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Writer's Block: Pet Peeve

What is the most annoying sound in the entire world?

"Hey...want to hear the most annoying sound in the world? EAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"GUYS. GUYS. GUYS. Fellas. Can we...listen to the radio or something?

"Radio? Pfft, haha, who needs a radio...Ready Harry?"











lmfao. you get it.

I was at George's apartment, sharing a bottle of Scotch with him when we heard music coming from upstairs. George had told me Brian would have parties with all his friends, and that was probably one of them.

"Hey, lets go visit Brian." I grinned broadly, and he agreed. We both made out way to Brian's apartment and I knocked on the door.

"Hey Brian!" I looked passed him, seeing a few men I'd never met before. "Why weren't we invited to this little get together of yours? I'm sure you don't mind if we join, right?" It took all I had to not laugh, and I stepped passed him.
"I don't fucking get you Lennon! He can't play, he doesn't even face the crowd!" I pushed him, angrily. "You're the one that's so set on getting famous, but he's holding us back, and you fucking know it!"

I was furious, and everything that I'd been thinking over the past few weeks just lashed out. And Stuart hadn't even really done bad today, which had lead to John just praising Stu like he was the best fucking bassist ever.

So maybe I was jealous, but still. We needed a new bassist.

Aug. 31st, 2008

I was sitting next to John on the couch of his hotel room. George was in mine, talking to Ringo.

John had a notebook in his lap, a pencil in hand.

"How's the song coming?" I asked, leaning over to peak at the notebook.

Writer's Block: On Your Tombstone

What do you want written on your gravestone and why?

This rather simple epitaph will save your hide, your falling mind:

Fate isn't what we're up against, there's no design, no flaws to find.