After watching the Johnny Cash biopic, Walk the Line, followed by the Ray Charles biopic, Ray, I realized that my dreams of being a rock star were not dead, rather, they were dormant. And so, of course, I then took those dreams and shook them awake, screaming, “Wakey, wakey, wakey!” For you see, I have discovered there is a formula that, when followed, will lead one to gold records, adoring fans, and legendary status. This is a formula followed by many a musician -- James Brown and Jerry Lee Lewis, for example. If it is good enough for the godfather of soul and the haver of great balls of fire, then it is good enough for me.

We start off with a troubled childhood. Seeing how mine was not troubled and actually pretty healthy, I had to alter things a bit. I asked my mom to burn me with a cigarette. She refused at first, citing general moral issues. But after the cool $15 I slipped her, she was all about it. I was soon covered in burn marks up and down my face and neck. I then drowned our family dog in a large bucket. I had a vicious fight with my dad, accusing him of not understanding me. I shouted, “One day I’m going to make it, you’ll see!” I killed my brother and made it look like he popped himself with a pistol. Now that’s troubled!

The following step was drug usin’ and abusin’. All the greats, from Elvis to Cobain, did drugs and did them with a great passion. I gleefully followed in their footsteps. I filled a baggie with a mélange of prescriptions and washed it down with a cocktail of various liquors and liquid crack cocaine. I may have an iron will, but even I couldn’t resist this all at once. I became addicted to several of these, but pain pills were my poison of choice. I bought plenty of them, and away I went. I was slurring, sweating, being irresponsible, and irritable in no time. Stardom was near.

Next was the key ingredient, the chili powder of the rock star chili: spousal abuse. I married some woman I lusted for but didn’t love. And after impregnating her, I started tearing her to bits psychologically. And before our vows were dry, I started in with the cheating. It was obvious, too -- none of that sneak around town bullshit. I’d leave the other woman’s panties around and walk out to go on a “Boy’s Night Out” with a box of condoms and a handful of roofies. Then I beat her when she interrupted my songwriting and yelled at her in front of the kids. Boy did they cry. I may be helping them to be future music greats themselves. Thank me, kids. Thank me, damn it! Also, I made sure I was almost never home. I went on practice road tours and long trips to the bordello. It was going swimmingly. She was breaking dishes and crying constantly, but she stayed. She sensed I was on the cusp of something great and that one day she’d get to write a revealing memoir. Smart lady.

And now I wait. I’ve planted the seeds. I’ve watered them and now watch as talent will bloom inside me, stage presence will suddenly appear, and songs will slide out of me like drool at night. My past is spotted now, my pills are making me a worse person, and I have a shamble of a marriage. What else do I need? Stardom is just around the corner. Soon enough I will have lots of cash, people will know who I am, and young, desperate girls with low self-esteem will want to give me oral sex so that they can touch a piece of fame. You know, just the other day I was singing in the shower, and I sounded better than usual. A sign of things to come? You bet your ass! Buy the world tour tickets now while you can.