THE BASTARD SONS OF ST. JOHN

Me and my brother, when we get together next, are planning on making some music under the name "The Bastard Sons of St. John Green". The reason for this is of course that we are the bastard sons of St. John Green. St. John Green is our fathers psychedelic acid rock freak band from the sixties. They played mostly in biker bars and unconventional venues, and put out one album of the same name. Strangely it sold in the blue chip stamp book (for those of you who remember those) and then was shipped to other countries to be sold in order to avoid paying me dear old pappy royalties. It still sells today some places on the internet and in goldmine records magazine. I also found the album cover in a book at Costco titled "60's psychedelic album covers"...but I digress, why are we bastards? We are actually half brothers, same father different mothers, both raised by our mothers, neither knew our father until we were well into our teens. Nor did we even know each other existed! It was like a fricken miracle, surprise! you have a brother and he's 17! what what what! so anywho technically we are not bastards, since a bastard is
1.a person born of unmarried parents; an illegitimate child. or
2. a vicious, despicable, or thoroughly disliked person
neither of us was born with unmarried parents, and neither of us is thoroughly disliked or despicable. But we were without married parents for the majority of our lives, and we are occasionally bastards or at the very least have been called bastards on occasion. So with that combination, in my mind, which is undoubtedly the one that counts in this particular instance, me and my kick ass half brother are indeed bastards. Not just any bastards, but

THE BASTARD SONS OF ST. JOHN GREEN
ROYAL AND SOVEREIGN CITIZENS OF THE UNIVERSE

We also have a half sister Jessica, who I would really like to know some day, and somewhere out there another long long lost half brother who I expect I will never meet. Pappy was a busy man! a metaphorical Jonny apple seed spreading the gospel of germination through the magic of fornication. He added his own special sauce to Americas melting pot every time the cook wasn't looking and then scurried off into the night as if his ass was on fire...and for that I am grateful. He was a innovator, a harbinger of the worlds future. A vaginal visionary he was, perhaps we should all follow in his cooch steps? it's as if he was on a combination pogo stick turkey baster bounding across America frantically squeezing the bulb, juice flying everywhere in a mad capped game of semen roulette. "who will get the magic bullet! who's gonna be the lucky sinner tonight...red number seven! we have a sinner!" The mans schlong was like a heat seeking vagina missile. a virtual rainbird of life. Have I gone to far? is this rant over? It probably should be, but I start writing and this shit just flows out of my mind...what kind of person thinks of shit like this. I may be seriously demented.
PEACE!