We are essentially at the stage where I can't even take a shit on the back porch anymore. Everything I'm doing is being criticized to the n'th degree.
A playa tries to rap as a part of a band for a gay/lesbian/homosexual AIDS benefit and gets the god damn American Idol treatment. The most rank ass group of judges were assembled to critique each of the performances. Naturally we were up first and what I thought was a rockin' show turned out to be riddle with errors. Shit was like passing in an essay in AP English. You thought you killed it, but then you see some red pen and are registering a very strong, "fuck that" reading on the richter scale.
Like 6 people I've never met American Idol me and tell me that I have no "stage presence." What?! I am presence personified. I represented presence while I was in the womb. People knew what was up before I rocked Wee-boks in the crib. Needless to say I'm crushed, hammered, and defeated tonight. The kid will pick it up though, trust.
Till next time you crazy kids.
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Add CommentHad a misspelling. Had to edit my last comment.
New message:
I'm sure you were full of presence! Don't listen to those know-nothings! If you didn't have presence, I wouldn't have hired you for Sobervations!
See you at the next show!
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