Arsenic for the boys and girls

Zz. I do have alot of things I could ramble about on and on and on. But it really wouldn't matter much, would it? Some bloghopper will prolly just smile faintly and tag. And off he/she goes, on to the next one. Still, now that I'm here, I might as well write something.

I believe all well-adjusted guys will have a rock band fantasy. In the fantasy I envision the perfect rock band. Naturally, this rock band wouldn't be perfect perfect, coz that'd just be boring. The cracks in the rock are what tells the stories.

The guitarist would have the classic emo fringe, and he'll hide his eyes behind it. He'll be really dexterous and amazing with the guitar, shredding off riffs like they're nothing to him. He'll use his first and favourite guitar in every single concert that they play, and he'll even have a name for it. "Fluffy", maybe. (This imaginary dude is inspired by: Jade Puget, the Placebo guy and the Good Charlotte guy.)

The drummer will be tatooed all over and he likes to play shirtless, the glistening sweat on his brow and chest as he beats the shit outta the skins. Does he have a mohawk? Maybe. The drummer throws his sticks to the crowd after every song, which induces a scramble in the mosh pit each time. The drummer grins to himself. (This imaginary dude is inspired by: Andy Hurley, the other Placebo guy and the White Stripes chick.)

The vocalist reflects my contempt for lead singers who are the only guys who show up in music videos and are virtually the only recognizable face in the band. So this guy is actually pretty shy, but he's just so darn good. He has the quiet malice of Davy Havok, the vocal fluidity of Patrick Stump and the sarcastic drawl of Gerard Way. Alright, he's not human. He effortlessly switches from screamo to regular singing and back again. Between songs the hides in the shadows that the spotlights didn't catch and leaves and banter with the crowd to the other guys in the band. (Shit, I think I'm in love.)

The bassist is the dude with the rock star attitude. He likes his leather jackets and "fashionably dishevelled hair". He dives into the mosh pit on a regular basis, and brings his bass with him, playing as the crowd throws him around. He's the dude who scores with the chicks backstage and has a problem with alchohol. Oddly, he's the lyricist, and his words are those that haunt you while you lie in bed after the concert and you finally get what they mean. He chimes in on the screamo bits of the song and he does that twirly thingy as his notes bend the walls of the stadium inwards, the crowd gripped in the reverb. (This imaginary dude is inspired by Pete Wentz, for the jackass bits.)

The band shifts their musical style from one rock variant to another with every record they put out. The fans are constantly having flame wars over which album is better than which, but the true diehards just lap up everything they record. The band has a strong underground following, and are loved by critics. They never manage to break into mainstream music, but that's okay. They only do it for the scars and stories, not the fame.