Rock Star

Those days were amazing.

Being a kid, you know, what else was I|to do but to live the Dragon?

I'd study the music note for note.|I read every interview.

Copied every outfit, every move,|you know, every look.

My pursuit ofperfection|was relentless,

The music deserved that,

All right, ladies, Spread them,

Rob, you're not nailing the squeal.

I have no idea|what you're talking about.

Check it out.

Play it like that.

That's it.|That's a ping, not a squeal.

-Sounds just like the tape, man.|-No. Raunchier.

Again, please.

That was great. Thank you.

From the top.

Hold on!

Hey, Jeremy, no.

What are you doing?|You know what this is?

LuDricator, signed by all five|band members with the original cover.

Look. Jorgen's name is misspelled.|It should be an "E."

You know how much I can get for it?

Peace to you too, dude.|Try it like this.

Mom?|Mom, isn't my room off-limits?

I'm sorry, Chris.|Oh, what were you doing?

-How are you?|-Good. How's Willard?

-He's fine. You look nice.|-Thank you.

Here, hold on.|You got a smudge.

-Bye. Gotta run.|-Bye. Love you.

Love you too. Bye.

I need more power! I want more!

Come on, come on.

Nina and Samantha!

Hey, Chris.

-Coming to my show in a week?|-Of course.

-Want to hand out fliers?|-Absolutely.

-You guys look awesome.|-Bye.

We're a band called Blood Pollution...

...a Steel Dragon tribute band,|the best in Pittsburgh.

Thank you.

I wrote this one for someone|who ripped out my heart.

And put it through a bloody blender!

That's right.

This one's for IKim, who makes me|want to stand up and shout.

Em, I'll be right back, okay?

Excuse me.

You think I could have one?

Not without a blowj*b and a sex|change, pal. But have a nice day.

-Come on, girls. This way.|-See you, Chris.

Oh, that was awesome!

That was the heaviest|since Columbus in '77.

Heavier than the Demented tour.

-I ask you, did they not rock?|-They totally rocked.

Guys.

What the...?

Come on.

Oh, I thought I smelled p*ssy.

Look who's here.

-If it isn't Yoko Ono and the Fag Five.|-What are you doing?

Making sure nobody sees|some cut-rate copy band.

Cut-rate? This dude can't|even tune his own guitar.

-You could work on your lip-synch.|-I don't lip-synch.

Be doing everyone a favor if you did.

You could get the outfit right.

Boots from the Wasted tour|and a cheap Twistedjacket.

You are so fully wrong, cocksmoker.|This is official issue.

The actual vest Bobby wore|on the Twisted tour.

My dad bought it from someone|who knows them.

Sorry, but your dad got ripped.

The lapels should be blue,|there's no green in the embroidery.

As a matter of fact,|can anybody here honestly say...

...they've ever seen Bobby Beers|with a jacket with red lapels?

-No, I can't.|-I don't think so.

You can make me his pants.

Or did she already rip out|the Dodge seats?

No. First tell me what you put there|to make people think you're a guy.

-This is all me, baby.|-You and a few ballet slippers.

-You want a piece of me?|-No, I'm good.

-Want to see how a real man--|-Don't touch her.

-Let go of my cape.|-Let go of my cape!

Get your ass out of bed.

Get out of here.

-Let's go. Get up.|-Get out of here.

Move it.

Where you hiding|your stash these days?

Get out! I didn't do anything.

That's the problem.|You never do anything.

-Get out of here, pig!|-God-- F***ing--

Come on!

Mom! Mom!

Jeez, boys. Quit. Break it up.|Chris, give him a break. Come on.

-Stop it!|-Tell him to get out!

-Used to be my room.|-Not anymore!

Because I moved out when I was 18.

-We're having breakfast.|-IKeep him out!

Get ready for work.|Will you go downstairs?

-IKeep him out!|-All right, he's gone.

So you arrested Mervin|for drunk driving?

He was parked on|the Brennemans' lawn.

Claims he was going out for ice cream.|Same story.

-Chris, so how was the show?|-It was fine.

-The freaks were out in force.|-Why weren't you busting heads?

-Female officers handle that crowd.|-You want to go?

-Come on.|-Saved again. Should take her to work.

-Good one.|-Did they do "Black Babylon"?

They haven't played that|since Osaka in '75.

-That is pathetic that you know.|-I love that song.

Okay, genius,|who's buried in Grant's tomb?

It's twisted that you're still living|at home, stealing Ma's makeup.

Who's buried in Grant's tomb?

How much longer will you|put up with this?

The rock star fantasy thing is|something you grow out of at 14.

If I get lucky, I'll get to grow up|and listen to Air Supply like you.

What's wrong with Air Supply?

Nothing, if you're|from the Village People.

You know what the sickest thing|is about you?

It's that you don't have|any fantasies of your own.

You fantasize about|being somebody else.

Wearing somebody else's clothes.|Singing somebody else's songs.

It's pathetic.

-Get a haircut.|-Okay, Satan's allegiant.

Have a good one, son.

-You didn't eat.|-Later. I love you guys.

Love you too.

-I love you.|-You do this every time.

I question his sexuality, Ma. I do.

Here's the procedure, so it won't|happen again. Don't stick a pen in.

I'll give you a simple|one-two-three procedure.

It's 1 -2-3.|Pop that down, push this.

Pull back on this lever, free up|the jam and you can access--

Is there something wrong?

Is that mascara?

-I'm in a band. Okay?|-Oh, okay.

Can you follow the 1 -2-3|without sticking a pen in there?

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Bye-bye.

Sorry about that.

When's Marci getting back?

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