Slammed & Split

Superstar Anonymous

Hello everyone.
Thanks for coming tonight.
Let's get this meeting started.

KG, Scottie —
would either of you like to begin?

No?
Well, you know,
I don't like him either,
but it's okay to want to be like Mike
at least a little bit.
Or maybe not like him,
but similarly appreciated,
wrapped warm in a womb of adulation
because the crowd —
this fucking crowd —
finally realizes
exactly how hard it is
to be the grand fucking facilitator.

Alex, how about you?

No?
Well, I know it's been a tough few years
playing with DJ and the Yanks.
He's already the ideal No. 2,
so they demand you become No. 1
though you'll always be second suitor
for the heart of the city.

And though I'm sure you're happy,
I'd be secretly bitter
if I had married a perfectly attractive woman
with a psychology degree
and then had to watch
a Hollywood parade
of girls who injected implants
to match their math grades.
We both know you could do as well —
or better —
if, well …
you didn't have a wife you loved very much.

Please tell Cynthia I send my best.
The dinner party last week
was exquistely unmemorable,
though just good enough
to be savored for a day or two.

Ed —
it's good to see you,
even though you've chosen not to share today.
Actively seeking support
is a solid second step.

I know it must be hard
starring in movies
everyone agrees
are absolutely fucking awesome
but never get brought up
when they discuss the great ones.

Take Fight Club,
for instance.
Everyone remembers Brad
because, well, he was a badass.
You were just the Generation X everyman
unable to reign in an overactive apathy.
Thing is,
you could have taken Tyler
and projected enough mayhem
to turn a starring role,
but basic instinct
blasted a belief
that Brad could be the best
if, like in the movie,
you guided Tyler's quest
to unleash revolution upon the rest
of the masses.

Before I close the meeting,
would anyone like to share?

Yeah. I will.

My name is Ben Couch
and I don't need this group no more.

Two weeks ago at the Oak,
Couch he fell flat.
Words were there, performance was just wack,
didn't even leave the noose any slack.
But that was just that, it's a new date and time,
mind primed to go back from the dead,
back to the beginning, reset the mindset.
I'm in kicks so fresh, ice round the neck
outta BK, but still represent
on the real, but I rigged up a triple deck
so when you losin' again, what the fuck you expect?

Grand openin', grand closin'
Yo, your man Couch soused the competition.
Ain't nobody doper than him with a pen;
done found new inspiration.
Y'all gon' see the alias replace him
for deep meditations and defenestrations.

Now fuck the encore, I don't want more —
Christen me the Brooklyn Boy.
So for this first time, I needed to roar.

Now what the hell are you waiting for?
After this, Couch will be no more.
So for this first time, son
watch
me
soar.