Damn these leather pants, always too tight for my comfort. When the hell will the designer realise that I am not meant for them anymore. He refuses to acknowledge that I hate the use of leather and what is with his fixation that my boobs should play peek-a-boo in the tank top all the time, Sometimes I wonder if I am the rock star or merely an extention of the market. Look at him show off that glee on his greasy-face, wait I'll join the PETA, thats what I'll do, won't be able to wear half the clothes you dish out, you****....Damn! later!
(thunderous claps and wild mating calls interrupt..time to go..time to hit the flood lights and strum that guitar as if it were the biggest C*** on earth..Sigh! things that person has to do for a living..)As she walks in to the light,she feels the blinding pain, liked someone just whacked her head with the Eifel tower, and as darkness creases itself in to neat folds in the head, the drums shout out a cue to the guitars and they in turn twang over to the synthesizer for some support..a nice threesome they make, would'nt you say:Each coddling the other into tiny spasms of moans, then suddenly turn into orgasmic ecstasies that mould into voices of the backup vocalists crooning and she-the rock star-belting out that hit number (why do they call it a number, a song is made up of words,is it not?) This song, especially written for her by her former Junkie Boyfriend (who was lasted sighted in a cocaine rehab centre),was made up with the various combinations of four-letter words that began with a Fuck and ended often without cuming close to one!
The day the song made it to the radio music charts, Tammy the publicist ran over to her pent-house all panicky to tell her that a major womens' body was charging this way to protest against the explicit and derogatory lyrics. There she was this well-built, more like a doughnut coated with extra sugar, sliding her hand off her waists and gasping mouthfuls and tempering that with "Your song is rocking baby!" It's numero uno, if you know what I mean...blah...blah" Oh, for god sake react like a rock star will ya!", she finished, looking famished. All the rock star in her could retort was, there are lot of women, ey Tammy, Is that not good for you..you keep lamenting that you do not meet good women..there a whole bunch of them courtesy, mah song!" Aww, shucks, Tammy drooled, how can you think of fixing me up with a date in a situation like this, and do not even get me started on my love life, girlie"...
Well, that was six months ago, and this was today, here she was perfoming live at the Wemberly -- Sweaty armpits jostiling each other to catch a glimpse of her, men and women rubbing against each other, some to reach the stage, others mostly for mere titillations, she suspected. And amid this display of adulation, she whip-lashed, she strutted her stuff and drove the crowd into a frenzy.
Hell broke loose, the last thing she remembered was a shiny disco ball being hurled at her,she ducked, slipped and woke up to soft lights on an uneven cotton bed, with Tammy sitting beside her, ogling at Playboy. She had slept for 48 hours (Why can't these docs say it like it is, two days..I slept for two days..is it that difficult to be simple? Duh!)The concussion was apparently larger than the Eifel Tower..or Tammy thought so..taking that reluctant break from her beloved magazine, she quickly buzzed for the doctor and again proceeded to babble about how worried she was about all the bookings that had already been made, not that she was not concerned about her, but you see a lot depended on these tours. Bitch, I am half dead and you are pmsing over the damn tours, she thought, but could not garner enough energy to throw Tammy out of the room.
The doctor came rushing in with all the attendants and nurses otherwise not available to the ailing mankind.Three check ups/feel ups later, the toothy grin pronounced her fit and cautioned to take it easy for a while. No stage performances for a while, the tooth elf said. Tammy almost lunged forward to kill him, but the IV tube intervened (phew! Never been more glad of a tube before in my life)
While Tammy wrestled her inner demons,she geared up to fight her own. All her life, she had struggled to achieve fame and fortune.Now that she had it, it did not make her any happier.The craving for more was not there anymore.
It took her three tiring days in the hospital and even more fatiguing calculations of her total worth, to realise she was rich enough to buy a small country.
So much to Tammy's chagrin, the rock star took the final bow, bought herself a castle in England and lived happily ever after.We want more, we want more, we want more...noises screaming into her head. She opened her eyes.Wemberly was still crowded and raring to go. A guitar
string had come undone. There she was dripping sweat still standing where she was. The castle was nowhere in sight, but her subjects were waiting for more. With chants of encores and mores, the threesome sprung into action again. Her voice cracked up to raise havoc again. "Damn! Will have to begin day-dreaming again to escape this pain",need more C(17)H(21)NO(4), need more.. And As "need more" screeched its way illegally into the lyrics, a new song was born,a new star was reborn. "There was no escaping this addiction. She was a rock star and she was here to stay..Whether she liked it or not.Might as well make a note of these thoughts...will defi come in handy on Oprah!"
This is how the Rock Star was born, the autobiography made sense now. The book deal was sealed and so was her fate!
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Disclaimer: The owner of this blog is in no way responsible for this post. Blame the doppelgänger for this.
