Do spare a thought for poor Steve. There are no moments of peace in the ticking seconds of his tragic dotage. The glory days of remasturbating Jethro Tull and Loggins & Messina: gone. His youth and virility: drained. His one final grasp, his dream of compiling the world's ultimate cha-cha-cha Cee Dee: a smouldering ruin. His children laugh at him and his folly. All that remains is a stooped shell of a man, condemned to aimlessly potter around the musty halls of his Xanadu, endlessly counting his many wind-up gramophones, admiring his collection of minty Rolexes. The specter of death is again warded off for another few minutes. Half-formed, vague memories of scenes from episodes of Gunsmoke and Lassie occasionally waft through his troubled mind. "I remember...." he wheezes, "Marshal Dillon ... Timmy ....... Miss Kitty........... John Oteri....................Phil Spector................" Like smoke, the images rapidly dissipate from memory. The living nightmare of existence cruelly raises its ugly head once again.
"Hey, old coot!" shouts a harpy voice from somewhere down the furthest reaches of the gloomy hall. "Your old boss called. He says you're off the Spirit remasturbation project!"
Once again, the waking nightmare continues, unabated.
Simple. The dickhead doesn't have a job. Nothing to do all fucking day but passively-aggressively poat loads and loads of shit on his trumped-up little website. Gloating about his pile of possessions that his Daddy's trust fund financed for his sorry ass. Hell, he's not even busy remasturbaring shit anymore. Just for shits and grins I compiled a list of recent releases from AF and who was responsible for the titles. The numbers don't add up to even one project a month for the asshole. There's your answer.
Yeah, I saw that. It must be soul destroying. Spirit and Jeff Beck, both of whom vanished up the anus of history half a century ago.
Isn't he like 66 now? Someone should ask him how retirement and his Medicare benefits are doing.