He’s fucking Paul McCartney. He was in the motherfucking Beatles. Stop living in a shoe under a rock in a swamp in bumfuck nowhere and listen to the goddamn radio.
Sir James Paul McCartney was born June 18th, 1942 in Liverpool, a dreary a port and industrial city in North-West England. It was the target of 80 German air-raids during the Second World War, killing thousands and requiring massive post-war reconstruction. Naturally, Liverpool was only just beaten out by Disneyland for the moniker "Happiest Place on Earth".
Wow! A cat! This is the best Christmas ever!
As if being born on the corner of Xanax Street and Kafka Lane weren't enough, his mother died of surgery complications when he was in his early teens. He was raised by his father in in a musically inclined household, and played trumpet until he realized trumpets were "for poofters". He soon traded it in for a guitar and eventually he met John Lennon, an encounter with little historical importance, probably.
Paul's first musical forays with what would become the Beatles was spent playing those shitty festivals that everyone hates. After mostly nailing down their lineup, the group went to Hamburg, Germany (the good part of Germany) where they played some more until most of them were deported for being underage or lighting condoms on fire. Rock and Roll!
Ha ha! Your mom thinks about me during "during"
They returned to Liverpool, except bassist Stu Sutcliffe who died of a brain hemorrhage from a fight or possibly a homosexual conspiracy (For serious). McCartney, who drew the short straw, became the new bassist. The group was eventually discovered after playing endlessly at "The Cavern", ditched their drummer for guy with a cooler name and went on to have great success in the early-mid sixties.
While you were thinking of a joke about how gay this looks, I bought the fucking moon.
The popularity of the Beatles, driven by the two-headed hit machine called 'Lennon-McCartney", continued throughout the mid-late sixties. It wasn't long before McCartney and company were introduced to the magic of mind altering substances. Sadly, this being years before the War on Drugs, they foolish took them and produced some of the most celebrated works of popular music.
Think of how far he could have gone if he'd just said no.
While the sound grew more mature, the band drifted apart. In a move that would permanently changed his nickname from "The Cute One" to "The Douchebaggy One", Paul quit the band to pursue a solo career. The Beatles would never again perform together, nor would Ringo ever again be taken seriously as an artist.
Choo choo! Wave goodbye to your credibility and relevence!
After the end of the Beatles in 1970, McCartney went on to make dozens of solo albums and found success with his band Wings, which he headlined with a bunch of guys nobody can name.
I don't have the heart to tell him nobody is following.
He continues to find time to create between his various drug busts. His body of work spans over 50 years, 34 studio albums and over 3000 live shows. He has 60 gold records and has sold over 100 million singles. His awards alone warrant their own fucking wikipedia page, whereas your highscore in Ms. PacMan has been destroyed a thousand-fold by a Japanese kid with Aspergers. Deal with it.
When he's not popularizing or inventing music genres, Paul keeps his schedule packed. His charity work and campaigning would make Bono blush, having spoken out for animal rights, outlawing landmines, ending poverty, and he once had the stones to bitch out the Dali Lama for eating meat. Ever the lady's man, Paul has been married to 3 different women, most of whom had all their limbs intact.
"Band On The Limp"
Go ahead and scratch everything after "The Early Years", since Paul actually died in 1966. Yes, as it turns out, his tragic accident was covered up by his bandmates who then secretly replaced him with a look-and-sound-alike to keep the money coming. To ensure the absolute secrecy such an act would require, they then set about dropping hints in every goddamn song they made after that point. Because hey, how are people going to appreciate your secret plan if they don't know about it?
My guess is John Lennon was sitting on a throne somewhere, stroking a white cat.
Yes it was almost the perfect plan, if only the surviving Beatles could have resisted the urge to provide all the solid, indisputable evidence people needed.
The Top Secret Evidence
1) Some of the lyrics in some of the songs on some of the albums talk about cars... Because Paul died in a car accident!
2) Lennon's ramblings and wordplay were really messages, for example, he claimed "The Walrus was Paul"...Because in a some parts of Europe, Walruses symbolize death!
3) On the cover of Abbey Road, Paul is the only one not wearing shoes... Because corpses are allergic to shoelaces... Or something...
4) At the end of Strawberry Fields, the phrase "Cranberry Sauce" sounds like "I buried Paul"... Because cranberry sauce is used in embalming fluid!
5) Listening to certain songs backwards can produce phrases like "Turn me over, dead man"... Because people have too much time on their hands!
Luckily, a few brave soldiers were able to put the pieces together. This is especially impressive given that all of this took place during a time well before the internet made getting your crackpot theories to the masses nearly impossible.
Free online personality test? Sounds credible!