Fictional Sanchez Threatened by Actual True!
In the early 90s, Kurt Recently True split the "‘All this,’" Perhaps sour Sanchez’s "Lick the balls, balls, At this point the Wookie "Ted Rall!" NEXT WEEK:
Cobain somehow took up the notion it behooved him to brownnose True–grunge
completists in Sanchez’s devoted audience are encouraged to read the Cobain-penned
liner notes to Nirvana’s Incesticide for its bizarrely passionate
ass-lick of the English music press–culminating in True’s pushing
a hospital-dress-clad Cobain’s wheelchair onstage at the Reading
festival as a mocking retort to rumors of K.C.’s little heroin habit. "Which,
the Sister of Sanchez interjects, was obviously a preposterous notion,"
interjected the Sister of Sanchez. The unfortunate outcome of this was that
squatty, homely Everett gained an inexplicable amount of actual juice. Sanchez
fondly recalls being at Max Fish in 1995, during the CMJ festival,
watching a super-fucked-up True ricochet sousedly between the bar and the pinball
machines. Later that same night, True would forget which hotel he was staying
at, and an obliging A&R guy from the West Coast would ride around in a cab
with True for an hour, circling midtown as he struggled to recognize his hotel
and periodically throw up out the window. But there at the bar, Sanchez was
conversing with the head of a significant British indie label, who cheerfully
pointed out that he would be escorting True to a showcase for a new signing
of his. "Do you know how I know if a record of mine’s going to be
a hit?" asked the label head rhetorically. "If Everett True is throwing
up in my bathroom at the Rhiga at 3 a.m. during CMJ, it’s going
to be a hit."
UK for Seattle, where he briefly edited the music section of The Stranger,
only to be replaced by former NYPress writer/receptionist double threat
Erin Franzman. The sources of all-seeing Sanchez report that True claims
to have been driven out of Washington state and to Australia due to some unmentioned
nefarious deed done by his girlfriend. Unsuckerable Sanchez, however, posits
that True–who has, numerous times, in print, before the eyes of God and
the citizens of the Western World, asserted that there is some esthetic worth
to the Kelley Deal 6000–was unqualified due to his inability to
tell the difference between his own asshole and a techno record. And, in any
case, realistic Sanchez believes that his own pudgy and disgusting self will
be involved in a hot threesome with Countess Vaughn and Melissa Auf
Der Maur before any woman deigns to touch True.
tsk-tsked the Sister of Sanchez, "‘and space-conscious Sanchez was
still unable to recount the time he witnessed the horror of True boogie-ing
to the Verlaines at CBGB,’ the Sister of Sanchez tsk-tsks."
vehement grousing should be rescinded in the face of the far more tactile woes
being suffered by his roommate, Glum Whitey. It appears that the chorus
hook to a signature tune of Glum Whitey’s perennially non-unit-shifting
pop combo has been rather blatantly bitten by a pretty-boy singer recently in
vogue–a constant presence on TRL, a sales force, and clearly an
act who can afford a legal bill a lot bigger than Glum Whitey could ever dream
of paying. Hence, it would seem that Glum Whitey will not receive even the tiniest
crumb of financial recompense. Taking matters into his own hands, Glum Whitey
has recently been cooking up a counterversion of the ripped-off song, which
samples the pop singer’s bite of the Glum Whitey-penned chorus, and otherwise
consists of long, detailed verses about fucking men.
lick the balls, balls," crooned Glum Whitey in the next room as he gently
strummed a G chord.
entered, wearing an oversized ass-mask fashioned out of foam–her Halloween
costume. "Who am I?" asked the Wookie eagerly, the foam cheeks vibrating
as she spoke.
yelled superdeductive Sanchez and his Sister, correctly and simultaneously.
Soothing Sanchez continues to give his people the hope to soldier on in a post-Carson-and-Love
world!