Mark the cobrasnake (formerly the polaroidscene guy) cavorts with John Reineck:
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Good stuff, good stuff.

spiteful banter with oneself.

I swear I'm unfathomably compassionate in my own bizarre way, but there's one type of people in this world with whom my sympathy will never lie. They only become apparent to you after you've dabbled in local music scenes long enough. They're in a position of privilege, equipped with the advantages bestowed upon them by random luck, to sail comfortably through life. There's an edge, an obvious advantage they have over everyone -- oh, to be young and good-looking. Of course people of cultural status flock to them, THEY'RE YOUNG AND GOOD-LOOKING! They traipse around in the fucking dead of winter scantily clad, befriend anyone of any importance, but... why aren't they ever able to be anyone of importance? Because their assets include and are limited to: 1) being good-looking
and 2) being obsessed with sensuality and sexuality
Their friendships have no substance. All anyone will ever appreciate them for is their sex appeal.

They're all the same. They all fit the prototype exactly: Meet Shannon. She's 19. To be her friend, you must meet the following requirements -- a) you must be male, and b) you must be in a band. (Inquire within for applications.) Unless you're a boy in a band, she wants no business with you. Everyone who associates with her has been evaluated for eligibility through a screening process involving and limited to verifination of gender and profession..... save for those few female friends and dear concert companions she has selected with such discriminating care -- they, too, are pretty, skinny bitches who like to talk about bands and they, too, thrive on the charisma and star power of notable characters in the scene.
She is a real life Penny Lane, under the disguise of a collegiate intellectual who is decent and above pursuing musicians.

She knows the people, she's well connected, she consistently dresses provocatively. She knows, I think, in her heart of hearts, that all she'll ever be is a worthless, attention-starved jezebel entrusting the purpose of her wasted life entirely to the hope that her sexuality alone will validate her obsolete existence.
Well.. they shouldn't exist. What will they ever contribute to our world or society? What will they ever have to offer but risque pictures of themselves for perverts and internet porn freaks to jack off to? Face it, exhibitionist bitches: you're OBSOLETE. (author's note: twilight zone allusion, take note.)
I hope to hell that if her wretched unredeemable soul (I use the term "soul" loosely) is ever reincarnated, it will be in the body of a grotesquely disfigured cripple with a thyroid condition and a face like a picasso.

Exalted to a Godly -- even admirable -- position by Cameron Crowe's pet film, these superficial beings have become so desireable and idolized. But they are merely superficial beings, who know nothing beyond their moderately hedonistic lifestyles.

I am just a lowly fan. I go to the shows. I give them my money. I appreciate.
And them, they are essentially just groupies. Yet, still, they're the ones who are regularly guest-listed, who are invited to stay and chat long after the show ends and the fans leave...... But WHAT'S THE DECIDING FACTOR? I torment myself day in and day out about this "deciding factor". Oh... that's right -- they're young, good-looking, persistent, and audacious (heavy emphasis on good-looking). And I am but one of those four things -- the one that matters the least.
They may be modern-day Penny Lanes, but they will never understand what it's like to "love a band so much it hurts....."
Decent people just never win in this world -- no no, it is the exhibitionist bitches starving for validation who do.

And OH, the things they do in the name of validation. Not that there's ever anything wrong with wanting validation, but the people they seek it from, and the way they go about it -- must they? They cozy up to the musicians, they become friendly with bands they don't even have the decency to pretend to like.
They try to pass themselves off as contemporaries of the musicians -- scholarly intellectuals far above groupiedom and wise beyond their teen years. You'd think they'd be more discreet about it though, wouldn't you? The far-too-kind and far-too-trustful believe them all too eagerly. Blink twice and you'll have deceived yourself into giving them the benefit of the doubt, like I have for so long. But -- could it be? Maybe Ms. Deep and Insightful is just an undercover slut. Fancying herself quirky and idiosyncratic, she could easily have come straight out of this summer's/last summer's/the summer before that's feel-good flop starring Hugh Grant as the bland suit-type and "up 'n coming" actress passing on by briefly before abruptly falling straight back into obscurity as the spontaneous, "free-spirited" barely-legal whose made it her life's mission to "change his life", evidently by being as irrational, flaky, and difficult as possible, supposedly to teach him some profound lesson about life and possibly "love".
Ah, she is the stuff of mediocre chick flicks! (as if there were any other kind) Born into a formulaic romantic comedy (as if there were any other kind), her life plays out like a script. Now maybe if she were to stumble into the wizard of oz someday, she could ask the wizard for a soul to go with her body so that maybe her insight could be genuine and her person, authentic (for once).

Yeah, this all goes along with the war I'm waging against nymphomaniacs.


disclaimer: oh, by the way...... If this in any way feels like it is directed personally toward you, BOY, do you have a guilty conscience! Good luck trying to live with that for the rest of your life, you paranoid egomaniac.