I Hate Amateur Critics

Art by Joe Vaux

Art by Joe Vaux





I Hate Amateur Critics



Is there really anything new under the sun?

Hasn’t everything worth saying already been said?

Haven’t all musical notes already been played?


Radiohead: “Creep” IS REALLY

“Air That I Breathe” (The Hollies)


Green Day: “Brain Stew” IS REALLY

“25 or 6 to 4” (Chicago)


Violent Femmes: “Gone Daddy Gone” IS REALLY

“Blind Man Sitting By The Side Of The Road” (traditional gospel song)


Isley Brothers: “Twist and Shout” IS REALLY

“La Bamba” (Mexican folk song)


Sublime: “Love Is What I Got” IS REALLY

“Lady Madonna” (Beatles)


The Smiths: “How Soon Is Now”: IS REALLY

“Drunken Quint boat scene from Jaws” (John Williams)


Cattleprod: “Donkey Ears” IS REALLY

“Heart and Soul” (every amateur musician that gets near a piano)


I had just gotten off stage and was pouring brewed hops into my temporary grain storage facility when a small shadow sat down beside me.

“I think your last song sucked,” it said.

“Thanks. Do you write music?” I asked, after deciding not to kill him with my legally concealed weapon.

He laughed. “Shit, no!” 

“Then I’ll wait until you compose yourself,” I said, smirking at my own wit.

Then I shot him. Partly because I hate amateur critics but mostly just to watch him die.

But right then the bartender asked if I wanted another drink and distracted me, so I missed it and had to shoot another guy who fell behind the pool table and was already dead by the time I got there, so I eventually had to shoot about seven.

Stuff like this always happen to me:

 I pick stuff in stores that won’t scan

  • One time, I knew the phone was going to ring, and then it did
  • I have seen UFO’s (never been probed, but probe curious)
  • I once went to the fridge and forgot what for
  •  Homeless guys always ask me for spare change (there is no such thing as spare change)

Life is exhausting. It has me bent over, ramming its lessons into me without a lubricant and gleefully slapping my ass with insight.

So what is today’s lesson?

Just this: don’t talk to me, just buy me beer.

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