One hot kid told me I was hot and showed me his boner for no reason, one creepy douche from Pakistan or some shit got really excited and asked to see my tits when I said I was sixteen, and I had a very nice conversation with a nice Italian man.
No, fangirl, I DON'T have to respect Justin Bieber.
What the fuck has he done that should earn my respect? Nothing. He’s a pretentious little asshole who happened to become famous overnight and now has little girls drooling over him.
There’s one little thing that keeps me from respecting him.
He never had to fucking work to get where he is.
The bands I love did. Every one of them. They came about in a time when you had to work yourself to death to make it big. There was no YouTube, no Facebook, no MySpace, and no Twitter to advertise yourself on.
Not even The Beatles, arguably the greatest band of all time, had an easy rise to fame.
AC/DC, my favorite band ever, worked their asses off nonstop for seven years to become popular around the world. It killed Bon Scott, an amazing frontman.
The Who had a tough time taking over the world. It killed Keith Moon, the greatest drummer in the world.
Led Zeppelin didn’t have it easy. It killed John Bonham, an amazing drummer. I don’t even like Zeppelin, but I respect them and him.
There were so many casualties because of the stress and excess that was the struggle for success for the rock and roll bands of the 60’s and 70’s, combined with the culture at the time, that when I look at those people, and back at the Biebers and Hannah Montanas of now, it kills me. It seems like talent is invalid nowadays, and all you need to become a sensation is a pretty face, autotune, and “edgy” rap lyrics.
No one is blowing up hotel toilets or throwing TV’s out the window or blowing their drums up on TV or beating the shit out of their guitar out of pure frustration and not giving a shit what anyone thinks. Everything is about image nowadays, and that’s not what music is about.
WHERE THE FUCKING FUCK ARE MY UNION JACK DRUMSTICKS THEY ARE NOT ANYWHERE NEAR MY DRUMS AND WHERE THE FUCK ELSE WOULD THEY BE I KNOW MY SISTER DID IT HOLY SHIT I AM OING TO KILL HER THOSE THINGS WERE AMAZING THEY COST ME LIKE FIFTEEN BUCKS AT EPCOT
It was a weird experience. It talked a lot about me being “sugar high” and then when I’d “crash” and be sad. Now that I know what all of that is, it does make sense.
But then I got to a page and all it said was:
"I remember a few years ago when I told mommy I love my life. But now I don’t and sometimes I wish I wasn’t alive. Why won’t mommy and daddy believe me that I’m really sad a lot and I never know why? And I should probably stop eating so much candy because I don’t like being hyper a lot because it feels weird and especially when I want to sleep but I’m hyper and I never even ate."
I’m throwing it out and I can’t read any more. I feel like I’m going to puke.
Because in rock, you have families like the Davies brothers and the Gallagher brothers who make a band together and end up never speaking to each other and bad mouthing each other in the media.
When Mal and Ang started AC/DC and they told their dad, he said he’d give them a week before they tried to kill each other. And thirty years later, they’ve taken over the world multiple times. They seem to have gotten so close. The other band members have said that it’s almost like they have a psychic connection.
I absolutely adore them because they’ve been through so much together and instead of it tearing them apart, it’s only brought them closer together.
But I never ever want to have to see one of them go through the other’s death. I feel like it would kill them.