My Confession

If confession is good for the soul, then this is going to suck. I like the BeeGees. I know ... I know. I shouldn't but I do. Aside from that Saturday Night Fever crap, they did some pretty good stuff. Except they really sucked in that film version of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band. I mean how much cocaine could they have snorted to convince them that was a good idea? Then there was Andy Gibb, their little brother, who was stupid enough to choose cocaine over his wife Victoria Principal who starred on the television show Dallas and was hot! And sure you have lead singer Barry Gibb standing there with a full beard, Jesus looking hair, an open shirt with chest hair implants and sings like girl. Standing beside him was Robin Gibb, who was a girl who looked like a boy. The other brother Maurice, pretty much kept quiet standing several steps away from the other two. But their last album was "One Night Only" is a live concert full of really good stuff! The acoustic version of "Nights on Broadway" is killer! Why am I confessing such a thing? My wife's nickname in High School was Fannie. I'm uncertain how this nickname was derived from her last name "Stafanski" but it was. She told us this last night at dinner ... everybody choked on their chicken a little. Which, of course, brings up one of my favorite BeeGee songs ... Fannie be tender with my love. I asked her if she'd ever heard it and when she understood it was by the BeeGees she threatened to leave me immediately so I shut up. Today, while she's asleep, I've been listening to BeeGee's. If you don't look at them, they're pretty damn good. Usually I try to make a point in these writings. Today I'm just making a confession. I love my wife. And there's normally not any point in confessing anything.