Rock Accountant

Month: November, 2021

God’s Prison of Prayer

Until prayer is at last relieved of its propensity for selfishness God will be forced to exist.

It is why my life is so funny

I love everything about America.I don’t believe that every veteran is a hero. I believe that some are.I don’t believe black people are all good. But I know there are enough good ones to solve their problems.I know that wearing pink at football games does not make me more aware of breast cancer. My mind rarely wanders far from breasts.I don’t believe children, academics or pretty girls on TV should try to tell me how I can avoid insulting them.People should understand that I want to offend them. It is the only way I have to find out if they are idiots.That is how I pick my friends.It is why my life is so funny.

Lynyrd Skynyrd

The mirror buckled like an airless fighter punched in the midsection as the bottle hit it. Ronnie Van Zant had missed me. It was around the middle 1970s.
I had just started working as the tour accountant for The Who and Pete Rudge. Rudge, (“A Star is Born”) was the tour manager/manager for The Rolling Stones and The Who in North America. He was also the manager of Lynyrd Skynyrd. I was the tour manager for Genesis, which had broken up, and working for him was substantial for me.
He taught me how to do the show settlements for The Who, and I ran his New York office while he traveled from band to band, being what he was, extravagant. We booked tours for The Stones and waited for Jagger to cancel them.
One morning I was thrown into a limo, and we headed out to the airport to meet Ronnie Van Zant, the lead singer for Lynyrd Skynyrd. Rudge hallucinated I would get along with him, so I could pretend I was him when he needed cover to pay attention to his other bands.
On the tarmac where his small jet had landed, Van Zant got off in his black hat and a bottle of Jack Daniels.
Rudge muttered to me, “Welcome to Country Rock.” Noon was not just around the corner.
He gave Rudge a “country hug.” A regional embrace that is not gay.
He ignored me, didn’t shake hands, and staggered off to the car. We followed like eager toadies.
I am large, and I know how people react to that.
Van Zant had decided, notwithstanding near panic-stricken denials from Rudge, that I was his bodyguard. He didn’t like it at all. I figured I had bungled some country code just by being bigger than him.
We wind up in Pete’s fabulously posh apartment on Fifth Ave. Ronnie sat on a sofa across from me, glaring at me like I was an armed Ulysses S. Grant.
Rudge was now ignoring me as a lost cause while he chattered on about Lynryd Skynryd’s next album. I just sat there stupidly, sinking into unsmiling black humor.
From my point of view, this performer was mining impulses from Jupiter solely to fuck over what minor career I now had left. I began returning his shit eye, wiring him the message that I, for one, was pleased with the Confederacy getting the shit kick out of it.
On top of this aggravation, I had spent two days memorizing the band member names and their instruments as I listened to their albums. The closest I had ever come to country rock music was Neil Young, who they, of course, loathed.
Well, without so much as a “come and get it,” he stands up and throws the bottle at me. He promptly makes a few vital battle misjudgments. The first is that he misses me and hits the mirror. The second was his drunken and comic miscalculation that the glass coffee table that separated us would hold his weight when he stepped on it to get at me.
It didn’t even try, and his foot went straight through, trapping him awkwardly. Anyone wedged in a coffee table is reliably helpless, but I appreciate the first rule of show business, “Never hit the act.”
So, from out of his kitchen Rudge comes flying through the air, shouldering into Ronnie’s chest, driving him backward over the sofa, overturning it, and freeing his boots from the table and glass by sheer momentum.
Rudge screams at him five inches from his face. “He is with me, and he is on your side, you dumb fuck!”
Ronnie, now pretty much a severe mess, stands up, and gives me a solid, no balls hug, and says, “Sorry, man,” and that was that. I was in.
After Ronnie had left and while Rudge was trying to find his maid on the phone, he put his hand over the receiver and said to me, “You still want this job?” I did.

Your father will be home soon

Mom, why are we at home and sitting in the living room?

Your father will be home soon.

Why haven’t you started making dinner? It’s dinnertime, and we should be ready for your father.

Why are the groceries still in the bags? Because your father will be home soon

There is no point in making dinner until he comes.

Once your father is here, he’ll decide where we’ll eat.

Why did you take us out of school so early?

And why are you wearing your coat in the house?

And why are you wearing your hat? Because your father will be home soon And we will be here to greet him. He will know if we should go out to eat

He will have ideas about where to go. He will have presents for you, and we will be ready.

Why are grandma and grandpa at the door and why is grandpa wearing a suit? Why is grandma wearing her fancy dress and her necklace? And why do they have their suitcases?

Because your father will be home soon, And he loves to see grandma and grandpa.

Maybe they will come to dinner with us, And your father might want us to get dressed up

They might stay over for a while

And why is grandma wiping her eyes with her handkerchief? Why do our neighbors keep coming to the door? And why are they bringing us food if we are going out to eat?

It is getting toward evening, and your father will be home soon

The neighbors don’t know that father will be home

The man on the phone said father wouldn’t be coming home soon

some of the neighbors are saying father will not be coming home mom,

What’s going to happen to us? Mom? Mom?

Your father will be home soon

Your father will be home soon

Your father will be home soon

When I was a millennial

When I was a millennial, I was mainly a hippy. I believed everyone was friendly.
I don’t understand why today’s millennials think all the people of my generation are unfriendly and mean.
How did this happen?

The beauty of Virus

Beauty on a woman’s body is a contagion. If a woman’s face is pretty, her other body parts are automatically infected. Every bit of her body can, in lesser degrees, be made more attractive by the influence of her face.
Attractiveness can’t contaminate certain areas with beauty. For example, the regions between toes are exempt.

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