I remember the first time I met Chrispy. He was making Lipton teabag frittatas over a hot fire in Monument Park, New Mexico. Jim Morrison showed up and Chrispy tore the living crap out of him for LA Woman (the album, not the song). Morrison admitted he was phoning it in and immolated himself. Chrispy baked Morrison's kidneys and we lived for two more days until we were rescued by Texas Rangers who took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.
wow! that's a great chrispy story! I have one to tell...
I was a horseback cop in NYC. One night I picked up a wiry guy with tousled blonde hair, who kept telling me that Lou Reed would save the world. I beat him around the face and neck with my billy club, but he wouldn't stop talking. I finally realized he was merely drunk and underfed, and I figured I should take him home, and asked him where he lived. He said 'hope street', so I beat him to an inch of his life. but sure enough, he lives on hope street. and he plays me 'Coney Island Baby' and I immediately go limp with depression. What have I become? Shortly after, I go vegan. I'll never forget Chrispy.
C'mon stinkrock. You've never heard 'Coney Island Baby'? 'Cos you'd believe if you'd heard it. Chrispy is gone. He's an angel. He lives on a cloud and tries to modify his harp so it takes Tele pickups.
I should know. I'm God. I brought him here to mix my audiobook.
17 comments:
As do I...
Jackson warned us that he didn't care about blogging.
I think he's at the Grand Canyon eating franks and beans out of a flashlight with Bobby and Cindy.
Is the Chrispy obit post?
I remember the first time I met Chrispy. He was making Lipton teabag frittatas over a hot fire in Monument Park, New Mexico. Jim Morrison showed up and Chrispy tore the living crap out of him for LA Woman (the album, not the song). Morrison admitted he was phoning it in and immolated himself. Chrispy baked Morrison's kidneys and we lived for two more days until we were rescued by Texas Rangers who took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.
wow! that's a great chrispy story! I have one to tell...
I was a horseback cop in NYC. One night I picked up a wiry guy with tousled blonde hair, who kept telling me that Lou Reed would save the world. I beat him around the face and neck with my billy club, but he wouldn't stop talking. I finally realized he was merely drunk and underfed, and I figured I should take him home, and asked him where he lived. He said 'hope street', so I beat him to an inch of his life. but sure enough, he lives on hope street. and he plays me 'Coney Island Baby' and I immediately go limp with depression. What have I become? Shortly after, I go vegan. I'll never forget Chrispy.
That story's a crock of shit. You've never met Chrispy.
C'mon stinkrock. You've never heard 'Coney Island Baby'? 'Cos you'd believe if you'd heard it. Chrispy is gone. He's an angel. He lives on a cloud and tries to modify his harp so it takes Tele pickups.
I should know. I'm God. I brought him here to mix my audiobook.
What the fuck?
Seriously. I'm God.
That's unpossible! What have you done with Chrispy?
He's safe. Trust me. And why would I tell you? Your blog sucks!
yeah, I know. I thought I could be a writer, but I'm not cut out for it.
it's okay. I Forgive you. I can see you're trying.
Those are kind words. But I'm not really trying. I'm really just curious where Chrispy is.
I wish I knew...I wish I knew...
Is there no God? Is there no God?
(/scene)
I don't know if anonymous is God or not, but I'm pretty sure he knows Chrispy. Modifying his harp for tele pickups is the give away for me.
But then he says Stinkrock's blog sucks, not a true statement. Maybe it is God, but he's pissed at Stinkrock and his readers for jocking on Elvis.
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