This infamous column by Michael Corcoran, which ran in the April 25, 1986 issue of the Chronicle, was so inflammatory that it was accompanied by an editor’s note reading, in part: “One staffer even suggested that publishing it might place Corky in imminent danger of serious bodily harm. It was at that point that we decided to run it.” 35 years later, Music Editor Kevin Curtin thought it would be funny to turn a portion of it into a Mad Lib.
Musicians. What a bunch of __________ [plural noun]. It’s my fault __________ [person’s name] shows up at their gigs. How dare I favor a(n) __________ [adjective] band to theirs! Who do I think I am? I must be stupid if I can’t recognize their __________ [noun]. All they do is play goddamn music. In junior high, kids would be called __________ [plural noun] and __________ [verb, past tense] for such an activity. Nowadays we.__________ [verb] our instrument-players. And it really takes the carpool lane to their __________ [part of body]. Ever have a pretty good friend and then they joined a band? After that they’ve only got one topic of conversation, and it’s not __________ [noun]. They’ve all got Marshall egos, turned up to __________ [number]. And I’m not just talking about the __________ [band name] or __________ [band name]; this bug is citywide. I recently sponsored a talent show of [number] new bands at the __________ [music venue], and some of them were pulling shit you’d expect from premenstrual __________ [celebrity]. And every damn one of them thought they should have won. Everybody likes what they hold in their own stool cup, but musicians act like they just walked out of __________ [local restaurant] with theirs.
Don’t you start me talking about those goddamn ingrates! Their voting me as Worst Thing to Happen to Austin Music is calling __________ [band name] a __________ [noun]. After all I’ve done for Austin. Then __________ [music venue] holds its “Not Cool Enough for the __________ [failing industry]” Awards and I win “Most Hated __________ [occupation].” The trophy was a toilet seat on which was written “__________ [verb] __________ your [name].” That’s it! No more Not a Bad Guy Once You Get to Know Him! I’ll mention my __________ [noun] as much as I damn well feel like. Nobody’s stopping you from going out and getting your own column and writing about your __________ [number]-year-old girlfriend. Or, if you don’t have a __________ [same number]-year-old girlfriend (tsk, tsk), you can write about your own band, the band name, __________ [plural]. What do I care? I get __________ [verb, past tense] the same. And I’ve got this job locked up. It’s mine as long as I want it. I can __________ [verb] my …….
Source: https://www.austinchronicle.com/features/2021-09-03/austin-music-sucks-the-mad-lib/