Stupid Rich, Stupid Famous

Stupid Rich, Stupid Famous
Just for the record, I don’t need therapy. I also think this whole journal business is bullshit. Believe me if it wasn’t court ordered I would be having none of it.

But that’s what you get when you’re a mega celebrity and you get caught doing something very stupid, and I have been doing a lot of very stupid things recently. Drugs, booze, driving way too fast, partying way too hard, basically all those really fun things that you should only really do every once in a blue moon. Except I’ve been doing them nearly every day.

For anyone reading this that isn’t me, first of all how the hell did you find this? Seriously?

Either I’m dead or the paparazzi have really stepped their game up. Not sure which would be worse. Anyways, this is Sebastian Jericho.

Yeah that’s right, pause a sec and catch your breath, let that sink in.

The Sebastian Jericho.

If you’ve been living under a rock or something then I’ll explain.

I am the lead singer and co-founder of one of the best musical acts in the world, I have more money than your entire family line combined, I own so many clubs and bars that I don’t even know where they all are anymore, and I have more screaming fans then all the douche vampire actors put together.

So yeah I’m pretty famous.

It was any other day I guess, I was heading to my hotel room after doing a brief concert, swimming through the swarms of fans and photographers and whoever the hell else, when someone yelled out that the band sucked ever since my wife left.

So I knocked him the fuck out.

Before you think my reaction was a little extreme, let me clarify. Thing is, my wife of ten years, co-founder and the band’s other lead singer, died in a plane crash last year when she was coming back from some overseas promoting.

So yeah, forgive me if maybe my music has changed a little and the band has lost one of the most defining voices of all time.

Turns out though, that the police don’t like it when you go all ape shit on a guy and it gets captured by every media device there is, even when you have a good excuse.

Thus I have to go to therapy, and do this stupid journal in which I am supposed to chronicle my day’s events until such a time when the court deems it prudent to stop.

Their words, not mine.

I’m sitting in the waiting room writing this actually, so it’s kinda two birds with one stone I guess. We’ll see how it goes, couldn’t be worse than jail right?

I should have taken the jail time.

Damn it.