Why I don't have a band Drummer: Look at him. There he goes again, five minute, Emerson Lake and Palmer, guitar-neck masturbation bullshit solo.

Bassist: I hate it when he does this.

D: He's turning around to face me. Shut up and keep playing.

B: Ugh, fucking ridiculous. Okay, yes, turn back around. Back stage Betty fourth row.

D: Oh nice.

B: Good to go.

D: Do you have a solo on this song?

B: Nope. You?

D: Nope.

B: You know, I don't care about us so much. It's just the...

D: It's just ...God!...fuck!

B: You know who I feel sorry for?

D: Who?

B: The audience...

D: Yeah...

B: ...you know, the audience sees the product, but the product just isn't there.

D: Shit, he's turning around again.

B: Again? so predictable.

D: God. That's so arrogant. Face the audience, asshole! Get off my Kick. It can't support you, fatass.

B: Okay, here comes the chorus:

SLOW RI -I-IDE!!!
  ¶ 2:57 PM