My band would get an 8.7 Best New Music on Pitchfork and be invited to play The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. Before the show my bassist would say “I sure am excited to play The Tonight Show with Jay Leno,” and I would say “what did you say?” and he would say, “I said–” and then I’d simultaneously punch him in the jaw and develop a debilitating painkiller addiction. Backstage, Jay Leno would ask me to participate in a skit involving four mischievous monkeys dressed as depressed old hairdressers, and I would scream “Would you treat Bono like a two-bit organ grinder?” before knocking over a garbage can and punching my bassist in the jaw again. A .gif of this incident would get 65,089 notes on Tumblr and briefly unite our divided congress.
NPR would invite me to discuss my album on the radio. They’d ask me “is it true that you’ve recently welcomed three strippers and a resourceful painkiller dealer into your band?” and I would say “is it true that cursing on public radio can incur fines of up to a million dollars?” They would say “I mean yes, but I don’t see how that’s–” and I’d interrupt them with my award-winning think-piece on the etymology and many fine uses of the f-word followed by a hilarious, dead-on impression of Alec Baldwin doing his speech from Glengarry Glen Ross. I’d be escorted out of the building by NPR’s skinny, cardigan-clad security guards, who once outside would apologize and ask me to sign their deluxe remastered editions of my debut album. (I would refrain from telling them that the album wasn’t really remastered at all, we just said that to make more money, because money is awesome.) Then I’d call my bassist’s sick, confused mother on the phone, pretending to be him, and tell her that I don’t love her anymore and never really did.
One of my songs would be used to soundtrack a scene in an indie romantic comedy where a depressed elf falls down a flight of stairs and into the arms of a suicidal telemarketer. I’d send a DVD of this clip to the people who were mean to me in high school, along with glamor shots of me lifting weights and looking very, very strong and intimidating, because that’ll show them.
I would start a Kickstarter to raise funds for my second album, and then I’d use those funds to buy a sleek motorboat. “Cool motorboat, sexy-guy!” non-famous people will exclaim as I speed past them, en route to the MTV Video Music Awards. Upon accepting my award for Best New Artist I would light Justin Bieber’s wig on fire and announce my retirement. Twenty years later I’d buy all the tickets to my comeback show at Madison Square Garden, and sell them for twice their value on StubHub.