Proof That We Aren't Lip Synching

Once when we played in Rock Island, some guys brought that question. Maybe they were tricked by our magical 20th century electronic equipment - you know, how could we rock so hard without megaphones? Or maybe they couldn't believe our dead on performances, such as forgetting the words to Material Girl in just exactly the same spots Madonna goofed on her hit single. Perhaps they figured five people as sexy as we are (refer to sidebar survey) and with such terrific dance moves could only be professional models and therefore not likely to carry a tune. Fortunately for us, as we venture to the Quad Cities this weekend, I have compelling photographic evidence from the last gig there. It demonstrates that we are, in fact, a hologram, and therefore could not be lipsynching.

What If I Am Injured by the Second "T" in "Hott"?

Due to the recent Bass Players Union takeover of this blog, and owing to their excessive display of forbidden linguistic oddities such as "booty" and "hott," of which they are apparently fully credentialled users, I am beginning to fear for my safety, not to mention job security. What if their subsonic ultraglam wavelength shakes that extra "t" loose, and it smashes me in the forehead like a flying headstock? The Brat Pack had many a fabulous chick singer before me (that's Madawna on the left and Gloria Newton John on the right), and I'm sure they'll carry on without me, but you better pray they don't cut corners by doing drag again.

Lovingly, Madawna Shared Sweet Rhymes

Madawna was the first of many fabulous chick singers in The Brat Pack. She continues to watch over us, making sure we stay 100% romantic for this holy holiday. Today she sent along several enchanting entries from a Washington Post competition. We adore you too, baby!


Love may be beautiful, love may be bliss
But I only slept with you, because I was pissed.
*************************

I thought that I could love no other
Until, that is, I met your brother.
**************************

Roses are red, violets are blue,
sugar is sweet, and so are you.
But the roses are wilting, the violets are dead,
the sugar bowl's empty and so is your head.
**************************

Of loving beauty you float with grace,
If only you could hide your face.
****************************

Kind, intelligent, loving and hot,
This describes everything you are not.
******************************

I want to feel your sweet embrace,
But don't take that paper bag off of your face.
*******************************

I love your smile, your face, and your eyes --
Damn, I'm good at telling lies!
************************************

My darling, my lover, my beautiful wife --
Marrying you screwed up my life.
************************************

I see your face when I am dreaming,
That's why I always wake up screaming.
*************************************

My love, you take my breath away --
What have you stepped in to smell this way?
*************************************

My feelings for you no words can tell,
Except for maybe "Go To Hell."
*************************************

What inspired this amorous rhyme? --
Two parts vodka, one part lime!

Tasty Treats

Jessie Van Halen, a.k.a. Jessco White, suggested to me recently that the brat pack may be looking for a head chef, and that, moreover, I, Jaybriel, might fit the bill. He is under the mistaken impression that I am the same person as the writer of the blog Better than the Rest(aurant), found here: http://eatingcheznous.blogspot.com . I encourage him to check his facts First

Mr Van Halen, or is it White, is clearly wishing he could eat my famous 7-layer nachos, purchased serruptitiously from the T.B. on University avenue. Are they endangered. I think so.