Billy Joel: Final Entry
I am OUTTA HERE, fuckers! The last straw was the ward talent show, when two alkie limo drivers and a glue-sniffing high school shop teacher decided it would be a good idea to perform “We Didn’t Start the Fire” as a gangsta rap accompanied by a kazoo. Everyone’s staring at ME while this is going on, and my counselor squeezes my arm and says, “Can you feel the love behind the satire? It’s important to embrace your sense of whimsy.”
Whimsy THIS, bitch!
After this, sitting through 6 hours of a “modernist ballet” interpretation of “Vienna” and two dozen DAILY calls (I shit you not) from Elton obsessing about his tour wardrobe and how much is it going to cost to ship a 40-lb. sequined tuxedo jacket to Budhapest is going to feel like a beach vacation.
GOD, I need a drink.