We Are All Ashley Parker Angel
Am I the only person who even cares about Ashley anymore? WHERE ARE YOU NOW THAT IT’S RAINING, FAIRWEATHER FRIENDZ?
It’s not all your fault, obs. I also blame MTV. Thanks MTV, did you build him up just to tear him down? I guess you don’t care that we’re talking about a SENSITIVE HUMAN GENIUS. The only thing that even keeps me from crying is the faith that Ashley knows his true fans are out here, keeping the dream of awesome rock and roll alive. ONE HEART! It’s like we’re all still back in that coffee shop, nervous but excited to try our new solo work out on a group of random strangers hand-picked by production assistants and given fifty dollars to sit and listen to us play our little cliche’d hearts out on our keyboards.
Obs, this calls for some fan fiction:
Ashley Parker Angel sat in the chair he could remember buying from the Rent-A-Center like it was yesterday, staring into a whiskey glass with far too little whiskey in it. In the next room, his baby, Lyric Parker Angel was asleep. Downstairs, Tiffany Lynn was watching a reality show about getting new clothes on television. They hadn’t spoken in two days, and he couldn’t remember the last time they made love. Gone were the days where he would put on an O-Town CD and ravage his fiancé. Now it was just “How are we going to pay the mortgage on this tract house?” “What if the baby needs medicine? Neither of us has insurance!” Or, the most recent buried resentment that had bubbled to the surface three times in the past month, “You know, me and Trevor Penick used to have a thing. I could have married him. He’s got his own KIA dealership.” Well maybe Trevor Penick and Tiffany had oral sex in the bathroom of the Super 8 outside of Minneapolis that one time, but he wouldn’t really call that “a thing.” And Trevor Penick WORKED at a KIA dealership, which was sure different from having one.
In the closet, in a velvet lined case, was a gun, and in the chamber of that gun were three bullets. Ashley Parker Angel stared through the bottom of his glass, into the golden smoke of what his life had become. It was Tuesday. He looked towards the closet door and shook his head. “Not tonight,” Ashley thought to himself. “No, not tonight.” Eventually he would fall asleep in the chair he could still remember buying at the Rent-A-Center like it was yesterday, and dream about sitting in a mid-sized sedan, waiting for the light to change at a busy intersection, and knowing that if he just pushed on the gas, all his problems would disappear.
November 20th, 2007 at 1:47 pm
I am going to rape your security code thing. Yes, rape. It lost a golden comment for me. Yes, golden.
November 20th, 2007 at 2:39 pm
This is all fun and games until all the diehard APA fans come after you.
Oh wait. I was overcome by the fan fiction element. APA doesn’t have fans. You’re safe.
November 20th, 2007 at 2:55 pm
You rent to own, and you love it, girl
November 20th, 2007 at 5:03 pm
are you really considered a “musician” if all you do is default your “art form” to the trend du jour…doesn’t that just sort of make you an ad agency art director?
November 20th, 2007 at 5:35 pm
Ok…so man, things are really crazy right now. Tif’s mom just had to move in with us and Tif is acting super pregnant. She wants me to do the dishes? Baby, I’m trying to make it here, this is our big chance, and she she wants me to do the dishes. And to top is all off I still havent gotten the advance form the record company and our car payments are due. I don’t know how we’re gonna pull through this one.
November 20th, 2007 at 9:40 pm
love the crotch shots in the video.
November 20th, 2007 at 11:14 pm
I think your attempt at “long form” fell a little short this time….Get it?
November 21st, 2007 at 5:11 pm
I am Ashley Parker Angel.
Leave a Reply