As I was coming out of the elevator I saw the girls from “Making the Band”. Every one of them was there, and they were all tiny. Like 5 foot nothing and below. The shortest one and I locked eyes, sparks flew. Look for our collabo in the next few months.

Television is usually pretty damn useless. We watch a whole hell of a lot of it, but most of it is hogwash, tripe, drivel, shite…pick your favorite.

Lame as it may be, it has its moments…

Some time in 2002, David Letterman straight up GAVE his whole show to singer Warren Zevon. There were no other guests on the show, it was all Zevon. Why? Zevon had lung cancer and he was going to die. My hungover roommate and I watched in awe on a Tuesday night.

He referred to his cancer coolly as “the flu”, and told Dave that his experience has taught him to “enjoy every sandwich”.

Now, most people don’t even know or care who Warren Zevon is. I didn’t (at the time). Letterman didn’t care though that no one knew or cared, he cared and he knew, and wanted to let us and Warren know that he cared and knew, so that we would know and care…oh fuck. So he devoted his whole show to this dying genius. It was Zevon’s last performance ever.

This is why I like Letterman. Fuck Leno, he wouldn’t have the taste to pull this off. He would probably give his show to Kenny Loggins if the the bastard’s foot was terminally asleep.

Anyway, here is part of it. Zevon doing “mutineer”. The strain you hear in his voice when he sings the word “witness” is because he has fucking LUNG CANCER.

That. Is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen on television. Second, Darkplace. Third, “What is this, Vassar?”.

So I’m checking my voicemail at work as usual, and I have 23 messages. This is not all that uncommon. I get through the poltergeist message that I saved (I like to start my day with it) to get to my second message of 23.

“Yeah, this is Steve Steves of the Rolling Stones, the hurdy gurdy man, the purple lace man, the wandering spirit, calling for Jimmy Page. I’m the real Robert Plant.”

The next 21 messages are from this guy.

With each message, being left from around 11pm to 2:30 am, he takes a new step in unfolding a massive plot/conspiracy involving the murder of John Bonham (Led Zeppelin’s drummer), the crucifixion of cats, the occult, Eddie Van Halen, April Wine, cannibalism (?), and Canada. Not to mention numerous cabals, separatist governments, illuminati, identity swaps, and other shadowy things of that nature.

And yup, you guessed it; I’m going to document this story right here from the quick notes I scribbled down during each message. Don’t bother to fact-check this big bastard, its impossible and pointless. Just trust me…and Mr. Steves.

*DISCLAIMER* I am writing this story as it was told to me, most likely by a complete fucking lunatic. I am not claiming that any of this is true…although it would rule if it were.

*DISCLAIMER #2* If you don’t know who led zeppelin is, give up now, its fruitless to bother here. Go play in the sand.

Apparently, John Bonham did not die from drinking 40+ shots of vodka and choking on his own vomit, he was murdered. “They planned the whole thing,” says Mr. Steves, “They’re trying to frame you Pagey boy”.

Someone needed to be responsible for the “murder”, and what better person to pin it on than ol’ Jimmy Page, a rock and roll icon, and bandmate of the deceased. The resulting frame-up is “Why Jimmy Page takes tranquilizers”, Mr. Steves says. Steves says Page didn’t do it though.

Another suspect in the murder is Myles Goodwin from April Wine. This should be obvious.

Anyway, it was before the murder that our man Steves’ movements become vague. One part of his story tells us that he “Left them all broke” and walked out of the Stairway to Heaven mansion forever. The other part (I like this one better) alludes to an identity switch performed by two diabolical females, (aren’t they all…fucking axewounds) called the “Mobsy” twins. Who, supposedly, the Rolling Stones wrote a song about.

The Mobsy twins worked together in a sperm bank. It was here that the twins practiced theft, swiping semen as often as possible, according to Steve. Eventually, driven by as yet unknown forces, they turned their semen-sticky fingers to Steve’s key to The Stairway to Heaven Mansion (which may or may not exist), and his heart. In doing so, these twins lured Steves away from the band long enough for a replacement Robert Plant to infiltrate the band and gain their trust, Bubba Ho-Tep style.

At this point in Steve’s messages, someone is heard in the background saying, “Who are you talking to??” Steve quickly hangs up, only to call back about five minutes later…

The Mobsy twins, although diabolical, were merely soldiers for a massive “separatist government” “dictator” with, “ties to the occult”, Steve said. This man’s name was Brandon Tanney, and he set the whole thing up. I guess this murdering bastard had at one point murdered three of Steve’s cats. There was Mickey, who they tried to sacrifice but got away, so they shot him with a high-powered pellet gun. Mickey’s gunshot wound became infected and he eventually died. “You should have seen how sad Mickey’s green eyes were when he died.” “Mickey was poisoned on the coldest night of the year.”

Tanney crucified another of Steve’s cats, a stray whose name was unknown, in an occult ritual. Third cat, Frisky’s death is unknown at this point, but I’m going to go with “Immolation”…just for shits.

Dramatization of fake Robert Plant burping.

Steve (The real Robert Plant) was still out of the band. To further cement the switch and to rub more salt in his wounds, Tanney and his crew had all of the original vocal tracks re-recorded, EXCEPT for the last verse on “Stairway to Heaven”. They missed that one I guess. There, you can hear Steve’s voice.

Steve went into hiding in Canada for many years. Only to emerge to call me and tell his whole story to my answer machine. I guess he tried to tell Eddie Van Halen all about it, but Eddie’s label wont let Steve speak to him. He also tries calling the label offices in Canada and California, only to find that the diabolical Mobsy twins (who, it turns out, are actually clones made by Tanney) have infiltrated the label offices and usurped the receptionist jobs to keep his story from being heard. Well I’m telling it, come and get me you fucking harpies.

I’m tired of writing this damn thing. The last few messages consisted of Steve pitching us a benefit show, live via satellite featuring John Bonham (??), John Paul Jones, himself, Eddie Van Halen, and a guy named Doug who would entertain the world with his “several disorders”.

“Are you in Mr. Page?”