Steven Hunley
05-01-2010, 12:14 AM
The Stones make me Sick
By
Steven Hunley
Mick makes me sick. He’s a million years old but he rocks like a teen. He was never handsome, what with his abba-zabba lips, yet he’s had every woman he ever wanted and a few he didn’t. And if that wasn’t enough, he’s friends with Keith.
Keith makes me sick. No matter how much trouble he gets into he always gets out. He can play guitar and has moves only a reformed junkie or coke-fiend could make up. He always does just what he wants. He’s a pirate and a rock star at the same time. I was even more jealous when he snorted his dad’s ashes, though I knew it was only out of respect.
Charlie makes me sick too. Although he’s the youngest he appears to be the oldest. He puts up with the rest of them so well, and lays down their beat. Without him they’d be nothing, yet he’s the tight-lipped one who never talks.
Ron makes me sick as well. He was in Small Faces when they changed their name to just Faces, and he knew Rod Stewart. He works so well with Keith; one could say they were mis-matched twins. For this reason and for his nose I am so jealous.
Bill makes me ill. He’s the least handsome of all the Stones but is reputed to be the best at “chatting up” the birds. He has mastered the base guitar, an instrument of only four strings that I failed at mastering. Plus he knows the blues. Of these accomplishments I am upset.
But that’s not all, nor everyone.
Eric makes me sick. In his career he has waded through every drug known to man, and survived, and is therefore eminently qualified to sing the blues. He knows who Robert Johnson was, and finally got to marry Layla, George Harrison’s wife. Eric is an instant stomach upset.
Jimi makes me sick too. He could wrench more kinds of sounds out of an electric guitar than any electric guitar had to offer, has a sense of humor, and the unsurpassed sense to die young. For this reason he makes me most sick of all. I will forever miss the sickness that he has inflicted upon me.
By
Steven Hunley
Mick makes me sick. He’s a million years old but he rocks like a teen. He was never handsome, what with his abba-zabba lips, yet he’s had every woman he ever wanted and a few he didn’t. And if that wasn’t enough, he’s friends with Keith.
Keith makes me sick. No matter how much trouble he gets into he always gets out. He can play guitar and has moves only a reformed junkie or coke-fiend could make up. He always does just what he wants. He’s a pirate and a rock star at the same time. I was even more jealous when he snorted his dad’s ashes, though I knew it was only out of respect.
Charlie makes me sick too. Although he’s the youngest he appears to be the oldest. He puts up with the rest of them so well, and lays down their beat. Without him they’d be nothing, yet he’s the tight-lipped one who never talks.
Ron makes me sick as well. He was in Small Faces when they changed their name to just Faces, and he knew Rod Stewart. He works so well with Keith; one could say they were mis-matched twins. For this reason and for his nose I am so jealous.
Bill makes me ill. He’s the least handsome of all the Stones but is reputed to be the best at “chatting up” the birds. He has mastered the base guitar, an instrument of only four strings that I failed at mastering. Plus he knows the blues. Of these accomplishments I am upset.
But that’s not all, nor everyone.
Eric makes me sick. In his career he has waded through every drug known to man, and survived, and is therefore eminently qualified to sing the blues. He knows who Robert Johnson was, and finally got to marry Layla, George Harrison’s wife. Eric is an instant stomach upset.
Jimi makes me sick too. He could wrench more kinds of sounds out of an electric guitar than any electric guitar had to offer, has a sense of humor, and the unsurpassed sense to die young. For this reason he makes me most sick of all. I will forever miss the sickness that he has inflicted upon me.