Poor Dr. Carson. He's written an autobiography that doesn't pass the muster of fact-checking from the bean-counters in corporate media.
I, Keith, haven't written an autobiography, partly because Mary advised Scott not to ghostwrite at the rate that I offered to pay. But there are many instances in my history on the planet where I have demonstrated outrageous or courageous behavior. And no one believes me either. Let's enumerate the good times.
Keith Originated The “War on Christmas”
The “War” began Dec. 2, 2006, at a Barnes & Noble near you. I'm not sure why but most likely James Taylor's shitty “holiday-themed” CD being in constant rotation throughout the store was the trigger event.
After listening to the awful cover of Baby, It's Cold Outside for 40 or so times I snapped. I took the CD out of the machine, wrote “Death to Baby Jesus” on the play side with a sharpie then threw it into the return bin on top of John Legend.
A pregnant silence descended over the store to be followed by cheers of relief and gratitude from shoppers on all floors. It really happened, honest. I got a quarter raise as a result.
Keith Destroyed Chris Rock's Crummy Career
Yes, it's true. I never liked that A-Hole. This occurred at the same Barnes & Noble store near you. He came in late one night and tried to be funny. You know, “funny.” I said “Hey, bro, aren't you my man Chappelle?” End of story.
Keith Killed Pier Paolo Pasolini
This one is very hard to live up to. I was looking forward to Salo: 120 Days of Sodom but after viewing thought it was his worst film ever. It wasn't up to the artistic or even the technical standards he showed us in Teorema or Mama Rosa. After we had sex on the beach, I ran over him with the Fiat he had rented. There was some damage to the car and some sand between the seats, so I had to pay extra on return but it was worth it, I'll tell you. Don't believe it? I kept his American Express card as a trophy!
Keith Owns Gram Parson's Remains
Don't believe the hype about the cremation in the desert. He's in my basement freezer. He looks great after wiping off the frost accumulation. I check him out about twice a year.
You see, even ordinary folk like myself are capable of doing things that leave one open to scrutiny in later life. And here's a presidential candidate trying to convey some sense of himself and yet is treated to obvious disdain and ridicule. I'm stopping here because no one will believe I murdered Laura Palmer. It was so long ago …
Oh, really, Keith? Sex on the beach with Pasolini?
All Papa Pier's intimates (he liked us to call him that) know Pasolini had a morbid fear of sand crabs.
Pull the other one, it's got bells on it.
ANNTI sez... and ponders...
Okay, I know less than dick about Pasolini, but why do I get a distinct vibe that our Li'l Li'l has been reading some Terry Pratchett lately? Hee hee hee...
And, darling heart, as many here will attest, 'twas not you dear one, who murdered xmas, IT WAS *ME*!!!!!! I wish that I could remember the date, I'm sure that Scott can, someday, find it in the database, but it involved an obnoxious/illiterate/fugly-as-a-Long-Island-Iced-Tea-Drunk-One-Night-Stand utter TWUNT of a Wally World check-out clerk and the too-oft & too-stringently repeated bellow of "MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!" I shit you not.
I'd never shit you, you're my favorite turd.
Anyway, before the NyQuil comes to offer five or six hours of fitful "rest" (ha!), I hadda say, "ATTABOY!" and to love & hug & fondle you a little extra for hating Chris Rock, too. Like I actually wrote to Arsenio (yes, I was one of the NINETEEN people who were actually GLAD to see him back on late night, dammit, he used to ACCOMPLISH SHIT with the original show!) last year, I could still NEVER forgive him for that bullshit "apology" from Chrissy-poo for the whole DATE-RAPE "JOKE" clusterfuck. Fuck Chris Rock sideways with a rusty chainsaw dripping with gangrenous donkey syphilis. And on THAT lovely note, g'night!
(what's REALLY fucked-up is that I used to WATCH his sit-com! Only when he wasn't physically ON the show, though --- I can't help it, I'll always love "Pam" and y'all KNOW how I feel about Terry Crews!)
And no, it can't be Ash's chainsaw, it's busy at the moment, thank fuck, but OH, the abuse of black hair dye!!! Did Bruce Campbell learn NOTHING from Liz Taylor's brain tumor?!?!?!
And I thought you'd be addressing "W" Sr.'s.
So ... you're Laura Palmer's father?!
But doesn't that mean Keith is also ... BOB!?!
OK, I get it: you're Keith Richards. Owning Gram Parsons' corpse is the big clue. Don't know why you didn't mention that in "Life."
I think you made up the rest of that stuff to fck with our heads, Keith.
Naahhhh, Doc, OUR Keef is WAY too stressed out to be THAT Keef. Keef Richards has shot heroin INTO HIS EYEBALL to get high --- I sincerely doubt that this dear heart would EVER wanna do that to himself, though the lure of temporary but peaceful oblivion must certainly appeal...
BTW, why does this week's obnoxious-yuppie-scum ad by Lands' End think that WE "NEED" "them" to "BELIEVE IN" us?!?!? What. Tha. Fuck. ?!?!?
"WE BELIEVE IN YOU."
Seriously. I shit you not. What. In. The. FUCK. makes these arrogant little marketing-scum TWUNTS think that we need an "EMOTIONAL DIALOGUE" with the overpriced dickwads who sell the same sweatshop shit as Wally World but with that snotty/shitty WASP-wannabe "old money" fake-ass attitude???!!?!?!!?
I know, I know, it doesn't mean shit to a tree, but it's been bugging the fuck out of me all week (microscopic as it may be against REAL-WORLD nightmares from Afghan to Parisienne) & I just wanna hunt their ad account mofos down & impale them on a really dull pike, for their cold-blooded abuse of the human brain.
Also, can one ever truly "own" a corpse? I've actually SEEN idiots fighting over caskets & ashes, but seeing as how it's a shed carcass, like a locust shell, WHO owns it?
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