My oh my… It appears as though this whole thing has turned into a virtual boiling pot of shit… teeming with excitement, anticipation, and passion. I’m sure many of you have been waiting for me to weigh in on the topic: “Does Nick Fit hate Budweiser?” “Does Nick Fit hate big corporations?” “Is Nick Fit out of rehab?” “Does Nick Fit give a flying fuck?” The answers: No. No. Yes. Surprisingly, yes.. Before I step up to the plate, I’d first of all like to loosen my belt a little bit, and do some stretching, if you will.
To all of you who had issues with this whole ordeal, or didn’t agree with us I’d like to state right now, very publicly, that We understand. We are truly sympathetic to what you had to say, and we value your opinion. Oh, wait, never mind. We don’t value your opinion and aren’t sympathetic to what you had to say. In fact, here’s a big ol’ Nick Fit sized ‘Fuck You’ to any/everyone who didn’t agree with or support us. That’s right. Go cry to some other activist fuck tard living in their parents basement and tell ’em that Nick Fit and the whole of Renegade Revival couldn’t give two fucks less about big business or what you have to say on the matter.
You see, (I can’t believe I have to explain this again… but some of you need to be shown the proper way of shaking your dick after you piss, so I’ll oblige) E-Rokks main point was this: Rolling Rock doesn’t taste good anymore, and it sucks that they closed the Latrobe brewing plant. Basta. That’s it. I just summed up his whole rant in less than 20 words. All you retards going on about whatever the fuck it was you were going on about would be better off going down to the the local male strip club and applying for a job as a fluffer. That’s right, you all are fluffers. Now jack me off, faggot. Oooo… yeah… oh, not too much, you’re gonna make me come. That’s better. Oooo, yeah. Your momma taught you well. Mmm Hmmm.
OK, now that you all know what you’re going to do with the rest of your life, I’d like to bring this chapter of the long and growing legendary legacy of your favorite band, the Dub R to a close. Here’s how the rest of the story played out:
I called the boss of that crazy bitch who started this whole thing, and gave him a good long hard piece of my mind. He liked it. And I liked the fact that he liked it. See, he was very polite, well receptive, rather intelligent, well spoken, well mannered, and above all things, a man of action. After listening to my case (which I presented using a power point slide, a 1/16 scale diorama, several court cases backing up my position, and a life size blow up sex doll so I could show him how his employee’s actions made me feel) he told me he was going to go ‘up the chain’ and talk to some higher beings. Real power wielding, suit wearing, decision making kinds of people. He was going to have the right kind of words with people who sit behind large wooden desks and take conference calls, and have 10 am tee times with other very important and prestigious people whose names all start with Mister. More than one person told me he would not call me back, but I had faith. For Johnny M. (that’s what he asked I refer to him as), I told them, would never let me down. I’d come to form a bond with this man, and he understood me the way that only two dogs with large genitalia can after taking turns laying a savage fucking onto a lame bitch who suffers from the mange. And yes, dear readers, he did call me back. And when he did, he did so with his boss (whom I shall refer to as Tommy Little Fists). It was a conference call, if you will… I was on speaker phone. I was on a first name basis with these Men, and we talked about the weather, and our golf handy caps, and how awful things will be if we ever get a woman president. After the obligatory small talk and ‘how’s your father’s, we got down to business. Both parties (on their end) apologized full hearted for any bad blood between us, and assured me that their employee was now hauling skids in the mail room, suffering from many splinters of wood that had been treated with PCP. “Good, I said. We can’t have people like that soiling the good names we’ve worked so hard to establish, now, can we?” They assured me we couldn’t. After some minor compliments at how excellent our band is, and their request for back stage passes to our next gig (which we gave to them in triplicate: One for themselves, and 2 so they could bring along their mistresses) , they asked what they could do to rectify the whole situation, and to right the horrid wrongs that had been committed against us. Now here’s where it gets good. You see, be they rock and rollers, or business exec types, all men speak the same language: Beer. So when asked “What can we possibly do to right these horrible wrongs, these atrocities, these evil things that have befallen you and your great band?” The answer was simple. Said I: “Give unto them many beers, so that their thirsts of mythical proportions shall be quenched, and all shall be right again the world over. So let it be written, so let it be done!” Angels sang, dogs barked, kegs were tapped, sexy Irish girls no older than the age of 14 wearing noting but white cotton panties, pig tails and wooden clogs danced a jig, and all of natures beasts joined in a triumphant chorus of ‘Hooray!’, for the mighty beasts had ended their battle that threatened to destroy all of life as we know it.
And that, my friends, is how the story ends. I just got off the phone, setting up an appointment with Johnny M. (who I will be submitting to Time for the Man of the Year award, for his diligent customer service, and expert thesis on the song “Jesus Built my Hot Rod”), to pick up many cases of the best beer in the land (Budweiser) and I can assure you this much: The Renegade Revival, and the Renegade Brigade will be maintaining a very unhealthy but consistent BAC for the next 3-5 days, all compliments of our truly Good Friends, at Anheiser Bush, and Budweiser. God love them, because I sure as shit know that I speak for the band as a whole when I say “I do.”
Untill next time, Keep drinking Budweiser, the True King of Beer. I know I will.