You’re So Vain

I’m so vain, I probably think this post is about me. Middle-age performs dark magic to a person’s psyche, especially someone like me who pays attention to their feelings and deals with an anxiety disorder. There are things you aren’t told about growing older that can bring you to your knees, especially when you’re naked in front of a mirror. Relax, there will be no selfies in the nasty gleam of a pudgy reflection. Even I have some dignity, not much, but some. But when I realized the shirt I wanted to wear to work this morning needed to be ironed, I set up the board, plugged in the appliance and walked upstairs to make sure 2 of my 3 daughters hadn’t fallen back asleep instead of getting ready for school. They weren’t greeted by Iron Man.

“Really? Can you put a shirt on? That’s unnecessary, ” Said the 17-year-old.

“I don’t need to see that. Go put a shirt on, you’re a dad,” dropped the 8-year-old.

They made valid points. Granted, they were probably just joking, seeing as how I require them to wear shirts in my presence, but the paranoia devil that lives on my left shoulder told me that it may be time to re-dedicate myself to the gym because flab and jiggle have replaced fab and wiggle.

I’ll be 43 in September. I have a real job (communications project manager), a side job (writing books and freelance online stuff), 3 kids, and a wife. You mix in cheerleading, judo, drums lessons, school events, birthday parties with cake and ice cream, and the need to drown my demons (not as much as I used to, and I use Diet Dr Pepper more than whiskey) and the calories add up. My teenager eats more than anyone I know and she’s barely over 100 pounds. My thirtysomething wife and I hate/envy/bemoan the player and her yoga pants wearing high metabolism game. I used to be like that. Around the age of 25 all those wings and beer caught up to me and by 30 I was an unhealthy forty pounds overweight mess. I spent my thirties working it off but as my family grew and I started writing again, something had to give. It was my gut.

I’m what the ancient Romans and contemporary French would call “average-looking.” I’m built like a Guinness beer can; short, stout, dark exterior and all of my weight is in my middle. I wish I could blame my lack of Bradley Cooper looks on my family but all of the men, save one cousin who has my build, are six-foot tall manly looking dudes. This is my late grandfather, whom I’m named after (my first name is Thomas, like his), when he hit the Army at age 19 to help win World War II as a scout.

Look at that tall, dark, handsome son of a gun. He looks like Johnny freakin’ Cash. When he got back from Europe he married a woman who looked like Marilyn Monroe. Why don’t I look like that? I mean, I have his sideways grin, love of fishing, and passion for Atlanta Braves baseball, but good grief that’s a heck of a fella.

I’m 5’8″ and I could pass for a pasta-addicted Italian shopkeeper in the old country who was 2-23 as a boxer and had to retire because my face was hamburger.

I should be more realistic. My wife is beautiful and so are my children. They are very comfortable with their looks. You should see each of them when they’re in sweatpants, first thing in the morning. They’re stunning.

How did I pull her and get those kids? I can tell you that blackmail and dark robot trickery are awesome. I do appreciate my 9-year-old (the child in the middle) covering up my midsection. I’d just eaten 37 chocolate oatmeal cookies.

I’m only superficial for myself. Looks fade and how someone is on the inside is indeed what’s important. I have a tendency to think all of my friends, family, and blog readers are model-perfect so if you need your ego boosted ask me how you look. But for myself, I’m not a fan of my “stuff”. This may be due to mental illness, middle-age crazy or it might just be that the pressure I put on myself to be the best I can be sometimes kicks my “need to run more” ass.

Priorities fail me sometimes. Writing my first book, The Ballad of Helene Troy, available on Amazon/Kindle, smashwords, Good Reads, and paperback from Lulu.com or a signed copy from my kitchen table  

…I disgress. Oh yeah, writing as much as I do, especially publishing the first book and preparing a second, Italian Radio, out soon, has done wonders for me mentally but wrecked me physically. I’ve gained 20 pounds, killed my sleeping habits, and grown more gray hair than I care to show. Finding that hour and a half three to four times a week to exercise, before the writing kinda sorta took off, has become difficult. I know those beautiful people in that picture love me no matter what, but I need to find a place for my physical before it starts punching my mental until I’m down for the count.

Today’s song belongs to the namesake of my 8-year-old daughter, Carly. Here’s her musical godmother, Carly Simon with Mick Jagger singing backup.

My Hero

I rejected heroes. ”Show me a hero and I’ll show you a tragedy”, Fitzgerald said. But that drunk bastard never met my baby brother, Trever Hoyt. Surviving that lightning strike made him one.

*****blogger’s note*****

Buy the book, The Ballad of Helene troy, available in amazon/kindle, smashwords, and in paperback from Lulu.com http://www.amazon.com/The-Ballad-Of-Helene-Troy/dp/1300800216/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1367631436&sr=8-1&keywords=lance+burson

Five months ago, I started a superhero story about a regular guy who developed superhero powers. Here are two entries: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2013/01/01/the-shock-of-the-lightning/ I shelved it as I tried to figure out how to tell the story in an unconventional way. For this week’s Trifextra http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/2013/05/trifextra-week-sixty-six.html , 33 words about a superhero origin, so I used my guy, Trever Hoyt with narration from his sister Fallon. I’ll reveal his “superhero name” in a future post.

Here’s the perfect song, My Hero by Foo Fighters, a song about looking to something ordinary in an extraordinary way.

Best Friend

GO here first: http://thinspiralnotebook.wordpress.com/2013/05/03/gin-joints/

Millicent Stingley rapped her peach-colored nails on the private plane’s arm rests. Craning her neck around the seat, she saw her friend, Pauley, stumble from the bathroom. The plane’s flight attendant was ignoring her so Millicent swallowed her anger, removed a twenty-dollar bill from the left cup of her bra, then displayed it to catch the woman’s attention. The petite redhead of about thirty-years-old rose and walked toward Millicent. She faked a grin, which infuriated Millicent more. She remembered the woman’s name was Cassandra.

“Cassie, can you be a dear and bring my friend and I two extra pillows, her a ginger ale with lime, some crackers, and me an whiskey sour, stiff, on the rocks.”

Cassandra snatched the twenty from Millicent and sighed like a teenaged girl as she passed by Pauley in the aisle. Pauley chuckled to herself as she squeezed past Millicent and retook her window seat after turning on the air fan above her.

“Making a new best friend, Millie?”

Millicent closed her eyes and tasted the bile in her throat. She exhaled from a deep breath and drawled.

“I only need one, Paulette. And you will do. So, how far along are you?”

Pauley frowned and knew her third trip to the plane’s bathroom since takeoff, flush cheeks and pale countenance made her look stupid for not talking more about her pregnancy news to Millicent.

“Not long, maybe 8 weeks, 9 at the most.”

Millicent leaned forward, grabbed the black ink pen and notepad in the seat pocket and jotted down information.

“When we get to Morocco, I’ll put together a remedy for the nausea, and a sleeping pill. Then we’ll go shopping for baby things. This child has to look good at all times in public.”

Pauley laughed and touched Millicent’s right arm. She knew arguing with her was pointless.

“I’ll be fine, Millie. I know you’re probably pissed I didn’t tell you right away. We had a lot to do in Brazil and I had to tell the father first. Oh and Lenore, I think. Shit, sorry about that.”

Millicent rolled her eyes and finished writing her materials list and formulas. Cassandra returned with Millicent’s order. Pauley shook her head and dropped her tray to hold the ginger ale and crackers. Millicent sipped her whiskey.

“Pauley, there’s a handwritten letter in your carry on bag. It’s for Arthur. Make sure he gets it. It’s the last time I’m making contact with him. I’ve got all the family I need in this plane. Also, I’ll have a list of proper baby names done before we land.”

Pauley smiled and felt her stomach settle.

The plane landed in Casablanca, Morocco several hours later. Millicent tracked down a cab while Pauley checked in with Stan by cell phone. Digging in her handbag for extra cash, Millicent felt a couple of the cyanide pills she’d created in Brazil. A wave of paranoia washed over her. Was this the last she’d see of her only true friend? Swallowing the off-white capsule was an option. She shook off the thought and paid the driver. Using the French Pauley had told her would work in Morocco, she cooed the instructions.

“Portez-nous à Alfirdaouss et utilisez l’itinéraire de centre-ville.”

Millicent was still staring at the pill when Pauley showed up.

“You okay, Auntie Millie?”

Millicent slid into the backseat of the cab.

“Yes, but that’s isn’t going to do. I like Aunt M, like James Bond’s boss, but cuter.”

Pauley laughed as the cab away from the airport into traffic.

The women reached their desired apartment district. As they shopped a nearby open market, Pauley saw a familiar cafe.

“Come on, let’s get some Moroccan blend!”

The sun beamed over their shoulders as Millicent prepared to pay for their cups. The cyanide pill from earlier dropped from her handbag as she removed money. Millicent handed the cash to the merchant.

“Merci, gardez le changement.”

Pauley sipped her coffee and glared at Millicent who stared at the cyanide. Without saying anything, Millicent took her three-inch heel and stomped the capsule until it was dust on the pavement. The women looked away from each other in silence. Millicent sidled up to her friend.

“Don’t worry, Paulette. When you need me, I’ll make more.”

The women turned and walked side by side into the Casablanca sun.

*****blogger’note****

This is the season finale of mine and Tara aka @Tara_R ‘s Brazilian sequel to Dead Money, our serialized story about female killers Millicent and Pauley.

Please go see Tara’s chapter first at http://www.thinspiralnotebook.com

Today’s song belongs to Weezer. They’re all about irony and weirdness, just like MIllicent and Pauley. Thank you for reading. Tara and I have so much fun writing these stories. Here’s Best Friend.

Learning To Fly

I wish I could make mother-in-law jokes because they’re funny and sometimes true. But I can’t.

How good is my relationship with my wife’s mom? In two weeks she and I will jump out of a perfectly good airplane together and I’m convinced my chute will work.

My mother in law teaches me to fly every day.

*****blogger’s note*****

This is 57 words for my friends Mel and Michelle’s “Ketchup with Us”

http://accordingtomags.blogspot.com/

where I’m supposed to write 57 words about a mother in my life. It was my mother in law Teresa aka Mimi’s birthday yesterday. She tells me she had my wife Deana the Bobina when she was like 12, so I believe her. We’re going skydiving on May 11th. That was her Christmas present to me. She also bought my book, although she won’t read it because it’s too racy for her tastes. But you should buy it and read it. It’s available on Amazon/Kindle, smashwords and in paperback from Lulu.com or a signed copy from my kitchen table.

http://www.amazon.com/The-Ballad-Of-Helene-Troy/dp/1300800216/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1367436173&sr=8-1&keywords=lance+burson

Today’s song is from Tom Petty. It fits in every way possible. Get your strum on.

100 Word Song – Heavenly Day

Leeroy and I apologize for the Wednesday morning post of 100 word song. My 17-year-old daughter, Tay, has decided that April would be here month to be pretty, smart and accomplished. Last night she capped off a crazy 30 days by picking up a scholar-athlete award at her high school for being a brilliant cheerleader. Yes, they do exist. She’s the petite one in the brand new yellow dress looking pensive and insouciant. She gets the pretty from her mom, the attitude from me and the smarts from both of us.

Deb aka @deblsee from Day In Day Out http://debbiesdays.wordpress.com/ is a terrific writer. Like me with Soul To Body, she dedicated her entire Vivid Black series to prompts, mostly to 100 word song, and ended her serial last week. Leeroy insisted we honor her and he asked her to pick this week’s song. Deb chose Patty Griffin’s Heavenly Day. If you’re not reading Deb, you’re wasting your time with the internets. Check her out.

For my 100 we go back to shirtless Jake trying to leave equally shirtless and more Mallory in my short story, Soul To Body.

last time: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2013/04/25/fortress-around-yourheart/

They stared at each other, topless and vulnerable. Jake turned the cold brass knob. Late evening sun showed his bruised torso. He turned toward a tearful arm-crossed Mallory.

“I’m not rejecting you, Mallory. I’m accepting me for the first time since my wife died. If I leave now, I’ll beat my daughter home and find another shirt. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

The door closed before her response. His physical pain was relieved by the trouble-free feeling of walking away.

His phone vibrated in the pocket of his jeans. It was a text from Violet.

“Dad, I’m home. Where are you?”

You have 6 1/2 days from NOW to write 100 words inspired by Patty Griffin’s Heavenly Day. Please link up to Mr, LInky below then tell a friend or 50 and tweet, google +, book o face, smoke signal, Pony Express, or shout your post and promote even more.

Stronger

It doesn’t matter if you don’t know a basketball from a basket case, hit your favorite search engine and read the Sports Illustrated cover story written by hoops player Jason Collins  http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/magazine/news/20130429/jason-collins-gay-nba-player/ . The first line of “I’m a 34-year-old NBA center. I’m black. And I’m gay” is historic because Collins has become the first North American professional athlete, while active, to come out as homosexual. Like Ellen Degeneres in that fake television airport, and former New Jersey Governor Jim McGreevey in that firestorm political press conference, Jason Collins becomes a pioneer. As with most pioneers, the roads are treacherous and the elements are severe. In Collins case he’s dealing with a Jock culture that’s tunnel-visioned and hypocritical while touting God’s gracious name in every other breath. Less than an hour after the announcement, Collins faced the tweet of 26-year-old Miami Dolphins wide receiver Mike Wallace.

““All these beautiful women in the world and guys wanna mess with other guys SMH  (shakin’ my head)”

Ahhh, homophobia, you’re always a party crasher. Not to be outdone, ESPN tracked down two of their reporters, L.Z. Granderson who is black, gay, and a Christian and Chris Broussard, who is black, straight and a Christian. Both men have won awards for sportswriting and reporting. Broussard is a considered an NBA expert. I know you can probably guess what happened, but what the heck, let’s go to the tape.

Ahhhh, religious misinterpretation and hypocrisy, y’all are like ants at a BBQ.

I’m white, straight and a Christian who not only thinks Jason Collins is brave, as is L.Z. Granderson (sports reporting is rife with bigotry, too) but Chris Broussard is dangerously wrong. Mike Wallace was just dumb. He deleted his tweet and went to count his millions he just received in a free agent deal with Miami. But let’s look at Broussard’s problem, because it’s one that’s hurting the cause of Christianity and the equal rights of gay people.

You may want to get close to your computer screen for these next few sentences because you don’t want to miss a word.

CHRISTIANS ARE INTENTIONALLY MISINTERPRETING THE BIBLE TO BAIT AND SWITCH THE GAY MARRIAGE ISSUE.

If you wish, and while it may make you physically ill to hear their malice forethought attempts to twist God’s word for their own agenda, go look up Matt Chandler and Mark Driscoll’s sermons on homosexuality. They represent “the new school” of dialogue, thought, and political presentation regarding the issue of gay marriage and unequal rights for homosexuals. Instead of “gays are abominations and they’re going to hell”, it’s the same stuff Chris Broussard said in his clip, “all sin is wrong, including homosexuality. Homosexuality is no different from pre-marital sex and since any sex outside of marriage is wrong, so is homosexuality”. Wow, that seems straight forward and reasonable, doesn’t it? Time to play a video, and end this blog post……

Wait, allow me to do a Columbo impression…… just one more thing fellow Christian brothers and sisters, why not allow gay people to get married? That way, they won’t be sinning and everyone’s happy.

Silence.

Trust me.

If you drop that question on someone’s holier than thou Facebook page, their head may explode like Michael Ironsides in the movie Scanners.

Let’s go back to Collins. His announcement was meticulous planned. He waited till after the season so it wouldn’t be a distraction. I’d venture to say the Commissioner and team officials of the Washington Wizards were in on it. Jason Collins is at the end of his career. It’s likely he’ll never play another minute in the NBA as he was with 2 teams this season, Boston and Washington, and put up his worst statistics. Technically, he gets the title as first guy ever, but he may be an ex-player soon. But doing this so close to his playing career will show the almost 200 men he played alongside since high school in the mid 1990s that a gay man was their teammate and nothing bad happened to them, you know, like catching the gay, will ease some tensions and help the next person or ten who come out after Collins’ announcement.

The biggest issue here is sports tends to unite us. Regardless of political persuasion, religious affiliation, or background, people will stand arm in arm cheering for their favorite teams and sports. Professional basketball has a lot of growing up to do. Have you ever seen The Basketball Wives? The culture is awful when it comes to sex, drugs, and financial problems. Jason Collins is a good man who represents himself and his sport well.

For my fellow Christians, it’s time to admit you’ve lost the argument. The loose interpretations of the Bible to fit your fears and bigotry have got to cease. Gay marriage will happen, anyway. Then, we can all make those moral decrees about what happens away from a marriage. God Bless Jason Collins. His life started today. I hope he makes the most of it and becomes stronger.

Here’s Kanye.

Come Pick Me Up

Ramona’s whiskey-soaked greeting “hey honey” made Breann realize her text message had been of want, not need. Ramona straddled a wooden chair across from Breann and gave her gravel-voiced reply, “I’ll do it”.

*****blogger’s note****

This is a special 33 words for Trifecta’s Trifextra Weekend Challenge http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ of 33 words using at least one hyphenated compound modifer. For you non word nerds, that’s whiskey-soaked and gravel-voiced. I did two to suck up to the hosts.

This is a 33 word sneak preview of my upcoming second book, Italian Radio. For those of you who read my first, The Ballad of Helene Troy http://www.amazon.com/The-Ballad-Of-Helene-Troy/dp/1300800216/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1367079681&sr=8-1&keywords=lance+burson  or followed the serial on the blog, you’ll know that Ramona Gallery is a major character from that novella, and that Breann Lucos and Ramona are ex-girlfriends, so there’s history and much more here. So, Ramona is 1 of 2 Helene characters making cameos in Italian Radio. Ahhhh alternate fictional Universes.

I thought the perfect song playing in the background would be Ryan Adams “Come Pick Me Up”.

Fortress Around Your Heart

Last time with Soul To Body: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2013/04/24/100-word-song-ho-hey/

Jake’s sudden outburst caused Mallory to deaden her stare until it seemed an indescribable state of ecstasy. He extended his left hand and waited for her to accept it. But the wall he’d created between them with his unstable emotions seemed in place, for now.

Realizing any more conversation after ending their intimate moment with awkwardness would be brutal, Jake left her and located his keys and headed to the door. Mallory ran toward him.

“Jake, no, please!”

He hesitating turning the knob, which allowed her next sentence.

“I’ll wait for your heart to be ready, just don’t reject me!”

******blogger’s note****

This is new story episode of my novella, Soul To Body, about a man with a teen daughter who loses his wife to cancer three months earlier. This is linked to 2 prompts, http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ ’s “ecstasy” and http://www.velvetverbosity.com/ ’s “wall”. Please visit them. There are excellent writers there as well as fine human beings, or so they say they’re human.

Have you bought my first book, The Ballad of Helene Troy? It’s available on Amazon/kindle, smashwords, and in paperback from Lulu.com or a signed copy from my kitchen table. http://www.amazon.com/The-Ballad-Of-Helene-Troy/dp/1300800216/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366912113&sr=8-1&keywords=lance+burson

For today’s song we head back to 1985 Dream of The Blue Turtles’ album from Mr. Arrogant, Sting and Fortress Around Your Heart.

100 Word Song – Ho Hey

Although we only had six entries last week, Leeroy and I really dug the experience. We found a couple of new writers, including Jen, who chose a great song, Blood, Sweat & Tears’ Lucretia Macevil. If I didn’t comment your entry it’s because I had trouble accessing your place. 100 Word Song is also accessible through Twitter – @TLanceB and the book o face – My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog . For this week, Leeroy called on an old friend, Vancouver Carrie from http://museunleashed.com/ She reads and reviews a lot of books there and she’s a killer writer. Like my wife and I, her husband also writes making them an artistic couple. Leeroy asked her to pick the song and she brought us back to present day with the hit folk rock pop tune, Ho Hey by The Lumineers.

For my 100 we go back to Mallory’s bathroom, and my short story, Soul To Body. I will get back to 2 entries a week for this story.

Last time: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2013/04/17/100-word-song-lucretia-macevil/

The kiss was exciting but wrong. Mallory’s mouth slid over Jake’s. Her teeth grazed his bottom lip. A slight nibble drew blood. The porcelain sink chill on his lower back sobered him. He pushed away.

“Mallory, I’m sorry. I’m lonely and sick of always doing the right thing….”

She interrupted his rambling by kissing his naked chest and moving her mischievious mouth down his torso toward his waist. When she reached the button of his jeans, the taste of blood in his mouth churned his pill weakened stomach. He lifted Mallory and yelled.

“Hey! I don’t belong here right now!”

As always, you have 7 days from NOW to write 100 words inspired by Carrie’s pick of Ho Hey by The Lumineers. Then link it up to the Mr. Linky below and tweet, book o face, google +, email, smoke signal, or cat call your entry to a friend or fifty.

Monkey Business

I don’t watch a lot of television, other than sports, but it isn’t because I’m a snob or a hipster but more because I see shows that remind me how crazy I am. It used to be that the people and things inside your set were far away in subject and location. Movies, sitcoms, and dramas are supposed to be made in Hollywood, which is about three thousand miles from my hometown outside Atlanta, Georgia. But about fifteen years ago reality television became a thing. After showing us people in a jungle playing games for the right to eat a few more bowls of rice, producers started aiming cameras at the freaks that lived down the street, or in my case, in my house.

While editing my next book, Italian Radio, due in late May, tell a friend or fifty, I clicked the remote to a documentary about the 1980s narrated by Rob Lowe. In between people waxing poetic about Reaganomics, break dancing, the Rubik’s Cube, Fawn Hall, and the David Hasselhoff bringing down the Berlin Wall (really, don’t ask), I saw a commercial for a show on The Learning Channel called My Crazy Obsession. Some middle-aged man was bragging about quitting his job as a lawyer to concentrate on his collection of containers of mustard. Then they flashed two seconds of video of him shaving with mustard. I’m guessing it was Dijon because standard yellow is a little harsh on the skin. I recall The Learning Channel being the station where you saw live births, surgeries or perhaps a peek into the life of an ER doctor. But now, TLC stands for Total Lunatic Channel.

As sarcastic and cynical as I may be, I’m not judgemental. My wife and kids think I’m too trusting and lenient with everyone but them. I’ve written many times about letting your freak flag fly. Every other post is about my own struggles with mental illness general ridiculousness. But I found myself grossed out and fearful for the future of humanity until I took my eyes off the screen and stared at my eight foot tall shelf of music CDs.

The hard, cold, reality show in my bedroom is that I’m one phone call from hanging out with mustard man. My CD collection is absurd and I’m pretty sure I’m hit rock bottom with the twenty bucks I blew for no good reason at the only used CD store where I live this weekend. The two dudes who run the place know my name, my car, and my buying habits. I never spend more than five bucks for a CD so if something I want is $5.99, they’ll lower the price a dollar and wish me a good day.

This isn’t recent addiction for me. Music has been a part of my life since my memories started in the early 1970s. I thought I broke my habit in 2006 when I lost over half my collection in a divorce. But I’ve since replaced most of them and added another 100 or more. A couple of years ago my wife and I organized my CDs and the count was around 300. I know the number exceeds 500 and I refuse to reorganize or count anything. TLC reads blogs and Twitter, I’m sure of it. Last night I tweeted Rachel Bolan and Sebastian Bach of one of my favorite rock bands, Skid Row, ostensibly to get them back together. I don’t care for the current singer. You can call that rock bottom, but I get to talk writing and music with several of my favorite musicians over social media. This is worse than a smack habit. Also? There are two voice mails on my phone from numbers I don’t recognize. Call me paranoid, but one of them is the network. I don’t want to meet mustard man.

I mean are there fifty or seventy-five CDs I could get rid of for ….HELL NO THERE AREN’T! SHUT UP GOOD ANGEL ON MY RIGHT SHOULDER!

I post videos and write from prompts of songs every day. I joke with my writing friends that the songs are my gimmick, but the truth is, I started doing that because it showed my inspirations for my writing and my life. I’ll just stop watching TV, especially The Learning Channel. I prefer to live in the moment, regardless of how sociopathic it may be. I love music and the devil on my left shoulder. It only tells me to buy more and listen to more music. And occasionally it tells me to ice cream and drink a couple of beers late at night. I’ll be okay.

One of my purchases this weekend was a Skid Row greatest hits compilation. I’d almost forgotten how underrated the New Jersey hard rockers were, especially their number one charting second album, Slave To The Grind. Here’s what I call my favorite crazy obsession, music – Monkey Business. What do your call yours?

Turn this up really loud