You want me to tell you what I think of your song? You really want me to tell you? Fine, I'll tell you. I think your voice makes me want to take a screwdriver and jam it in my ears. I think your lyrics are some of the worst doggerel this side of Rod fucking McKuen. I think you can't play the guitar for shit and if I cared just a little bit about whether or not you were going to continue making music - and based on the fact that you have absolutely no talent whatsoever I doubt you will - I would light your instrument on fire while you held it in your hands. I think that what you need to do is have your vocal chords removed, but you shouldn't bother with a surgeon, I think you should do it yourself, with a pair of rusty pliers. I think you should break your own hands so that you never write another word and I think you should be forced to eat your guitar. You've got a lot of nerve thinking I - or anyone else - would want to hear what I can only describe as anti-music. On top of all that, you're not very pleasant to look at and you dress like a creep. In short, you are the most repugnant asshole I have ever met and if I wasn't sitting here with my wife and kids I would punch you in your balls, that is, if you have any balls, which I also doubt. I bet if I gave you a thousand dollars right this second and gave you directions to the nearest whorehouse you would find it impossible to get laid. Should the plague ever make a return I hope it finds your first, middle and last and passes on to no one else. Now, if you don't get out of my sight in less than five seconds I have it in mind to pick you up by the back of your stupid looking jeans and toss you through that plate glass window. However, I would like to see you one more time, and one time only, and that is when you bring me my iced tea and tuna salad sandwich."
So, Big Al, do you want me to piss in your tea or spit on your tuna?
"I'd prefer it if you crapped in your own mouth."
Managers never get kudos.
No, Adam, they never get kudos. They just get all the money.