Ozzy's Wife Trashes Billy Corgan!

Let pedantic Sanchez first say that he would question the judgment of Corgan for hiring a manager prone to talking shit about her clientele in public, regardless of their relative levels of brattitude. And, secondly, confused Sanchez must admit he has no idea what qualified her for the job in Corgan's eyes, excluding hauling an overweight alcoholic has-been by his hair into a solo career. "Indeed," interjected the Sister of Sanchez smartassedly, "the smartassed Sister of Sanchez interjects: 'there'll be no hair-hauling what with Corgan's Uncle Fester coif!'" Relieved Sanchez is ever so glad to have family around to deliver the de rigueur cheap shot on the Corgan Dome. But he digresses: whereas Osbourne may have drawn a sign on her forehead reading ARTISTS! DO NOT HIRE THIS BLAME GAME LOSER!, Sanchez suggests that a subtler reading of such hotheaded remarks might unearth a long-needed plea for artists to give up a pathological urge to be renaissance men. "'Oh! For the days when every interview didn't contain umpteen earnest repetitions of the word business,' laments the Sister of Sanchez," the Sister of Sanchez lamented. And conceding Sanchez must credit his Sister's sharpness; why, there was once a day when guitar players expanded their horizons by learning the piano. Not so these days, with Fred Durst-directed videos, Will Smith-owned management companies, Blink-182-run skater-merch websites and every MC and their mom photographed while draped clownishly in their own line of cookie-cutter designer streetwear.

"'Ever so Street! Street! Street!' lustfully pants the Sister of Sanchez!" the Sister of Sanchez panted lustfully. With the advent of home-studio technology, already the industry has begun to expect every lazy stoner who spent a decade's worth of couch potato time learning Led Zeppelin licks on the guitar to now, without regard to the learning curve on what is essentially a much bigger musical instrument with a lot more knobs on it, efficiently produce their own recordings at home. But rueful Sanchez informs his dedicated public better than that: the demise of expertise, Sanchez insists, might mean that the kvetching about the downturn in musical quality that began when the boomers got too old for their Cream LPs ("'Tiny purple fishes run laughing through your fingers,' quotes the Sister of Sanchez astutely," the Sister of Sanchez astutely quoted) might actually come to pass, and become more than the boo-hooing of oldsters robbed of a hobby.

But then, Sanchez has no time for scolding, pressed, as he is, to come up with a logo for his soon-to-be-debuted line of clothing at Sanchezcouture.org, and to persuade his editor to allow him both producer and executive producer credits, as well as a byline, on his own column. And the Sister of Sanchez? "The ambitious Sister of Sanchez has schemes to open either a nail salon or an auto body shop to capitalize on her considerable brand name value," schemed the ambitious Sister of Sanchez. "¿Quién es más Buttafuoco?"

"'Why do they never run a photograph of Mr. Blackwell along with his yearly rankings and yankings?' wonders aloud the Sister of Sanchez," the Sister of Sanchez wondered aloud. "Perhaps a look-see at the bizarre old fruit in his tinted spectacles would lessen the impact of his annual list?" Startled Sanchez must rush in to note that the blasphemous blatherings of his Sister must not be confused with the opinions of Sanchez! The seemingly otherwise-jobless Blackwell, who is frequently referred to as a fashion "maven," included Fiona Apple and Britney Spears in the list he released last week, describing Apple as "a kinked and curled Kewpie Doll wrapped in a collection of yesterday's fatal fashion frights." Always-alliterative Sanchez applauds admiringly! Mr. Blackwell: You my nigga! The positive side of the list oohs and aahs over such bright sartorial lights as Queen Elizabeth. "'Why, who won't they give column inches to these days,' yelped the Sister of Sanchez despairingly," despairingly yelped the Sister of Sanchez, who managed to crack a rolled-up newspaper on her brother's knuckles?who made a most prudent attempt to delete-key her incautious quote into oblivion?before he could erase her dangerous sentiment.