Here's a funny one floating around the net. The Glamorous Life On The Road Please don't talk to me because: I've been on the road for ten weeks and my girlfriend is sleeping with another guy, and I've spent my birthday in Boise, Idaho, and I haven't had a good night's rest in a week because my bunk is too hot to sleep in, and I'm tired of eating bad deli food that is made up of sweaty processed cheese, and the opening act just moved all of my equipment, and I'm behind on my bills because, I just spent a hundred dollars on a stripper to pretend I'm special, and I can't find a place to buy stamps in this fucking hick town, and I'm tired of trying to find a good dinner for under the eight dollars that the promoter gave me, and I'm tired of maids banging on my hotel room door at eight in the morning saying 'Maid service' when I just went to sleep at six, and my dog just died, and I'm tired of bums in every city asking me for money, and young girls asking me how to get backstage, and drunks at the clubs spilling beer on my stuff and screaming into my ear and then they want to shake my hand and call me dude, and people saying 'great show' and you know your show sucked, and I have severe gig butt and the bugs at front of house are eating me alive, and the guitarist is standing in a puddle of water, and the monitor man didn't write down our settings, and the PA sucks, but it's OK because the house soundman said when Overkill was here they loved it, and I'm going to miss that shitty soundman because he's leaving on this big tour next week, but, he can't tell me who it is because then he'll have to kill me and he stands so close to me when I'm mixing that I feel like he's going to try to make a move on me, and his big PA sucks so bad that I want to die, and I wish I would so I wouldn't have to smell that smell of pot and cigarettes on my clothes and in my hair, and I wouldn't have to tolerate those Scarface wannabe's asking me if I want to buy drugs, and I should do drugs to help me get over the fact that some club owners are fucking me in my ass by giving me a useless lighting console and, a worthless lighting director who just got off his day job at Radio Shack, and I can't turn the stage lights off so I can focus, and the local sound company seems to think that we work for them, and I'm tired of people leaning on me, and men's rooms with no doors on the shitter, and someone just unplugged my gear, and someone is using my controller as an ashtray, and my case that reads 'No Drinks' also means 'No Fat Asses Holding A Drink', and other than these reasons... have a nice day and let's have a chat.

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