Archive for the 'Book' Category


Grammy’s change the rules again…because of the way James Comey treated Hillary Clinton.

As Ronald Raegan would say, “Well, there you go again.”  I learned, as someone nominated for a Grammy, that getting awards can be as bad, and full of shit as politics.

Ya know how bills are passed that have a lot of pork and earmarks? Well the latest from the Recording Academy is filled with oink and skid marks.  How so?

Here is the article from The Associated Press.    The headline?  “Grammys switching to online voting, changes top album rule.”

Okay. That sounds cool and reasonable, as long as the votes aren’t hacked, which I do not personally see as an issue. In fact, it would be nice if voting in USA for government positions could work that way..and actually be obligatory, to possibly prevent a total idiot from becoming POTUS.

What the headline from the AP neglects to mention, is the pork.  And of course, most people have A.D.D. and only read headlines.  (below taken from the AP article.)

“Bill Freimuth, the academy’s senior vice president of awards, said the academy expects to attract younger voters and touring musicians who are away from home during voting season.”

said of online voting, which comes a year after the Latin Grammys made the switch.

Freimuth said there were concerns about security issues, but added they have “done everything we can to make sure the integrity of the system will be preserved.”


I read that word, and spit out my tea. Let’s talk about integrity.  (And by the way, I have met Bill Freimuth, and he is a really nice guy, and I’m sure his intentions are honorable, but….)

I repeat. Let’s talk about integrity, shall we?  Please allow me to dissect his statement.

“attract younger voters, and touring musicians who are away from home during voting season.”

99% of these touring musicians – and younger “voters” also want a shot at the brass ring. The academy welcomes these voters with open arms to pay their dues, and participate. But they don’t really trust the paying voters to make the right decisions. How can I say that? Answer? One word.


When I was nominated, in 2012, there were no committees in “Americana” and all roots categories across the board, thus it was a democracy of the voting members who decided  the top 5 nominees, by majority vote, and then the winner, in the same manner.

The following year, without transparency to the voting members, they changed the rules, and put in a committee to decide the top 5, vs. the democratic vote, because, God forbid, another indie, like myself, gets past the gatekeepers. I put these facts in my book, “Who the Fuck Is Linda Chorney”, (I also mentioned it at the time to the Press, and they didn’t give a shit) – and then, the following year, after my book release, (read at least a thousand times!) all of a sudden, The Recording Academy decided to be transparent.  (My transparency? Yes, that was a slight plug for my book. tee hee.)

Then in 2013, Al Walser, another Indie, was  nominated for a Grammy in Dance Electronic category. At the time, this too was a democracy. Low and behold, the following year, they put in a committee to decide the top 5 in all Dance stuff.

Still, a few categories remained  true democracies, thus completely independent artists grabbed that brass ring, and some even won in New Age, Rap, and Contemporary Instrumental genres. And you bet your ass, lots of touring musicians joined, and paid their dues, in hopes of having their shot! Membership doubled after my nomination, alone, being the first in history to get the nod in Americana. (Imagine me taking a bow.)

BUT NOT ANYMORE!  (Say like Inspector Clouseau, after he trashed the “priceless Steinway”.)

The Below excerpt, is taken from the same AP article, for dissection number 2, also coinciding with spitting out more tea.

Other changes include nomination review committees added to the rap, contemporary instrumental and New Age genres. The committees serve as an additional layer of checks and balances, and for rap, could prevent wins like Macklemore & Ryan Lewis in 2014 over Kendrick Lamar, which were highly criticized. It could also allow rising acts to earn nominations over veteran performers like Eminem and Kanye West, who consistently earn nominations.

“We form these committees only when we hear from … those genre communities (when) they feel like something’s wrong, or that our nominations could be better,” said Freimuth. “For rap, what they were finding was that ‘legacy’ artists, almost no matter what they released, they would get a nomination because of their name recognition and fan base.”


“Layer of checks and balances.”  Bwahahahahhaa! = CONTROL.

Justification for committees – “It could also allow rising acts to earn nominations over veteran performers like Eminem and Kanye West, who consistently earn nominations.”


Here’s the deal. “It could also prevents no-names, without labels, where no gatekeepers profit off of their nominations, and spares the Recording Academy the embarrassment of the likes of a Linda Chorney getting nominated.”  THAT’S ALSO WHAT IT MEANS.

Which brings me to the title of my blog. The Recording Academy’s justification for putting in these committees, is as valid as Donald J. Trump’s justification for firing James Comey.  (Because of the way he was unfair to Hillary Clinton. Such an outrage!)

Now the tea has come out of my nose.  (Maybe I should run for a governor of The Recording Academy and add my 2 cents.  I’m reading Al Franken’s “Giant of the Senate”, and cannot believe the bullshit he has to put up with. I don’t think I could handle it…or they could handle me. I am still a voting member. They have not yet kicked me out.) Again, I digress.

Of course, putting in committees to decide the top Nominees for President of The United States, might not be such a bad idea. Because, it would give Macklemore & Ryan Lewis a better chance than Kanye West.





I found the book on a plane. I read it. I thought the two leading characters were fucking idiots. Yet, I read on, hoping there would be some explanation for the popularity of this trash. There was not.

However, it has inspired me to write my version, where the woman is the billionaire, and the subservient role is played by an equally stupid ass clown. It won’t be difficult to improve upon the original. Enjoy my Valentines gift to the world…


Chapter 1


I was in my limo driving cross-country because I was bored. I spoke through the intercom to my driver, Harvey.

“I have to pee. Pull over at the next exit.”

There, was an ihop, in Hayes, Kansas. I entered. The inner goddess in me wanting chocolate chip pancakes so badly that I ordered some, before I went to pee. Buttermilk, no powdered sugar. Extra chips. Not too much butter, but enough for lubrication. I texted Harvey to bring in my platinum to go box. I hate styrofoam. And I hate waiting even more than I hate styrofoam. Hopefully the pancakes will be ready by the time I finish peeing, so I don’t have to wait. Billionaires hate waiting.

I have had to stop and pee at least sixty times since leaving New Jersey. I suspect that I have a urinary tract infection from shoving so many kitchen utensils up my twat.

As I strolled by many fat fucks barely fitting into the blue booths, I glimpsed into the kitchen area behind the metal shelves. Ooh. That metal makes me so hot. I felt my vagina twitch as it reminded me of the metal shelves in my playroom.

There, in the kitchen, I spotted the most beautiful, pure creature in a white puffy hat. My left eyebrow  uncontrollably raised. He was blond, blue-eyes, bluer than the blue of the naugahide upholstery of the ihop booths. I hate fake leather. But blue is my second favorite color. No, wait. I like green better than blue, so, it’s my third favorite color. Red is my favorite color. My limo is red. My lipstick is red. My nails are painted red. I like red because it reminds me of when I had my period. I no longer get it. I’m fifty-two.

As I was peeing, I couldn’t stop thinking about the blond in the white puffy hat. My pee was orange. A really beautiful shade of orange, from the pyridium I was taking for my burning urine. I was thinking on Friday, I might have Chang Quan paint my nails the same shade of orange for a change. As a billionaire, I can have my nails painted every day.

 As I wiped my aging lips, they spoke to me.

“I must have that boy in the white puffy hat! Bring him to me.”

I pulled up my crotchless pantyhose, that were opaque white, but now they had spots of orange on them, because I don’t like to sit when I pee in any public bathrooms.

“Double crap!” I said out loud, angrily, in the stall, because this was the eighteenth pair of opaque white pantyhose I had ruined by my orange pee on this trip. Luckily I have another sixteen pairs in my red limo. That should last me until Colorado, where I plan to ski. I have a mansion in Aspen. Its brown. But I plan on painting it red as soon as I can get approval from the town. I hope my urinary track infection is better by then. Sometimes I have to pee when I am heliskiing. One time I skied into the woods to pee. I pulled down my one of a kind Bognor ski suit I had made at Gorsuch, that was red and crotchless. Anyway, as I was peeing, an avalanche started. I was still peeing, but I had to go before I would be burried alive! The avalanche came too fast. (Like the last nineteen year old carnival worker I picked up waiting in line on the Jersey Shore, to go on the Round-up ride.) I was burried, head first, red ski boots up in the air. I could feel ice on my pubic hair, which I dye red. Fortunately, there was a trail of my orange pee, which led the rescue team right to me. A Saint Bernard licked my exposed crotch. It was so hot, it melted the icecles from my pussy.

I left the ladies room, after washing my hands with my own personal red soap I keep in my Red Gucci crocodile tote, that I picked up for forty-one thousand dollars. As I turned the corner, there he was.

He said, “Excuse me, Ma’am,” as he tried to get by. He was so hot. I could see his tongue, which reminded me of the Saint Bernard. I heard my lips below screaming to get him in the limo.

“What’s your hurry, handsome?” He blushed my favorite shade of red.

“Umm, I, I, have to pee.”

“YOU CAN WAIT!” I said with authority.

I put my arm out to block the entrance of the Men’s Room.

“Do you know how attractive you are?” I asked.

He put his head down, bashfully. I love bashful boys.

“Look at me, bashful boy,” I said softly.

He looked up with his sparkly blue eyes, completely lost in my green eyes. I tried red contact lenses, but they looked creepy. My eyes are actually brown, but I have a bunch of green contact lenses in the limo. I can’t wait to strap bashful down and plunk them into his eyes as he plunks into me.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said to bashful boy.

“But…but…” I interrupt by putting my index finger over his lips to quiet him. I hope it doesn’t smell fishy. I thought I washed my hands well enough.

I take him by the hand, dragging him out of the ihop. Harvey had the platinum to go box of pancakes. It was a whirlwind of excitement I could never have imagined would happen in Kansas. I love driving through Kansas, because it reminds me of The Wizard of Oz, and Dorothy’s ruby red slippers. Oooh. Those shoes made me so hot, that I purchased them at Sotherby’s auction for ten million dollars. But it was getting to the point where I couldn’t leave the playroom anymore, where I wore them. They were too small for my size 9 foot. My damn feet keep growing. So, I have temporarily loaned them to The Smithsonian, until I get my feet operated on, so they can fit me.

As I threw Bashful Boy into the trunk of the limo, I noticed a stench. The poor boy had peed in his pants, since I didn’t allow him to go to the bathroom. I laughed hysterically. How adorable!

After stopping one more time to pee at a rest stop on i70, we arrived at my ranch, which I built where they filmed the tornado scene in The Wizard of Oz. Besides the slippers, I am also a fan, because I like to wiz. Harvey opened the trunk, where bashful boy had been banging on the door for the last eighty miles. He looked pretty confused. It was so cute!

I removed the red duct tape from his perty mouth and ordered him to join me in the ranch. I opened up the platinum to go box of pancakes. They. Were. Cold.

I was so angry that I turned a deep shade of red. “Crap! The pancakes are cold!”

I went into the kitchen and threw my entire Le Crueset red set of cookery on the floor, stomping my feet. I was so mad also, because I had purchased the entire collection at the Outlet Store on i10 in Palm Springs, on a previous cross-country search for the perfect piece of ass, and then had found it for half the price in a Home Goods in Boise, Idaho. Even billionaires like a bargain every once in a while.

“Bashful Boy, its time to make some pancakes. Are you ready?”

“Uhhh, I..I, guess so. Do you really think I’m handsome?”

“Ooooh, you are so hot, you have no idea. Actually, do you have any ideas in that pretty blond head of yours? No matter. Its time to bite into hotcakes.”

I cracked an egg on his forehead and added it to the Trader Joe’s Buttermilk pancake mix I had Fedexed to Kansas from Shrewsbury, New Jersey. These hicks out here in Kansas only use Bisquick. I hate Bisquick. And the box is yellow. I hate yellow. I do like Aunt Jemima though, because the box is a bright red. The Trader Joe’s box is more of a Burgundy, but that counts as a shade of red; plus no preservatives.

I had Harvey take off Bashful Boy’s cloths and scrub him down, while I put all of the ingredients into the red overpriced Le Crueset bowl. Once he was clean, I dismissed Harvey, instructing him to leave the red duct tape. We were alone. Just me and what’s his face, and the pancake ingredients, and my set of red Le Crueset.

I took out a whisk. “Do you know what I am going to do with this whisk, bashful boy?”

He gulps, “No.”

Bend over, I said, as I put a red apron on his rock hard chiseled body. I gently stuck the thin whisk up his ass, after using a little of the whipped butter for lubrication, and placed the red bowl of Trader Joe’s buttermilk pancake mix on the floor. I started with small girth.

“Now whisk Away!….faster…..faster! And make sure that white puffy hat stays on. It’s so sexy.”

His ass was churning round and round like that Round-up ride in Jersey. It was hot.

He finished mixing to make the batter as smooth as the skin on his hairless chest. I took two chocolate chips and tried to place them on his nipples, but they kept falling down. Crap! I made him eat them off of the floor. I hate wasting.

As he was down there, I placed my left hand, gently under his balls and started tickling his taint, while plunking green contact lenses in his blue eyes with my right hand at the same time! So erotic. His erection put the kickstand on my red bike to shame.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about, hotcakes!”

I grabbed the roll of red duct tape, and took my red spatula with the thick handle, and taped it to his throbbing hard cock. I was dripping like the photo of the syrup on the Aunt Jemima pancake box. Yummy.

“Now, you have to flip the pancakes using this spatula. If you lose your boner, you won’t be able to flip them, and I will get angry. You don’t want me to get angry, because if I do…I might have to take you into the playroom and punish you.”

“Uhh, if you keep talking like that, I might lose my erection, Ma’am.”

“My name is not Ma’am. It’s Matwatsonfire. Named after my Great Grandmother from Botswana. She was the first white woman to fuck an elephant. You will keep your erection. You are young enough. How old are you, anyway?”

“I’m 25, Ma’a…”

WHACK! She takes the whisk that is still in his ass, quickly removes it, and spanks his hotcake cheeks.

“It’s Matwatsonfire. Now don’t drop any pancakes, you gorgeous blond orangutan. You are just perfect. There is nothing more perfect than this dyslexic relationship. I, 52, you 25.”

“You are fifty-two?! You don’t look it. You’re hot. I want you.”

“In due time. In due time, bashful boy.”

“But my name is…”

“Shhh! Don’t spoil it.”

I take his dripping syrup dick dispenser and lick it to keep my human spatula efficiently stiff for flipping.

But, just as I was lifting up, he went to flip a pancake and it fell on the floor, as he blew his load. I laughed inside, but pretended I was angry, and ripped the duct tape from his penis, stuck the red spatula in his perfect butthole, and then lovingly dragged him by the red apron around his neck, towards the playroom.

I wonder if all billionaires are this romantic?

This portion of my blog is sponsored by Pancakes in Red Boxes and Orange pee.

aunt jemima



If GRAVITY wins Oscar for Best Picture, my eyeballs will roll in outer space.

This year there were numerous brilliant films. Gravity was not one of them. Sure the visual effects were incredible and groundbreaking, and it is certainly worthy of an Oscar for them. However, was it a “Best Picture?” Hell no. Was Sandra Bullock great in it? Hell yes. But the dialogue, and the far-fetched back story, mother losing child in space thing, well…I was bored out of my mind, and felt robbed of my $13.50 when I left the theatre…so this little thief snuck into The Book Thief afterwards, and that was a better film, and story.

In my humble opinion, a Best Picture should be about the story. Yeah, yeah, we all got to experience imagining being alone in outer space…but they dropped the ball with character development and story line, and dialogue. The ball just floated around without gravity.

This year it is extremely difficult to pick a Best Picture. Between Dallas Buyers Club, American Hustle, Nebraska, 12 Years a Slave, and Captain Phillips, how can you choose? What do 4 out of 5 of them have in common? They are all based on true stories. I prefer reading non-fiction as well. When it really happens, I just think it’s cooler. (And I didn’t manage to see Philomena, also based on a true story, but I hear it is wonderful. But guessing it is not a contender for political reasons.)

And although Wolf of Wall Street was also based on a true story, it belongs in Best Picture as much as Gravity…and Her for that matter. Her was very creative, Joaquin was amazing. and it made me think, for sure, about relationships. But I believe The Butler, should have been in there. And I don’t understand why it was omitted. It was epic. I cried my eyes out. The cast was strong. Forest Whitaker was snubbed for Best Actor. And I could watch it again.

A Best Picture, for me, is one you can watch once a year and just go, “Wow!” every time.  Like Forrest Gump.

So, let’s start with front runner, 12 Years A Slave. The film was hard to watch. I actually had to cover my eyes at times. (as much as I did seeing the high wasted pants in Her.) Brutal.  It was gripping. The cinematography was gorgeous. The story was mind-wrenching.  I left angry and sad. I cried in the parking lot. It was a story in history that needed to be told, in form of a film. (Since most Americans don’t read enough…including me.) It needed to be graphic to be effective. Most of the acting was superb. But not all. And once was enough for me. So, although I think it may get Best Picture, because Brad Pitt produced it, and has many relationships for votes…it didn’t get mine.

Dallas Buyers Club is certainly worthy of a Best Picture. Mathew McConaughey will most likely win Best Actor. It was his role of a lifetime. Jared Leto should win Best Supporting Actor. And as Best Screenplay it is a contender. And if Captain Phillips and American Hustle were not in the running, it would get my vote.

Yes, I am torn between Captain Phillips and American Hustle. To me, I left the theatre with that Wow Factor. I could buy these films, and watch every year.  I’m actually surprised that Tom Hanks was not nominated for Best Actor. And although Barkhad Abdi was superb, I don’t think he will win for Best Supporting Actor.

Superstar Cast. No weak links. Clever, fun movie.

The Superstar Cast. No weak links. Clever, fun movie.

So let’s move on to Best Actor in a Supporting Role

Every single nomination is worthy on that list. But for me, Jared Leto stands above the rest.



But who lost more weight?!

Double Yikes

Double Yikes

Best Supporting Actress Role. Very tough category.

Forget Julia, the film sucked. Sally Hawkins was good…Jennifer Lawrence is on fire on the screen, and in Hollywood right now. She has an amazing long term future, and will rack up several Oscars in her lifetime. But I have to say, June Squibb and Lupita Nyong’o get a tie with me. But only one can win. So, I think Lupita or Jennifer will get it. (And she deserves it, too.)

Best Actor? They all deserve to win…with the exception of Leonardo DiCaprio. Yeah, I know he’s been robbed before, but that’s no reason to nominated him for a way over the top film that could have been much better, without the cheap, gratuitous approach.

Christian Bale was fucking brilliant. Bruce Dern was superb. I wouldn’t mind seeing him win. Chiwetel was powerful, and Matthew McConaughey went above and beyond for his role.  He’s going to win, but Christian Bale gets my vote. (And Tom Hanks would have taken it, if he was even nominated.)

Best Actress?

Meryl and Sandra, I love you…but the films? Eh Shmeh. Emma Thompson got robbed. Judi Dench, didn’t see it yet, but you have a shitload of nominations, and one Oscar win, and you are probably not popular enough this year. Amy was great. And although Blue Jasmine was an okay film…Cate Blanchett was the film. A film that could have been much better, based on the scenario. Thus, forget screenplay win. But Cate has my vote, and I think she will win. If Sandra wins, it will be strictly political, not that there was anything wrong with her performance. If Amy wins, I won’t be surprised.

And now for Best Screenplay. Another toughy. To be able to translate a long book into a tiny movie with only 90-120 minutes to effectively relay a story…that takes skill! (I know. I am working on the screenplay for my book, Who the F**K is Linda Chorney, besides being a wanna be movie critic?)

Best Screenplay:

Another toughy, although Blue Jasmine is out in my book. disappointed in Woody on the dialogue. Thought it was forced and contrived. Her, pretty weird, pretty good, but American Hustle, Nebraska, and Dallas Buyers Club are all top-notch. Who will win? American Hustle. Who would I pick? I don’t know. Have the Oscars ever had ties?

Best Director?

Another toughy. Forget Wall St and Gravity. Although American Hustle would get my vote, I think 12 Years a Slave will win.

Best Editing?

Toughy….but definetely not Gravity. That editor should be fired…or maybe commended for doing his best with tons of footage without content. I would pick Captain Phillips. I was on the edge of my seat the entire time. But maybe American Hustle will win.

Best Documentary?

I ony saw 20 Feet from Stardom, which was very good, and near and dear to my heart and career, (lead cast member, Lisa Fischer is my friend), but I’ve seen documentaries that stop me in my tracks…so although I am rooting for 20 Feet, I am sure one of the other four is stronger. But 20 Feet might just win, because of the relationships in the music world. But I could be off base. But I predict The Square, just from seeing a few brief clips! I must see that film.

Star of 20 Feet From Stardom, and me, 20 thousand light years from Stardom

Star of 20 Feet From Stardom, Lisa Fischer –  and me, 20 thousand light years from Stardom

Best Foreign Film. I’m embarrassed to say that I have not seen any of them, yet, and they are always superb. Usually anything about the Holocaust wins. So since it doesn’t look like any of them are about that, I’ll go with whatever Palestine did…Omar.

Best Costume Design?

I’ll go with 12 Years A Slave, but I loved the costumes in American Hustle!

Best Original Score?  Whatever it is…it’s fixed by the labels. I’m guessing John Williams has enough…Gravity will win. Nebraska should have been nominated..and win.

Best Special Effects?

GRAVITY. Totally worthy of this award. But if it wins best picture…refer to the title of my blog. And it should also win any sound stuff.

In summary, I have to admit that I always get excited about watching the Oscars! Really. Excited. And I never get excited about watching the Grammys. The Grammy Telecast seems like an ametuer act compared to the Oscars, which are always a class act. And I LOVE the fashion! Nominees in the Oscars are usually very worthy. Grammys? Not so much. But both are politically driven. Let’s hope some of my picks win!

IN SUMMARY: (And remember, it is a huge honor just to be nominated..(tee hee)…it was almost impossible for me to choose the very best ones this year.

LINDA’S PICK                                                                              LINDA’S PREDICTIONS

Best Picture: Captain Phillips & American Hustle       12 Years A Slave

Best Actor: Christian Bale…okay..and Matthew           Matthew McConaughey

Best Actress: Cate Blanchett                                                 Cate Blanchett

Best Supporting Actress:  Lupita & Squibb                    Jennifer Lawrence

Best Supporting Actor: Jared Leto                                     Jared Leto

Best Director: American Hustle                                           12 Years A Slave

Best Editing: Captain Phillips                                               Captain Phillips

Best Screenplay: American Hustle                                      American Hustle

Best Original Score, whatever

Best Costume: American Hustle                                        12 Years A Slave..or maybe American Hustle (I’m not betting, so I can pick 2)

Best Documentary: 20 Feet From Stardom                  The Square

Best Foreign Film: Omar                                                        Omar

Best Visual Effects/Sound: Gravity                                   Gravity

What are your picks?!!!



The back cover gives you a sneak preview of the 411 pages of the book.

I want to thank Will Lee for taking a peek, and writing this nice endorsement,                                                                                                                        (And for playing on the album that started this whole mess!)

My First Endorsement

My First Endorsement

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