My friend Mike sent this to me in an e-mail, which was apparently written by his friend Pittman. I wanted to link it, but since it's apparently from a bulletin on the guy's MySpace page and can't be linked, I'm just going to cut-and-paste the whole thing here:


Once there was a Bon Jovi...
And he loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would gather his pink bandanas and his 2 octave keyboard and play rock star.
He would listen to Slippery When Wet and dance in his room and headbang.
They would play Runaway.
And when he was grounded he would listen to Dead or Alive and stare out his window.
And the boy loved the Bon Jovivery much.
And the Bon Jovi was happy.

But time went by.
And the boy grew older and the Bon Jovi was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the Bon Jovi and the Bon Jovi said,
Come, boy, come rock out and listen to Slippery When Wet and dance in your room and headbang and be happy.
I am to big to play rock star, said the boy. I want to play sports and have fun. I want some soccer equipment. Can you give me some soccer equipment?
Im sorry, said the Bon Jovi, but I have no soccer equipment. I only have rocking merchandise. Take this screen printed sweatshirt, boy, and wear it to soccer practice. Then you will have soccer equipment and be happy.

And so the boy ordered the screen printed black sweatshirt from the debut, self-titled album and ran away to soccer practice. And the Bon Jovi was happy. But the boy stayed away for a long time and the Bon Jovi was sad.

And then one day the boy came back and the Bon Jovi rocked with joy and they said,
Come boy, come rock out and listen to Slippery When Wet and dance in your room and headbang and be happy.
I am to cool for keyboards, said the boy. I want to be punk rock, he said.
I want died hair and I want a studded belt and so I need an attitude. Can you give me a punk rock attitude?
I have no punk rock, said the Bon Jovi. Id rather smile and wear cowboy hats, but you may take my new album Keep the Faith and ridicule my power ballads and my hip new haircut. Then you will have an attitude and be happy.

And so the boy made fun of the video for Bed of Roses and became punk rock. And the Bon Jovi was happy.

But the boy died his hair red for a long time.

And when the boy came back, the Bon Jovi was so happy he could hardly wail.
Come, boy, they crooned, come and play rock star.
I am in college and too old to air guitar, said the boy. I want to meet girls. Can you get girls to talk to me?

Put in my greatest hits album and listen to it when you drive around with girls, said the Bon Jovi. Then you can be a non-threatening yet cute dork. Then girls wil talk to you and you'll be happy.

So the boy dug out Crossroad and kept it in his car in college to sing along ironically with girls. And the Bon Jovi was happybut not really.

And after a long time the boy took his girlfriend to the MCI Center to see the Bon Jovi.
I am sorry, boy, said the Bon Jovi, but I have nothing left to give you--

My vocal range is gone, I can only sing near monotone harmonies of classic vocal lines.

My merchandise is covered by this red smiley face that Sprint thought would be a great logo for telephones.

My aging back is too weak to be strapped to a harness and fly over the audience.

My ears hurt from decades of touring, so I play only acoustic versions of your favorite songs.

I wish that I could give you somethingbut I have nothing left I am just a very pretty man with blinding white teeth and a classy swagger. I am sorry

I dont need very much now, said the boy, just an event to take my girlfriend on a night on the town. She likes to go on dates.

Well, said the Bon Jovi, smiling as pretty as he could, well, a Bon Jovi concert is good to taking your lady out. She will find Bon Jovi attractive, and she will want to have sex with you after the show. Come, boy, sit down. Sit down and watch the Bon Jovi concert.

And the boy did. And the Bon Jovi was happy.

Labels: comedy, story time

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 07, 2006 at 1:43 PM. You can skip to the end and leave a response.