And the streets don't change but maybe the name

The jukebox at the American Sports Cafe cafe for the most part eats pieces of shit for breakfast. BUT, the do have the G'N'R hits. everytime i'm there i make sure to play a rock triangle of "Patience", "November Rain", and a little bit of "Sweet Child". are my friends sick of it? yeah, but hey dude, fuck them, right?
The can't do wicked Slash solos or Axls' slither and freak out screamos. You think they can back up like Izzy and Duff? nope. I'm just giving them a reminder.

I saw the VH1 Behind The Music of g n r tonight, and freaked. i looked in the mirror and almost passed out over what i had become. look, i don't wanna hit super models in the face or anything, but shit! one look at me and you'd think the loves of my life were hoagies, peanut butter cups, Roseanne, and working in an office. instead of sweet riffs, excess and fury! i've lost my rocker girl dashing good looks.

purge! vomit! blow! speed speed faster faster!

ok, maybe not, but fuck i wanna look like Axl. then, not now mind you. ew.
i can't even vaseline myself into my leather (faux) pants anymore. ribcage and cheekbones no longer visable but hidden under soft pale chub.

don't think for a second that i'm supporting the gotta-be-anorexic-to-be-attractive mindset of society and the magazines and America's Next Top Ho-bag.
not way. far from it.
i just wanna be the girl Axl. I wanna be slithery in a kilt. who else but Axl can wear gym shorts, cowboy boots and a fucking cape? yeah, nobody. but i'll get there.

from now on, don't be suprised when you see me with a Steven Tyler tassled flowing Microphone, skull bandanas, cop hat and white spandex shorts.

i'm just keping the look alive.