Disturbed

Two guys are sitting in a pub knocking back shots. First guy turns to the second and says, "You see this bar? I built this bar with my own two hands, but do they call me Jimmy the Bar-Maker? No. And you know what else? That motel next door? I...

By Michael Alan Goldberg

January 12, 2006

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Two guys are sitting in a pub knocking back shots. First guy turns to the second and says, "You see this bar? I built this bar with my own two hands, but do they call me Jimmy the Bar-Maker? No. And you know what else? That motel next door? I built that hotel from the ground up by myself, but do they call me Jimmy the Motel-Builder? No. But you fuck one sheep . . ."

"Oh yeah?" the second guy says. "Well, stop your grumblin'. I'm a singer in a metal band, and we've sold millions of records, but do they call me David the Platinum-Record-Seller? No. We just put out our fourth album a few months ago that debuted at number one, but do they call me David the Chart-Topper? No. We're out on the road all the time, like with this Jägermeister Tour we're doing right now, but do they call me David the Road Warrior? No. I come up with powerful songs about my pain and the state of the world today, but do they call me David the Intense-Lyric-Writer? No. But you start off one song, five freakin' years ago, with <'i>Ahhhh wah ah-ah-ah' . . ."

"Holy crap!" says the first guy. "You're David the Angry Rabid Monkey-Man? From Disturbed?!? Man, I feel so much better now!"

"Goddamnit . . ."

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