Playing that ka-riff from Money For Nothing on stage with Dire Straits. With the guitar slung low beneath my waist, and an expression of bland disinterest on my face as if the fact that I am rocking everyone’s scalp off is of no consequence to me. I might even execute a little ambiguous semi-sexual hip thrust just to further bedazzle fans.

I like to know how dey prey da jitta


Having a meeting with a plate of chicken. “Hello, Chicken. Glad you could make it to this function. Let me introduce everybody. On  your left are chips and next to chips is coke. They are going to be accompanying you on your mission. You will have plenty of time to get to know them better. We have scheduled a mingling session for later. Heh heh. Now that we are all here, let’s get right into it. The venue for this afternoon’s festivities is my mouth. And Speaking of getting right into it…”


Running barefoot across the lawns of a mansion in the dead of night with my trousers and shirt in my arms while behind me the night air carries the screaming voice of Beyonce. Yelling at her husband, “Yeah, well if you were any kind of real man, I wouldn’t need a toy boy! Whatchoo say to that, Shawn!”

Call me, baby.