquated and a bit dilapidated. The mood was of that of a small town that doesn’t want to be progressive and deal with much change, yet there’s an omnipresent feel of some kind of danger.

One thing that struck me was how great the young actors were. They’re all about 12, but were professional and believable in their roles. Even my mother commented that they were all great. My favorite character was Richie because of his dirty mouth. Ha!

I don’t need to go too deep into detail about the story itself because I’m sure mostly everyone has watched this, or the original, or at least read the book. I feel like anyone could watch the movie and get the general feel of it without having to read that fossil of a book. The movie didn’t scare me, and I feel that if the blood and cursing was kept to a minimum, it would’ve been PG-13 instead of rated R. My favorite scene was when Bill, Eddie, and Richie were in the abandoned house, it looked like a scary funhouse.

In all, this was a decent horror movie. I think most Stephen King fans would appreciate this version of “It.” I would recommend it to any movie goer.

Image from Google

David Jacobs Episode 1

David Jacobs Episode 1

I was just another 28 year old female trying to work my way up in the corporate world. The job market was looking pretty bleak. I was working as a nanny after school for a few kids for ten dollars an hour. As much as I loved the kids I was caring for, I wanted to make money, doing marketing, agency stuff, whatever. When my father busted out the charts showing me how he expected my life to go versus how it really was, I knew it was time to step up. He wanted his only daughter to be as professional as him: a truly awesome computer engineer manager. Luckily for me, I did score an actual job through a temp agency, as a part time talent agent. I was assigned David Jacobs as my “talent.” He was the sexy Australian singer of the group Goldlamp. He had an incredible voice, great body, handsome face, oh, and did I mention, he had a great body?

I emailed him to meet me at my local Starbucks. As cliche and basic as Starbucks sounded (I’m a Dunkin’ Donuts) type of girl, I figured meeting for coffee was a simple way to get to know David. I had ordered myself some Cold Brew. I was messing around on Facebook liking random posts when I heard the door swoosh open. An older gentleman in a checkered shirt reading his paper jumped a little in his seat. A mom with her preschool aged daughter and toddler son stopped spoon feeding her son to flash a quizzical look in the loud patron’s direction. I turned and saw a guy wearing a black beanie with a gray hoodie. He was wearing these black type of sweatpants that bagged down in the middle. On his feet, he had on brown Timberland type of hiking boots. I got up from my seat and stood behind the guy. The pretty blonde highschooler behind the counter anxiously pressed some buttons on the cash register.

“I’m so sorry, sir, but we don’t serve the Unicorn Frappucino, anymore.” The guy leaned into the counter.

“What? Why not? I saw that you guys had it just a month ago.” The girl twirled a strand of her loose blonde hair around her finger. She looked to her left and sighed.

“Would you like to try another Frappucino? That was a limited edition kind. We now offer–” The man put up his hand to shush the barista.

“No, I want the Unicorn Frapp, and I heard you guys were the only Starbs that has it. I don’t want to drink anything else. Hear me?” I could detect a slight Australian accent.

“Oh, my God! David Jacobs! Hey! It’s me Macy! I’m here to talk about me being your new agent! Sorry, don’t worry about it, hon. I’ll buy him something later to drink.” The barista shook her head and rolled her eyes nervously.

“I’m not done with you!” David bellowed before I guided him back to my seat.
David plopped down in the chair across from me. He had on some black eyeliner that was smudged a little under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. His facial hair suited him, but it was obvious he was in need of some rest, real food, and a little caffeine. I smiled and tried not to stutter or look anxious. I shuffled around some papers and opened up my notebook.

“So, David. Hello, I’m you’re new agent! I’m going to help you book some gigs and maybe help in the recording process, stuff like that.” My hands shook as I tried to write with my pen. David messed with his beanie pushing it up and down. He draped off his gray zip up hoodie revealing a white ribbed tank top underneath. On his left bicep, he had a tattoo that said “Life” in Gothic letters, and on his left wrist he had some bizarre black symbol that looked like an ace. On his right lower forearm, he had another tattoo that was a little hard to determine what it was. The veins were noticeable in his upper biceps.

“Good to know. My last one left.”

“What happened to him?” I put the tip of the pen to my mouth and scruched my eyebrows. David reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a vape. He took a long deep drag, leaned back, and blew out the “smoke.” I looked behind me. The mother who was sitting with her preschooler and her toddler had left, but now two older women were sitting in the same spot. They gave me a dirty look.

“David, I don’t think you’re allowed to vape in public places.”

“Whatever. There’s no real smoke in here. It’s vapor,” he rolled his eyes. I began to furiously write in my notebook. I had a few rules for David to follow. I tore the sheet out of my notebook without pulling off the popcorn. I passed the sheet to David. He grabbed it and looked down at the sheet. He scratched his hair patch on his chin looking confused. I noticed that he had painted his nails black on his left hand only.

“Rules? Psh! I don’t need them. Plus, I do eat and I don’t drugs.” I narrowed my eyes at David.

“Weed counts, too, David.” He got up from his seat and threw his hoodie back on.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Do you want to drop by my place? I got some interesting new tracks I could show you. It’ll be completely straight edge,” he was shaking now and looked like he was going to blow up like a smashed red tomato.

“First, tomorrow here again at 11:30. Then, we could listen to what you’re working on!” David got up and opened the door.

“I’ll text you! Bye, Maddie!” I didn’t even try to correct him.

You don’t correct or cross David Jacobs. Believe me, ask the other members of Goldlamp or the other members of society.

*Okay, Macy’s perspective was super boring, so for the next episodes, they’ll all be from David’s point of view.