Status: Please let me know if you like it, otherwise writing this a waste of time :-)
A Fever You Can't Sweat Out
Hot Mess
Another day, another concert, I thought, gelling my hair back to its usual perfection. I rarely look in the mirror, because I think beauty starts to fade if you look at it too often, but as my eyes caught my reflection, I smiled to myself. It's my smile for the fans, they love it, they go crazy for it. Closed mouth smile. Open slightly, not too much teeth, not too little. The bite of the lip, and the wink. And then repeat. They probably have a nickname for it, I'm hoping it's something nice like... Oh I don't know, not that I give a shit anyway.
They're just numbers. 10,000 tickets, 20,000 tickets, 30,000 band t-shirts sold. The fans make me happy because they make me money. Lots of lovely lolly to spend on flash cars and the occasional company of a female. You know, buy them champagne, order them to follow you around like a dog and suddenly, you're the most envied people on the planet. Only if the girl in question is blonde though. And big tits is a must. The bigger the tits the more attention I'll get.
Don't I sound beautifully egotistical? One of the wonderful pros of being in a famous band is being able to act like a twat and not be judged for it, because hey, when thousands, millions of people are in love with you, who cares?
I wrote Lying about one of my favourite prostitutes, nobody know that. She left me in the middle of the night, I paid her $600 and she had to go to an 'important date' halfway through. Stupid bitch was just going home to screw her boyfriend, and I still had $200 unpaid debt. My lawyer (yeah it's cool having one of those, so funny to get them drunk at the weekend) said I couldn't press charges because prostitution was illegal in that part of the US. Obviously she turned up two weeks later begging for her famous client to come back into business. She screwed me twice as compensation so I guess I wasn't too bothered about the money. And now we're friends. When I say 'friends' I mean she lets me hire for dinner for $50 rather than $100. We're even on first name basis. To me at my place, she's Hot Mess. To me at dinner, she's Linda. Exciting stuff, isn't it?
Friends are hard to come by in this business. There's plenty of girls, but the guys get jealous because you get them all. I've had countless punches in the face and painful kicks in the groin from people saying I've stolen their girlfriend or whatever.
I need to get out and do something. I've been stuck in this hotel room for two days now. Maybe tomorrow is my day to party.
They're just numbers. 10,000 tickets, 20,000 tickets, 30,000 band t-shirts sold. The fans make me happy because they make me money. Lots of lovely lolly to spend on flash cars and the occasional company of a female. You know, buy them champagne, order them to follow you around like a dog and suddenly, you're the most envied people on the planet. Only if the girl in question is blonde though. And big tits is a must. The bigger the tits the more attention I'll get.
Don't I sound beautifully egotistical? One of the wonderful pros of being in a famous band is being able to act like a twat and not be judged for it, because hey, when thousands, millions of people are in love with you, who cares?
I wrote Lying about one of my favourite prostitutes, nobody know that. She left me in the middle of the night, I paid her $600 and she had to go to an 'important date' halfway through. Stupid bitch was just going home to screw her boyfriend, and I still had $200 unpaid debt. My lawyer (yeah it's cool having one of those, so funny to get them drunk at the weekend) said I couldn't press charges because prostitution was illegal in that part of the US. Obviously she turned up two weeks later begging for her famous client to come back into business. She screwed me twice as compensation so I guess I wasn't too bothered about the money. And now we're friends. When I say 'friends' I mean she lets me hire for dinner for $50 rather than $100. We're even on first name basis. To me at my place, she's Hot Mess. To me at dinner, she's Linda. Exciting stuff, isn't it?
Friends are hard to come by in this business. There's plenty of girls, but the guys get jealous because you get them all. I've had countless punches in the face and painful kicks in the groin from people saying I've stolen their girlfriend or whatever.
I need to get out and do something. I've been stuck in this hotel room for two days now. Maybe tomorrow is my day to party.