Satire Portrait of a Struggling Rock Star By Kevin Robey (April 12, 2003)

He ran his long, skinny fingers through his golden blonde hair as he rolled his soft blue eyes to his left and right. His eyes settled on his useless blinds with a look of utter disgust. "I can’t believe I spent $500,000 on those damn blinds," he thought. No longer able to sleep, he propped his weary body on his elbows, and slowly yet successfully rose to an upright position.

His walls were a beige color, and his ceiling was a mere 20 feet high. He had seven Van Goghs on his walls, which were held in 14-karat gold frames. This was an insufficient collection because rock stars like Bon Jovi had at least 20 pieces of priceless art in their bedrooms. He even heard other rock stars had started a charity for him so he could buy a fifth home. As nice as the charity was, he still felt inadequate in his meager, 50,000 acre home. It used to be a summer vacation home for Bill Gates, but he was such a nerd. He was particularly jealous of Steven Tyler from Aerosmith, who owned the old vacation home of Louis XIV. He was cool whoever he was.

Hoping to cure his funk, Dizzy D rose from his bed and walked to the left side. There he found his metallic silver dune buggy and stepped in. It was a worthless peace of junk. It only traveled a paltry 25 miles an hour so it took him a good 20 minutes to get to his kitchen. He felt that he was ripped off in the purchase of the $500,000 vehicle. Apparently NASA had sent it to the moon or something, but who the heck likes NASA anyway? He sighed heavily as he eased his tall, well-tanned frame into the cockpit. He pressed his bony, size 11 foot onto the solid gold gas pedal and proceeded to head to his kitchen.

His head-splitting hangover had evolved into one of epic proportions. "Victims of Elephant stampedes don’t feel this much pain," he thought. He scooted his humming Dune Buggy along his diamond-coated trail that led to his kitchen. He couldn’t even afford a crystal-coated trail to his kitchen that Michael Jackson enjoyed. His hallways were a lime green color, and every 20 feet or so there lay a door leading to an enormous room with more gold-framed art. His hallways were 200 feet high, as were all of his rooms. The halls were also coated with a low concentration of diamonds, so that they sparkled against the piercing rays of the afternoon sun; which passed through the 16 square-foot windows. The windows themselves each were 10 feet apart and featured solid gold frames.

He felt the pain every day; being a rock star and not even enjoying the necessity of a fifth home or at least a few rare Mclerean F-‘s in his driveway. He dreamed of a life with pet elephants and giraffes, and an island such as Hawaii to call his home. He dreamed of a life where humorous robots with British accents dressed him in the morning and made all of his decision for him. But all of this seemed so distant as he neared his kitchen. He navigated his worthless dune buggy through the golden arches of his kitchen entrance. His fleet of full-time food shoppers had brought him a feast that only a filthy middle-class person would deem heavenly.

His kitchen merely served as a temporary eating facility until his personal four-star restaurant was installed. "It’s so hard living under these dismal conditions," he thought. His kitchen was that of a poor rock star. The ceiling was 35 feet high, and was around the size of a pro soccer field. He sat in pure crystal chairs; the backs of which reached a foot above his head. He sat at the head of a pure crystal, rectangular table, which extended the entire length of the kitchen. This came in handy whenever he had his raging, 2,000 person keggers. His staff of 25 Playmate models feverishly prepared his breakfast on the dark marble countertops 10 feet away in matching Cherry-Red bikinis. He was saddened by the fact that he did not have enough money to date Ms. October, who was his favorite playmate by far.

After an unacceptable 3 minute and 20-second wait, he was finally served his breakfast. It consisted of a deep fried bald eagle, the tongue of a Japanese Bullfrog, and a $100,000 bottle of wine. He was disappointed to say the least. "Bald eagles suck," he thought. "I don’t see how female bald eagles can be attracted to them." Impressed by his genius insight he continued to eat his meal.

Living a life of poverty was no longer an option for Dizzy D. How could someone so unbelievably good-looking be so impoverished? He finished chewing his last piece of Bald Eagle and stood up from the table with undeniable determination. He was determined to survive his tenure as an oppressed individual of the rock and roll community. With his adrenaline pumping, he turned to the front door just 20 feet away. He briskly walked to the solid gold door and turned the solid gold doorknob. He was a man with a mission as he headed to one of his Lamborghini Diablos in his mile-long driveway. No one could stop him now.