24 years ago, God, that rockin’ celestial dude, decided to expand his already massive roster of greats and go out on a new cosmic tour. You see, a little-known truth about the BIG GUY is the fact, that he’s a huge karaoke fan. When the Lord decides that he wants to start a Garage Band, well, as you can frankly imagine, the sky – not to mention the whole of the space-time continuum – is at his disposal.
But, personalities, especially those of an artist proclivity, often times don’t mix well.
Mozart was acting up, and Beethoven was being a gigantic ninny. Jim and Hendrix were locked up in a bathroom stall, while Janis Joplin was outside trying to bottle the dubious smoke emanating from below the door’s crack. Meanwhile, Hank Williams and Joe Henderson were having “creative differences” concerning God’s new affinity for glam rock. And finally, there was that prat, Lennon, well, let’s just say he wasn’t into the whole second billing phase of the deal.
Our maker was desperate.
“What about Sid Vicious?” asked a rather polite Louis Armstrong.
“He’s here?” went He of the capital G. “Who let him in? Are you people insane? Now we’ll need to fumigate again…”
“Nope, he’s giving my son gardening lessons.”
“Is that wise? Well, that’s beside the point… What are we going to do? We need a backup singer.”
“Hmm,” went the enlightened one. “That’s it… I got it!”
Up went a finger, down went a legend. On planet Earth, the world mourned. Up in the firmament, the jam was beyond epic. William Shakespeare critiqued and I quote, “The Big Bang has just gotten upstaged.” There were roses and many poetic mentions of dusty moats and a few candle flames, but with the Bard, you sort of have to read between the lines.
Not only because sooner or later we to will have a front row seat at that mythical Woodstock in the sky, but on account that we must honor a fantastic moustache – playing with the limits of manscaping – we here at The Guy Society have decided to count down one song, per year, on Freddy Mercury’s prodigious career.
Our goal? Simple. We don’t want you to look like a dullard when Elvis takes the mic’ and announces the band.
“Who is that?” you ask your heavenly companion. “A reject from a porn video?”
Whack, down to the fiery basement you go.
Another One Bites The Dust