Rock Star

Hey Mr. Rock Star.  Yeah you, the one in the head to toe leather and chains.  The one standing on stage singing to the masses covered in your tattoos and piercings, your dyed hair and fake colored contacts.  Mr. Rock Star singing lyrics you have no idea about.  I’d like to take a few minutes Mr. Big Time Rock Star and have a little discussion, albeit one-sided since you’d never take time out of your busy schedule to speak with me on this issue, no I tried all day today to reach you through your management but the only reply I got was “can you send me a picture?, but you would take some time to sneak your hand up my skirt and try to feel a little bit of my pussy now wouldn’t you Mr. Rock Star who cares so much about the state of our world and how we live and die in it.

You see Mr. Rock Star I wanted to check out your music tonight because some of my friends said you were cool and your music “rocked”.  So I listened and I thought you know he has a good message so I visited your Facebook page and I read what you were selling about how this world is so unjust and how we’re born and taught to believe such injustices about life and how to treat others.  How offensive you think everything has become.  But then I started looking at you as a person Mr. Rock Star, I started looking at what you do with your time, your money, your fans, your music.

I’m not happy Mr. Rock Star and your fans shouldn’t be either, but like you said, they are mindless drones, just following the masses and you’ve capitalized on that concept have you not?  You spout the same propaganda to your masses as the churches and politicians you loathe so much, do.

You would think Mr. Big Shot Rock Star that since you’ve acquired a voice and the adoration of all these young people you would break the cycle, you would help people understand and do the right thing but no, you’ve become evil just like the politicians and money mongers you tout to hate so fucking much.

Have you ever changed a diaper at 3 a.m. so tired you can barely stand because you’ve worked all goddamn day and you’re the only parent in the house?  Have you ever comforted a dying parent?  Have you held the hand of a friend who’d been beaten and raped?  Have you ever served dinner to a homeless man on Thanksgiving when your own family waits for you?  Has your band ever given a show to benefit anyone other than yourselves?  Have you ever completed one single act of kindness that didn’t involve you getting sucked off in the back of your tour bus Mr. Rock Star?

You write lyrics like you know what suffering and pain are about but you have no fucking idea.  You spend six months on the streets in New York City or in the ghetto of Rwanda and come to me and we’ll discuss your lyrics then Mr. Rock Star, Mr. Big Time, Mr. I got my name tattooed on some titties this weekend and it was rad. You probably don’t even write the lyrics, I wouldn’t know since you wouldn’t grant me an interview.

The real atrocity in anything we do as humans is to lie to ourselves and you sir lie to yourself every second of every day.  I hope you become a bad VH1 special but that’d be pushing it because you haven’t even made it yet.


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