If one more person asks me if I have ever
thought about writing more serious songs,
I’m going to pee on their shoe.
I do write serious songs.
Let me put it this way.
A trapeze artist can probably make a decent omelet.
But after a stellar performance at the circus,
it would be ridiculous to ask him if he has considered
cooking omelets for a living.
That’s not what he has chosen as his job,
at least not right now.
so, if you want pee-pee shoes,
by all means, ask me to sing
you a song about an ex-girlfriend.
I’ve got plenty.
songs and ex’s.
There were several at the show in NY city.
I know I mentioned that,
but I can’t mention the severity of it without
bulging my eyes and making wild hand gestures.
It was severe.
It was obtrusive.
It was uncomfortable.
One was invited.
One was welcome.
One was insistent on coming,
and tried, in vain, to justify her
presence by complementing my
ability to bring old friends together.
right, that’s it,
bring old friends together.
I hope you read this, let’s call you … Judy.
I hope you read this, Judy, so you can see it in print.
I don’t want to talk to you anymore.
And it’s not because I don’t enjoy it,
I do, but it messes up my brain for days
and I find myself peeing on my own shoes
while I make an omelet on a trapeze.
The best and worst part was,
right after I told her off,
gave her the cold shoulder,
thanked her for ruining my evening,
I turned and stepped in a pile of dog doo.
I told my friend it was cosmic fate,
he told me it was proof of how distracting women can be.
I’ve got a song about Judy,
two, I think.
But she’ll never hear them,
and neither with you,
because my omelets always
end up being scrambled eggs.
-nicepeter, back when he was just pete shukoff, i guess. (via requiem0fspirit)