Rostrum

I've been sticking my neck out for these people for a while, and now they string me up here like a ghost between the register and this buck-toothed kalimba, no offense. Not anymore. Today is the the day. I am one unlocked storefront door from going home with a rock god and shaking stadiums from here to the mother lovin' Rose Bowl. I can feel it. It's Woodstock II, baby! Can you imagine who is going to be in here? Big names, I tell you, big names. Don't fret, xylophone, you'll get your day in the sun. But today is my day. Do it, Billy. Turn on that neon NEPO sign and let's make this happen.

Yes! Here they come. Look there, its skeletal superstar of a million scarves and his crew, that video Billy always puts on the monitor with the elevator and the woman with curves like a Stratocaster. Oh, behind them, check it out. The masters of puppets; I mean, I think, what's with the hair? Hot damn, I see dookie punk and claymation sledghammer guy with his mechanic friends from the old testament. There's that band named after the main guy...not the jovial one, the, uh, Hindu-sounding one by way of Mexico. Oye cómo va, sousaphone; shit just got real!

Where's the guns slash roses dude and the man in black? They get picked up in Reno? No matter. It's a cornucopia . I am so amped. No need to be picky here. Just gleam. Let the light bounce off me. Cross that bridge. That's it. You are all noticing me now, aren't you? I can sustain this all day, people. Flying V, stop poking me in the nut. I'm tellin' you, I'm strapped. I WILL bust a capo in yo' ass if you don't quit it.

Oh no. Oh shit. Look who's trying to slide over from the cheap seats. It can't be. It's that flat broke, mid-life crisis divorcé who only comes up here when he sees his kids once a month and never buys anything. You know, that guy Billy calls Paul. What the hell kind of an arena marquis name is Paul? What, did he pedal all the way up here on an old tricycle from the Wawa in Pennsylvania? Sharp as a ball-peen hammer, that one. Stop Paul. Don't come any closer. Stand there and riff a while with your buddy. Let these heroes through while you delve into a little point and counterpoint about Arbor Day and boysenberry jam. Nothing to see here. Oh, I don't like this one lick. He's coming over. No whammies. No whammies. No whammies. Come on! More edge, less Paul. It's like some horrible, cognitive dissonance. I am destined to shred, I tell you, I'm going scream into the night to a million wet monkeys and have models drink Champaign off my knob. I cannot go home to get poorly fingered through ten-thousand Dad jokes. He's got a credit card out! Why is oboe laughing?!