I started writing this really bad poetry; it took up a good chunk of my idle time. Like many great young bloods out there, lookin’ for a break, I was determined to make someone read my horridly interpreted words and suddenly feel everything I felt while writing it. Although I didn’t know how to play a guitar, my friend thought she could fake her way through it. We were set to become another grand emotionally outbursting band that performed absolutely drunk with little to no direction on how to actually play an instrument. The only real drawback was that neither of us could sing, so we had to change our genre from “slightly unstable lesbian suffrage” to “sexually curious women who can’t handle any of the situations unfolding right now”; read: Emo band with boobs sings about pussy n’ phone calls. But what--if anything--can you write about at that age that people haven’t already heard a million frustrated times before? Keep as close to your mind as possible, my friend and I weren’t trying to be famous. We were very bored.
No? Can you think of something? Its a bit difficult when you have to factor in curfews, drinking age, and high school. Applying any or all of those in one song makes it country. Still no? Well, I’ll tell you. I sang about observations. My desires spawned directly from how many questions that popped up when I went about watching people do things. If it was a girl I knew, and she kind of liked me, then she was going to be hyper observed; see also: stalking, harassment, restraining order. At the height of my life as a musician, I was popping oxycodone like M&Ms, drinking more whiskey than water, and generally being an asshole about everything I could even see straight. I had accomplished in two short months that which takes normal musicians at least one good song and several years of repetitive drug abuse. Even after we retired to pursue our different dreams of graduating high school and becoming a police sketch artist, I persisted in the drug and alcohol abuse. Why the hell not? How exciting can a life as a police sketch artist really be without copious amounts of narcotics?
By the end of my career as a musician, which I didn’t even learn to spell until just this moment, we had a few tracks floating on the internet. Our entire album was a piece of memorable angst, captured in all the glorious quality of free track editors and coffee can solos.
Teacher Only Fucked My Friends: Tales from a free GED classes in Joplin by The Rubburbands
Track 1: She Doesn't Own A Landline
Track 2: In Monotone
Track 3: I’m Gay
Track 4: Everyone’s Lips In Arizona are either Too Fat or Too Skinny
Track 5: Homeless People Only Take Exact Change
Track 6: Eat that Faster, Slut
Track 7: Water Temple Ain’t Shit but Liquid and Bricks
Track 8: Chinatown Has Nothing To Do With WWE
Track 9: Called her Mom on Accident
Track 10: Her Cheap Brazilian Waxed my MoustacheBonus Track: Didn’t Fuck In San Francisco