Gee Whiz - You Can Be the Big Fish in the Toilet Bowl

GEE WHIZ! HERE YOU SEE WHIZ (on the left) and GEE.

They book talent shows, are agents for TV commercial work, and endorse products themselves!

"Show biz is very lucrative," says Mr. Gee. "Er, not for performers. For shady hucksters, club owners and managers and agents and weasels like me! I have gullible idiots paying for singing lessons, paying for studio time, giving me blowjobs...all so that I can get them a step up on the lowest rung of the entertainment ladder: SKEGNESS.

"You see the starry-eyed morons all over the place, don't you? Every ridiculous bar has a karaoke night or a talent show. People pay to play. They get to do a song IF they bring along a bunch of drunken friends who spend a lot of money. Everybody takes pictures, congratulates the "talented" one, and keeps right on dreaming of a career. "It won't be long now," they think. Maybe Mr. Gee can't get me work, but now that I have a RESUME and some CREDITS, I can pester club owners on my own!!" Ha ha ho ho hee hee."

The odds are as tiny as Robin the Verger's todger. THOUSANDS don't even make it through the audition process on "Britain's Got Talent." Hundreds of towns aren't even on that show's itinerary. Supply and demand is fucked. The hapless idiots who make fools of themselves in the first round admit they either haven't worked in years or were NEVER on a stage. They're just "pursuing the dream." Which is what, to be laughed at? Even if they get past the first round, they're eliminated soon after. If they make it to the semi-finals or even the finals, all it gets 'em is a gig at a local school or an offer of "cabin and board" from a very bad cruise company.

So there are shapeless, mediocre dimwits who hang around for a while playing in some bar Mr. Gee controls. Or like Basket Case, they book themselves. The relatives stop showing up. Nobody gives a "nice" review. The grubby clubs see a different bunch of "talent" and different friends and relatives the next week, or the week after that. The artists starve, but the venue thrives.

Is there anyone on FARCEBOOK who doesn't see some friend or friend-of-friend constantly pestering about Kickstarter, GoFundMe, or "come to my local gig?" Christ, some well known people, now D-listers, named Andy or Wendy or whatever, are busy whinging and wheedling to get people to buy something, or go to some out-of-the-way show. Then you have the Basket Case and Cuntwell types, who are so young and naive, they don't notice all the competition...that there are OTHER people at the small club they played, and OTHER people covering Taylor Swift.

To quote Mr. Dylan, "You ain't goin' nowhere."

It's ok to be happy with your day job, and be the big fish in the small toilet. A lot of us know somebody who happily lives in a small town that has maybe ONE bar-restaurant. That SOMEBODY plays it most every week, and the "regulars" come and listen. It's no big deal. As long as everyone realizes it, fine. It just gets ridiculous when a Basket Case keeps acting so fucking delusional and giddy, or some idiotic Mr. Gee becomes validated with his dangerously pretentious huckster routine.

Put it this way, Bachelors: you'd do better with, literally, The Sound of Silence.