Five Minutes (or CHUG)

I want to be a famous, world-renowned, feared, admired, love-hated Rock Star. Huge white lights like a thousand suns burning the skin on my thin face as I scream lyrics, misting the microphone with hot, rock-star breath! I want an enormous video screen blasting my sweating, angst-crossed body surrounded by fireworks and pyrotechnics and delirious fans. Maybe I wasn't given enough love as a child. I want to be Phil Collins. Apparently, he doesn't do any drugs and is a pleasure to work with. That sounds wonderful to me.

How to do it, how to do it, how to do it...

Hmmmm. The wind-up makes good music, is received well by fans and friends, but it's taking forever to finish an album and move on to whatever is next. Speaking of which, what is next? Should we play in other cities? And how do we sell our album? And how do we get more people to hear it? Okay, I've made a decision: I'm out of the band! Off to pursue my solo career just like Sir Collins. Glorious Phil with his adult easy-listening and bizarre voice and "Taaaaaaake, take me hoommmmme. CAUSE I DON'T REMEMBAH!!!"

Your goal can't be to become famous. Nobody likes those assholes. Since the Kardashians and Paris Hiltons won't read this, they won't mind if I use them as examples. Oh, and the family who lied about their kid going up in a balloon. And serial killers. All of the above wanted to be famous and either filmed themselves having sex (camera ads ten pounds and I'm too self-conscious), lied to the press (don't have a balloon or children), or killed many, many people (wouldn't want to put my mother through the stress of finding out her son is a psychopath).

So if the goal isn't to become famous, I'll just sit here and work and do things for the wind-up. I've decided to rejoin the band and go on a reunion tour. Our first and last stop will most likely be Arlene's Grocery. Maybe Japan. From now on, you can call me Chug. Or, if you prefer the German pronounciation: "Chooog"