The Concert for New Orleans

Rok Finger is more full of it than anyone you've ever met—if the "it" in question is charity. I've got more charity in my tax documents than most people have in their whole bodies. And when I heard people somewhere were suffering from something, I wanted to do my part. And your part, too, if you weren't already doing it.

That's why I organized the Concert for New Orleans—just me and a few friends you may have heard of. Like John Cougar Mellancamp? Willie Nelson? Hazel Mertz? Electric Eddie Dumpling? Lee? Camembert? And Alec Baldwin? Okay, you may not have heard of all of them—I understand Baldwin was in a movie called Beetle Jews, so I thought I'd give him a break and invite him along.

Basically what it is, my celebrity friends and Alec Baldwin all got together and decided to play songs, read poems, and do all sorts of interesting crap for charity. All the money that we don't sneak into our own pockets goes to help the victims of New Orleans. Apparently it's been giving some people trouble. I'm not sure of all the details, too much reading required, but I wanted to make sure people who were suffering got everything they needed, and the entire world knew it was Rok Finger who organized the damn thing.

I've got the whole thing arranged, and over three of the announced guests have agreed to appear. We start of things very solemn and dignified, before they get fucking nuts with fun. First, a moment of silence for the victims of New Orleans. More than a moment—an hour and a half. Complete silence. Now that's classy. Then, we start into a real melancholy ballad—I'm trying to reunite Soundgarden for that, since I think the grunge music perfectly represents whatever the cause is.

Next we go into a small skit about the dangers of… well, all the details haven't been ironed out yet. Whatever's the danger that's troubling all the people we're trying to benefit. I'm trying to get Ernest Hemingway to write it, but if we can't get him on the phone, I understand Mariel Hemingway's available. If we can't get her, I'll try Anferny Hardaway. And I'll keep trying names that sound the least little bit similar until I get to Camembert, who will probably end up writing it. After all, he's not exactly going to get a place in the chorus line, and he'd better do something to help out with the charity if he wants his name on the marquee. Under Sting, but over Don Cornelius.

Before you get the chance to ask, and cancel your reservation, Lee's band, Up With Prophets, will be performing. I hope you like Christian Rock! Or maybe "like" is too strong a word. I hope you can stomach it for twenty minutes, because that's all they're scheduled to play for. Got to make way for the celebrities who aren't my friends.

Then, a cavalcade of true Hollywood talent the likes of which you've seldom seen. You'll get pure talent up the whazoo until you want to puke. We'll be doing the whole thing right here at the commune offices to save on the expenses, and because Bagel says it's something called "deductible." There will be so much talent in this group, God will look down from heaven and say, "Shit, when did I drop all that talent down there?"

It's high time somebody did something for the New Orleans sufferers—when's the last time you turned on your TV and saw anybody doing anything? Or even seen it mentioned? But that's the kind of guy I am—all charity. And as soon as we get this New Orleans problem taken care of, I'd like to do something about the hungry. Feed them, or failing that, anesthesia.

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