Dublin Vice
I know Miami Vice sounds more exotic, but as long as I can go to jail because I answer “yes” to the –let’s face it quite stupid- question: “Did you come to assassinate our Supreme Leader, the Envoy of God, George II”, I’m not going to the merry old land of Bush. So Dublin Vice will have to do. No palm trees, no Ferrari’s, no hot chicks in mini skirts. Just bums, needles and dog shit on the pavement.
Anyway. Here’s my vice:
I’m a sucker for music. And even in the days of MP3’s, iPods and Kazaa I only want the real stuff. I spend huge amounts of money on CD’s. Yesterday I went mental at HMV and Tower-records, thanks to the Virtu-compilation I bought on Monday.
If I would have spent the same amount on coke, I would have been as high as a kite for weeks on end. Then again, I might have made great music myself. Seriously. Do you really think John and Paul were sober when they thought they were residing in a brightly coloured vessel that allows you to travel 80.000 leagues beneath the sea? Right then.
But you see, I don’t do drugs. I don’t smoke. I don’t really drink. Id est, I don’t buy alcohol to get pissed all by my self at home. But then again where would be the fun in that? Getting pissed is only fun when you can throw up in public and have half the city -who’s just as drunk as you on any given Sunday (2 am)- mocking you. Or when you can piss against a city landmark (and on your own shoes, off course). Or pick a fight with a perfectly lovable guy because he looked funny at your girlfriend, even though you haven’t had a girlfriend in ages (because you’re a moaning wino).
But I was making what is turning out to be a quite elaborate point on why it is okay for me to spend so much on music.
It’s okay because I want to! It’s my bloody money, isn’t it? If I want to blow it all on music, that’s my problem. And I only spend it on interesting and good music. No Britney for me. Oops, I did it again. What? Got married again, you drunken slut? Westlife? Well, allow ME to be Frank. You five combined have about the same amount off talent as Francis Alberts ingrowing toe-nail. Christina Aguilera? Genie ON the bottle! You’re Satans’ spawn, made great by the one true God in this world: commercialism! That’s the Uber-vice: selling people loads of crap they don’t need. Everything is image, no contents. And we buy it, literaly…
I know Miami Vice sounds more exotic, but as long as I can go to jail because I answer “yes” to the –let’s face it quite stupid- question: “Did you come to assassinate our Supreme Leader, the Envoy of God, George II”, I’m not going to the merry old land of Bush. So Dublin Vice will have to do. No palm trees, no Ferrari’s, no hot chicks in mini skirts. Just bums, needles and dog shit on the pavement.
Anyway. Here’s my vice:
I’m a sucker for music. And even in the days of MP3’s, iPods and Kazaa I only want the real stuff. I spend huge amounts of money on CD’s. Yesterday I went mental at HMV and Tower-records, thanks to the Virtu-compilation I bought on Monday.
If I would have spent the same amount on coke, I would have been as high as a kite for weeks on end. Then again, I might have made great music myself. Seriously. Do you really think John and Paul were sober when they thought they were residing in a brightly coloured vessel that allows you to travel 80.000 leagues beneath the sea? Right then.
But you see, I don’t do drugs. I don’t smoke. I don’t really drink. Id est, I don’t buy alcohol to get pissed all by my self at home. But then again where would be the fun in that? Getting pissed is only fun when you can throw up in public and have half the city -who’s just as drunk as you on any given Sunday (2 am)- mocking you. Or when you can piss against a city landmark (and on your own shoes, off course). Or pick a fight with a perfectly lovable guy because he looked funny at your girlfriend, even though you haven’t had a girlfriend in ages (because you’re a moaning wino).
But I was making what is turning out to be a quite elaborate point on why it is okay for me to spend so much on music.
It’s okay because I want to! It’s my bloody money, isn’t it? If I want to blow it all on music, that’s my problem. And I only spend it on interesting and good music. No Britney for me. Oops, I did it again. What? Got married again, you drunken slut? Westlife? Well, allow ME to be Frank. You five combined have about the same amount off talent as Francis Alberts ingrowing toe-nail. Christina Aguilera? Genie ON the bottle! You’re Satans’ spawn, made great by the one true God in this world: commercialism! That’s the Uber-vice: selling people loads of crap they don’t need. Everything is image, no contents. And we buy it, literaly…
