I’d like to start off with saying, I have no idea where I am or what Paper Magazine is, but my good friend Queen Latifah said there’d be an open bar and free shrimp, to which I said, just try and stop me, buster! That, for no reason but lack of a proper segue, reminds me of a story Papa used to tell me when Mama would cry into her old wigs and shake her tiny, frail fist at Louis B. Mayer, about a princess with great, big doe eyes, a sassy boy cut that looked oddly like a spider devouring her head, who had all the talent in the world. However, her evil mother, a queen, naturally, was desperately afraid of being eclipsed by her younger, prettier, more talented daughter and tried to poison her with some magic beans that looked a lot like candy! I never knew where Papa got these stories from! But I just happened to tell this story to two friends of mine. And it turns out these friends of mine happened to be songwriters. And you know what happened, don’t you? RIGHT! A lawsuit. But after that lawsuit was settled, they threw together this darling little tune about it. JACK!...Where’s my piano player, Jack?...I don’t care what your name is, just play the damn opening notes, you’re making me look bad. Idiot. Jack!
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