"Beware the 'Inter-Web' from the groundbreaking new Vernon Rust book FAKE NEWS

I've seen the internet go . . . 
      
      from the hope of knowledge for everyone

          the nerve center of the people of planet earth

                connecting every woman, child and man 

                          on this tumbling spacerock
                               
                                to

                                     
                                        instant porn and trash for all ages

touring a sewer 

                    . . . in a glass bottom boat

seven second soundbites

for sharemonkey tricksites & misquoted memes

CLICKBAIT CLICKBAIT  do you no my name?

          newspapers closing cause nobody reads

                    fast breaking news....car-bombs & bleeding

                              murderers killing militants...revenging invasions

of camouflage Christians 

                        . . . and infidel nations

READ FAKE NEWS! 

(& go call your Momma)

FAKE NEWS by Vernon Rust available now on amazon.com http://a.co/ctBGQiF

MY GENERATION early rock memories from the Vernon Rust book FAKE NEWS

I watched Pete Townsend and Keith moon destroy the stage of the smothers brothers tv show after “my generation” completed it’s “BIG FINISH”

I watched the BEATLES singing ‘HEY JUDE” on ed sullivan . . . all on live Black and white TV.

Now, great songs make money for corporations outright. Songwriting income is an old wives tale.

Consider this: When one of my songs gets streamed 10 million times, that nets me 300 dollars.

If, by some divine miracle of nature, You Tube played my song 1 BILLION times?

That generates $3000 dollars.

If I had a “co-writer”? Cut that figure in half.

In the “old days” a hit country radio single, top 10 and above, made the writer 200K. An album cut on a platinum record made 60. Banks would loan against it. Hell, drug dealers and bartenders would too. (You too can make “dozens” of dollars in the exciting music business!)

How do you get a songwriter off your front porch?

                          (Pay him for the pizza.)

from the ground breaking new book FAKE NEWS (on Amazon) http://a.co/ctBGQiF

SKID RODE HARD (& put up wet) -from the worst selling book of ALL time "FAKE NEWS"

WHEN YOU LOSE IT ALL...there is a certain freedom in knowing you are as low as you can go...rock bottom is no longer a mystical place, "under the bridge" no longer an hypothesis...you are there, and you're OK, and guess what...it only CAN get better!

WHEN A MAN HITS THE SKIDS...one of two things will occur 1) he slithers away into the night, and hurries the suicidal events and the shitty thinking involved, dumber & drunker...faster & faster, making themselves less & less worth of mercy OR . . .
                                                    2) he receives his suffering like a man, asks God to help him, and endeavors to help those around him...while embracing his "Jailhouse Salvation" and the "blessed lessons".......to follow....simple as that...either they get their karmic shit together....or they die on the streets...

MY STRUGGLE WAS only beginning, and for a poet of the spiritual metaphysical supernatural variety, I felt cut a little deeper than most, when only a few months ago...1997, I was the toast of Bondi Beach, the man who elevated Keith Urban to "the next Big Thing" teaching him everything he knows and all....my, my, my....things were not even REMOTELY going the way I'd planned...I mean, where was all the money, friends, and recognition for all my cosmic vibrational phenomenal achievements? Why was I here? How did this happen? What was taking so long with the girl at the meds counter? ....why am I drooling so much, and where the FUCK is my other flip flop??...

SOON THE JUDGE would give me the "A-OK" to return to society via the vultures in the "half-way house" game...where the rubber mattresses and adorable freshly paroled smoke bumming muttonheads soon drove me to escape...during a fake dental appointment, tasting ONCE MORE the shitty, stupid Nashville rainy mindset, I'd fought so hard to avoid....

SOON I WOULD LEARN ABOUT REHAB, half way horror houses & the low lifes that run them...Alcoholics Unanimous, and the role Methadone clinics play in our society..the entire lifestyle of the joyfully addicted....the old saying is...when you shake heroin, you shed a monkey from your back...when you go methadone you get a gorilla up there......

My love affair with the drug would span off & on for 15 years....throw in the mental wards, Jails, crack-houses, half-way houses, whorehouses, safe-houses and....hey!..wait a minute...

                             you're thinking this would make a good movie are'nt you?

from the bestselling new book by Vernon Rust FAKE NEWS (on Amazon) 

http://a.co/ctBGQiF

EARLY NASHVILLE..."Twang Town" from the book FAKE NEWS by Vernon Rust

NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE in the late 1980's was a lot like Paris in the 1920's....except we had the syphilis, and body odor thing under control by then, not to mention cannabis horticulture and recording technology was really getting into high gear.....

MUSIC was burning & blazoning across the universe like never before, or ever again. An intellectual and spiritual renaissance the likes of, the world will never witness again was happening and in a very loud way for sure.

TO walk down 16th avenue in 1987, was to stroll among the streets of Gods, both real and imagined.

PUBLISHING companies, Record labels, recording studios, & restaurants....kitschy, corny, gift shops with cheesy promo-photos of even cheesier hillbilly wannabes...stores, bars, souvenir shops with Hank Jr ashtrays, or Barbara Mandrell bolo-ties, little Jimmy Dickens “cowboy hats” by the bowls of Nashville keychains, right next to goo-goo bars, with that picture of Heidi, the goo-goo heiress....

YES THE "Cars of the Stars" museum...the "Wax figurines of the Stars"..."So & So's personal museums" of personal nick-nackery, shrines of stupidity & the beautiful innocence and honesty of it all...

YOU COULD DINE in Shoney's, where a man could no shit, have breakfast with an ole gal whose ole man lived next door to an ole boy whose cousin knew the guy who used to drive Merle's bus!...

Everything a country fan on long weekend vacation could want to see. Sweaty camera straps cutting  pasty, lily white stripes across the crimson sunburned flesh of the ogling tourists as they punctuate the crosswalks in gaggles in their "gold nugget" jewelry and stupid cowboy hats fresh off the racks of Stuckey's or other fine Nashville Tennessee clothing establishments.  God Bless their souls & the records they bought back then…

I WAS quite sure, had my investor not backed out, my business model "TURDS OF THE STARS" would have really done well. I was going to mount toilets sideways on the walls, displaying the leavings of the holy among mortals.

FOR INSTANCE...Elvis...and "the King"..... Hank Junior's "Junior".... Johnny's "Cashews"...Charlie's "Pride" or...Minnie's "Pearls"...

However I wasn't quite what to do with the Oak Ridge Boys display....

But just like most of my other great ideas, like my mashed potatoes on a stick franchise, they soon took a big back seat to my new REAL job....

                                            and the metaphysical task at hand....songwriting. 

 from the bestselling new book FAKE NEWS on Amazon http://a.co/ctBGQiF

 

"Jesus gets jealous of Santa Claus" by Me & Keith Urban recorded by Toby Keith

Jesus Gets Jealous of Santa Claus
   

Layin' back in my easy chair
Late last Christmas eve
Silent night, twinkling lights
Presents 'round the tree
I heard my little girl's two bare feet
Comin' down the stairs
She was sad as I looked over
Draggin' her teddy bear

     She said, now daddy, I had a dream
     A little angel came down to me
     She wasn't happy like angels ought to be
     She was cryin' when she gave me the message
     For all the world to hear
     You know that Jesus gets jealous of Santa Claus
     Sometimes this time of year

So, with her head on my shoulder
And her tears mixed with mine
I thought how little baby Jesus
Gets left out at Christmas time
It ain't about the money
Oh, money can't buy love
And I saw the light that Christmas night
With help from up above

        written by Vernon Rust & Keith Urban
        recorded by Toby Keith

From the Blockbuster new Vernon Rust book FAKE NEWS 
available on  AMAZON http://a.co/ctBGQiF 

"THE KANGAROO & I" from FAKE NEWS by Vernon Rust

THE KANGAROO & I DID'NT SEE EACH OTHER before it was too late.

The impact was respectable...our mutual surprise, instant and lingering.

HE WAS about 7 foot tall, a "BIG RED" in a big hurry.

Me? a fallen from grace American expat wanna be, running from Australian Federales at 5 AM, dancing down a hill so fast, my legs almost running out from under me....

Yes, you're right , the odds would be against such a collision in the middle of the Queensland bush, at this particular hour . . . but somehow, sometimes . . . the universe fulfills its true comedy quota.

And  BOOM!

Both of us flat on our arses, catching our breath.

A Koala gives a sleepy look down from it’s gum tree.

Somewhere in the distance . .  .

                                                      . . .  a Kookaburra laughed.

from the bestselling new book FAKE NEWS on Amazon  http://a.co/ctBGQiF

SHELBY COUNTY JAIL Vernon Rust, from FAKE NEWS

MEMPHIS 1990...FRIDAY NIGHT...8 PM. ME, BARELY OUT OF ARKANSAS, JUST ACROSS THE BRIDGE, JUST ACROSS FROM THE PYRAMID...BEING HANDCUFFED ACROSS THE HOOD OF THE CRUISER.

ALL MY SHIT scattered out on the side of the highway...being searched & picked through...when HERE COMES the MAN!... the biggest black cop I've ever seen...there must have been 7 feet of him stuffed in his uniform, the buttons straining at the thread . . . he looked rather like a giant burned sausage . . . in a smoky bear hat.

 His hands were big as baseball mitts. Picture a gigantic chocolate soft serve ice cream cone, with a Bo Diddly’s head hurriedly stuck on top.

Either I was in a great deal of trouble . . . or guest starring in a twilight zone. Neither would serve me happiness.

THERE HE WAS, the posterchild for “black men with badges who turn on their own kind once they put on a uniform”…acting all joyous & joke crackin’...holding my huge bag of weed and the 357 magnum way up in the strobing blue lights for his little sheriff buddies to see...EUREKA!...BINGO!!

He has…

 “LOcated the EVidence in the suspect’s    “VEEchle!”...”HEEHaw!”

He was doing a little jiggy victory dance...like some idiot on the price is right......(he got so excited, he even had to put down his family size bag of “hot fries” he was goin’ at when he got the call on the radio…)

I WAS literally 5 minutes away from me mates house...who were literally having a "Let's cheer up ole Vern" party....I'd make it there alright , just a short four days later...but hell, I'm getting way ahead of myself....

WILL: "Hello?"

            ME: "Will! Man I'm............."

WILL:" Verrrn! Where the hell are you man? Everybody's waitin’ on you!"

ME:  "Will, I'm in JAIL! Let me talk to Clay right NOW! PLEASE!"

WILL: (hollerin’ over his shoulder to the rambunctious crowd awaiting me, their guest of honor) "Vern sez he's in jail! Ha ha ha ha oh, buddy...heh heh…whew! No kidding Vern, where the hell are you?"

ME: "GODDAMMIT Will…Listen! this is my one phone call...I'm, no shit, downtown, in jail...no kidding, I'm in some real trouble...now, would you please...very kindly, put Clay on the FUCKING PHONE!?"

 WILL: "Vern says he wants to talk to Clay"...(trailing off)

 CLAY: "heh heh heh....VERRRN! Where the hell are you man?"

ME: (banging my head on the payphone now) "Clay! Listen man........"

 from the bestselling new book FAKE NEWS from Amazon http://a.co/ctBGQiF