Thursday, June 18, 2015


Musicians are interesting guys to date and I've had my heart broken by two. I actually know a few and I'm good friends with them but only because I never dated them. Recently, I had a chance to hang out with a musician. And yeah he just ended up being not what he pretended to be. So... C'est La Vie and goodbye to the music man. 

Which brings me to an interesting story... It was inspired by a musician friend and to this day he doesn't forgive me for it. He's a nice guy and I won't date him but my theory was simple: what happens if one of the girls you cheated on is still sore about it? Ha.

Kisses, m.

How to Kill A Rock Star

“WHY WON’T YOU DIE?!” I shriek as I raise my head up out of pure frustration and release my grip around his neck. I just wasted the last 15 minutes trying to strangle this bastard with a handful of guitar strings to no such luck. The game is getting old now. I just want this bastard dead. There are tiny pieces of metal embedded in the gaping circular wound wrapped around his neck, which looks a lot more like a rug burn than a strangulation scar. “YOU FUCKER.” I kick the chair over, breaking as it falls and his limp body sprawls out onto the floor, still alive. At least he’s unconscious.


“I never did care for your music anyway,” was the last thing I said to this SOB before he passed out from the drugs I slipped in his whiskey. Out cold before I ever went to work. The look on his face was complete shock as he went down with a bang. If you’ve seen one, then you’ve seen ‘em all, rockers and their poison. Johnny Black was no exception. He took it like a pro too. Johnny Black. Black labeled - Just how he liked his whiskey. Black heart - How he liked to treat his women. Breaking hearts every show, every town. Parading around with his long line of women to establish his rock star legacy. Quite honestly he’s made a fool of me for the very last time. Filth. Trash. Scum. Methodically I look around the room. Guitar strings will do nicely, after I make him suffer a little.

Gently I rub his face as he comes to. “Johnny, honey, you can go ahead and scream if you want, but no one will hear you. That backup band of yours is having a ball out on stage right now.” The noise from the crowd and music seeps through the dressing room walls and fills the quiet spaces. He smiles and raises his head. I run my fingers through his dark tousled hair and pull, turning his eyes toward mine. He knows I’ve tied him up. He can’t struggle. I pull out my knife and smile. Wink at him one last time before I cut off a finger. He takes it. “Hard to play guitar without one of those?” I question. Silence and a smile.

Several fingers later, he’s far less cooperative. “Johnny, I’m gonna cut out your tongue.” I lean in and whisper in his ear. Oh and that’s it. He’s struggling now. His screams release into a sea of din for no one but me to enjoy. Such beautiful music his pain produces. I grab his hair and brace his head. I put my blade to his neck. He stops and gives me his full attention. I slice in and let some blood spill out this artificial wound. Calm. Good. Now the fun begins…

Awake. Out of options, he lays before me on the floor, gagged and tied down where I control his fate. I bend down and straddle his torso as I stick him with my sharp dagger. It finds a home in his gut, sweetly ever so gently entering without the least resistance. Twisting and tugging my tool upward I make my way up his belly to the base of his rib cage and shove. He releases an agonizing scream of pain that spills out past the crimson gag. Damn! There’s a knock at the door. At this moment this bastard dying is the least of my problems. “Almost more trouble than this is worth,” are my thoughts as I wipe the blood clean from my dagger and slowly rise to attend to this visitor. Probably just another groupie. These girls never quit. “Fucker!” As I kick his struggling body before I walk towards the door. He grunts, but no words can escape. Tear open my blouse and show some skin in case it’s his manager interrupting.

Before I get to the door. “Johnny , you’re on again in five. Get it together,” barks the stage hand as he walks away. This is yet another stop in another seedy roadside bar. Tonight it’s Hot House, Louisiana, which is an insignificant blip so small they’d consider it a mistake and it’s most definitely off the maps. Considering which, nobody would notice if you disappeared out here in the middle of no where. He’s due out onstage at 11 pm. for the second show to close out the night. Step back to the scene of my crime. He watches me as I move closer. Tears roll down his cheek. He’s got five minutes left to live. No more games. This ends now. I pull out my revolver to finish the job.

Band strikes up the same old song as I leave out the back. Exit stage door left. Out into the dark night once again. Back to the heartbreak hotel to mend what’s left of my broken heart.

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