January 25, 2008
Bad Reaction
Written by Girth McDürchstein on January 25, 2008 11:39 AM
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Don't Call Me Daughter
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Lacey just called. She’s all freaking out about our switch from hard rockers Abysmal Crucifix to the mainstream, family-oriented pop flavor of Jupiter Starshine Collective, culminating in our first single, “Little Darlin’.”
“This isn’t working, goddammit,” Lacey said in lieu of “hello.”
“Hey, Lacey,” I said, used to the abusive style of her phone calls.
“Girth,” Lacey breathed, “nobody likes the new single.”
“Are you crazy? People at radio stations are requesting it like crazy!”
“People we paid to request it.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Lacey groaned. “The fact is, we’re losing an average of 20 MySpace friends a day.”
“But on the plus side, I didn’t even know 20 people looked at our MySpace page in a given day. I would’ve taken it more seriously if I’d—”
“Yeah, well, 20 people do,” Lacey said, “and only 20 people do, which means every person who has looked at the MySpace since the change has de-friended you. If MySpace is a minute sampling of your total fans, imagine how many have fled across the country.”
“I don’t see a problem,” I said. “We’re trying to appeal to a broader base—we’ll make them up in the long run. Besides, we’re recording some more singles. At the rate I’m going, we’ll have an LP out by March.”
“That’s the other thing,” Lacey replied coyly. “Apparently, organizations like the AFA, the PTA, and the ADF are protesting, and they’re spreading defamatory—but, unfortunately, true—information through churches, school boards, city council meetings—”
“Fucking Janofsky!” I gasped.
“As far as we know, he has nothing to do with this. It’s all you. Christ, Girth, you could be in a lot of trouble. This, combined with the L.A. Times thing…they’re talking about Congressional hearings.”
“Bring it on,” I sneered. I thought for a moment, then added, “Wait, I don’t understand the problem. You told me I’d put out the Times fire by changing our image, and I did.”
“It looks like they object to some of the lyrics of the new song.”
“Not again,” I sighed.
“Yeah. It’s like that Wooster guy says, ‘This new material has the dubious distinction of describing a young daughter from the unfortunate perspective of a father who, while clearly loving, is perhaps a bit too loving, if you catch my drift.’”
“I…don’t. I’m sorry…”
“He’s calling you a pedo, goddammit!”
“I am not!” I protested.
“I know, but it’s a moot point. These guys have it in for you, and unfortunately, you’re sealing your own fate. I’d hold off on any new singles until it blows over.”
“What should I do in the meantime?”
“Don’t leave the house. Don’t let anybody subpoena you. Stop blogging the details of your disgusting life. And maybe it’s time to give up that charity. Diversify. Maybe invest in something. Real estate is always good. How does that sound?”
“I guess,” I said.
“Ciao.” Click.
Margo groaned, writhing uncomfortably in the sheets, “What was that about, honey?”
I exhaled deeply. “Nothing. No big deal. Just Lacey.”
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