I get no respect. Sure, I hear about all your snide comments on the internet. *Is that a pencil in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?* *Mike Pack? Sure, if that's what he wants to call it ...*
See what I mean? No respect at all.
I work hard for this man; I am there for him through the sweat and agony of each performance. And I tell you, just the sweat factor alone is enough to short out my batteries. Aw, c'mon, there you go ... snickering again. I swear, in my next life I want to be something more mundane, like an electric toothbrush.
This sweet man would be nowhere without my help, you know. He's just so quiet, so soft-spoken no one would ever hear him without the boost I give him. Face it, ya'll scream so loud I doubt he can hear HIMSELF sing. I know my partner, earpiece, has *his* work cut out for him, too.
And you have the nerve to snicker at me. Shame on you.
Although, on second glance at this picture .... wait a minute ... hey! That's not me, I'm attached to the BACK of his pants. Hmph.
Never mind.
I am Howie's mike pack.
6-6-01
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