It’s like an epidemic and there’s no cure for it. I’ve spoken to various metal-heads and lovers of dirty blues but they simply refuse to fight this insanity that has taken hold of the nation. I spent days and nights arguing with post-rock fans and trip-hop listeners that, yes, we can stop this madness, we can bring ourselves back to where we were but they turn away. Memories haunt me from the golden days when I bought my first APC album and fell in love with Maynard. Later on, NIN entered and jolted me with their twisted creativity. Oh yes, it is all etched in my mind.
I even have a photograph. Here. This is me.
(in British accent) How did it happen, you ask? She – she appeared out of nowhere by George! It was as though mother earth had spat her out with contempt! She – she seemed to – to shake her – meager bosom in all directions! And the children were giggling and the elderly folks forgot Viagra! It – it seemed so very surreal. I must contain myself. I apologize profusely, sire. I wipe my brow with my handkerchief.
I suppose I must give you a coherent account of what occured that winter evening…
(continuing in British accent) The children, the women, the men, they all seem to have fallen for this otherling. My hours are spent in the fear of a bottom-jiggling woman and her cronies. The only loyalty that ameliorates my agony is my handy dandy mp3 player. It sings to me songs of resilience and courage. Also, Luna by The Smashing Pumpkins, Lithium by Nirvana, The Noose by APC, My Kantele by Amorphis, Dirt by Alice in Chains and a few others.
(still in British accent, okay?) But I must tell you, dear friend of mine, that Sheila is not what Sheila seems. For in the dark, she morphs into your worst nightmare. And no incubus is more hideous than her.
P.S. If you had trouble reading the bar, click the doodle for a larger version.