THE LEGITIMACNY MANIFESTO:

No dancing. No cornrows. No Fubu. No vanity plates with the name of the band on them. No tatoos with the name of the band on them. No vanity plates. No tatoos. No ebonics. No beepers. No bandannas. No cowboy hats. No space armor. No overalls. No backing tracks. No svengali managers who take all your bank and then move to Hawaii when it's all over. No Christopher Cross covers. No hanging from the ceiling. No terrycloth jumpsuits. No satin jumpsuits. No jumpsuits. No matching outfits. No matching hair. No matching anything. No Anne Rice inspired haircuts. No mid-song breakdowns that involve audience chanting anything including the phrases "hey hey," "the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire," or extended amounts of directed, organized screaming by auditorium section.

No accounts in the National Enquirer that involve the band, strip clubs, starlets or hotel rooms, trashed or otherwise. No chin hair. No chin spots. No sideburns. No sideburns that intersect with chin hair. No sideburns that intersect with chin spots. No intersecting facial hair. No facial hair. No unnatural hair colors. No piercings. (Up to and including ears, nose, nipples, eyebrows, bellybuttons and especially tongues as they may clack against the microphone and increase risk of electrocution.)

Nobody named Chad or Mike or Kevin or JP or TJ or JT. No "young one." No charitable foundation. No head mics. No explosions. No puppets. NO PUPPETS. No dolls. No pilowcases. No lip balm. No notepads. No buttons. No pins. No shoelaces. No screaming. No encouraging the screaming.

No groupies.

No Lou Pearlman. No The Firm. No controlling record company. No Wayne Isham. No David Meyers. No palate of super-saturated hip hop colors in the music videos. No party in the music videos. No models in the music videos (except maybe the middle one). No parties. No songbird girlfriends. No trying to play the guitar when you can't. No wifebeaters. No David Meyers. No cheeky ironic responses to journalists. No pot references. No political references. No religious references. No references to John Lennon-inspired Warholian Objectivism. No Prada. No Dolce and Gabana. No cavorting with Paul McCartney while wearing leather pants. No visible undergarments. (Do wear undergarments!) No David Meyers. No drinking. No drugs. No tobacco. No disco balls. No candles. No decadence. No traceable links to David Bowie.

No stripping during the live show. No stripping for magazines. No confessionals for magazines. No scandals. No sex. No talking about sex. No pretending to know anything about sex.

No harsh bodily movements during live shows as this unnecessarily arouses the fervor of young female fans. (Also: No bouncing. No arm waving. No photographic emphasis on underarm hair. No "follow me and do this" antics.) No tight pants. No listening to over-eager teen magazine photographers. No teen magazine photo shoots.

No signing anything you don't understand. No smiling. No orange. No love songs. No pop. No strange accents. No impressions. No answers longer than ten words in concise, direct, grammatically correct English. No blushing. No cynicism. No on-air crabbiness. No secrets. No girlfriends. No deviating from the set of chords, facial expressions and one-liners that got you where you are, no matter your urge to do otherwise, and no matter what your young, female, overly-emotional, easily-manipulated fan base says or asks you to do.