"They do not," I replied, trying to maintain a semblance of calm.
"Yes, they do," persisted my co-worker. "Black 47 blows."
"Stop that right now," I said, a little more sharply, "or I might have to defenestrate you."
What I really wanted to say would have been a stream-of-consciousness, run-on rant along the lines of:
American Idol sucks * Simon Cowell is a pompous twat * I hate television * I never watch TV if I can help it * do not ask me if I am familiar with such and such a commercial * I DO NOT WATCH TV!!!! * money does not equal talent * boobs are not more significant than brains * no, I do not want to discuss politics or conspiracies * this subject does not belong in the workplace * since when is literature not "real?" * it's people like you who never read a novel that force me to work in a f*cking FACTORY...
...and so forth.
As far as music goes, I have no intention of ever dressing fancy, putting on make-up, getting contact lenses, or wearing foundation garments that will make my boobs stick out further. It's about my words and music, NOT how good I look, or how many Simon Cowell types I can impress if I play the game. I ain't playing. Period. F*ck that sh*t. If I have no integrity as an artist, then I have no right to BE one. To mine own self be true, dig? Like it or lump it.
Jello Biafra has it right, and I grinned like an idiot as he fanned the flames through my headphones this afternoon. "Pull My Strings" is f*cking BRILLIANT!!!!! But if you're looking for a G-rated song, DON'T click on this video. It's quite naughty, but to me, delightfully so.
As far as writing goes, I want to write novels I can still be satisfied with after publication. If it doesn't mean something to me, why bother? Chances are, it wouldn't mean anything to anyone else, either.
I may vanish in obscurity, but by God, I will NOT go to my grave with a big brown stripe running the length of my nose. I may not have a fortune to leave behind, but I will go with my artist's soul intact, knowing I have stuck to my guns and maintained a high standard.
So, put that in your pipe and smoke it!
And here is Mr. Hart, to further bolster my resolve...