Friday, April 10, 2009

Billy Bob, again.

Holy, leapin’ crackers there, Billy Bob, but here it is only 24-hours after you sulked your way through an interview on CBC where you felt it necessary to insult your band’s Canadian fans and now you are mumbling just how much you love Canada. “I love Canada, absolutely,” you say through the butt-smoke, meaning I guess that you dislike your band’s fans while you “love” the country they live in. Oh how wackily celebrity-esque can you be? It’s either that or maybe you are just gutless.

Let’s see now, what was it you said yesterday? Oh yes, “Canadian audiences seem to be very reserved. We tend to play places where people throw things at each other. Here, they just sort of sit there and it doesn’t matter what you say to them. It’s mashed potatoes but no gravy.” Yeah, that’s right. Then now you say, “I was talking about the guy who was interviewing me. I don’t know his name.” (It’s Jian Ghomeshi there Billy Bob. I know that some of you folks from south of the 49th tend to have trouble with “foreign” sounding names so maybe that’s why you don’t know his name. That and it was like 6:00 in the morning and that is pretty early for a self-involved celebrity to have to be up and awake.) You know what, Billy Bob? I think you were talking about Canada and Canadians with the mashed potato thing. So I wonder why you would try to pretend you didn’t mean what you said in the way that you obviously meant it? Try this conversation on for size:

Boxmaster guy #2: Gosh boss. Maybe you shouldn’t have insulted the people who are coming to watch us play.

Billy Bob (boss): Shut-up and clean my toilet. I want you see your face in it.

B. guy #2: Yes sir. It’s just that (B.guy#3) and I were talking and…

B.B.(b): What!? I told you about that. You guys don’t talk unless I give you permission. That’s the rules and you know it. Pick that bit of crud out from under my toenail.

B. guy #3: Sir, what we’re trying to say is that these Canadians are paying money to see us…

B.B. (b): Gawdamn what did I tell you. Nobody paid nothing to see you all. If it weren’t for me you would all still be sitting in some studio hoping someone will let you play. The way it works is this; I tell you what to do and think and you do it. Everybody’s happy. Lick my armpits, they’re starting to smell and we celebrities cannot smell ever!

B. guy #2: Sir. What if you just say something about how you like Canada or something like that? That guy Jian…

B.B.(b): So this is some sort of mutiny or something? You guys are siding with that foreigner, is that right? You’re worried that he is some sort of terrorist with that name, right? That’s it, right?

Both B guys together: No sir. We know that with you around we don’t have to be afraid of anything else. No. No.

B.B.(b): Shut-up. You guys make me sick. You’re all worthless and weak. Just to make it so I’m not changing your diapers for the rest of the tour I’ll say something nice about these f***ing Canadians, but you guys are going to pay. I’ll tell you that right now. My bed better be extra warm and comfy tonight, and we are going to play ‘cliff-dive’ later, full contact! Understand?

Both B guys together: Yes sir. Oh, thank-you sir. You’re the best boss ever.

B.B.(b): Shut-up!

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Anyway… Humouroceros

Billy Bob with a smoke.
What a dick.


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