Well, you’ve all been really helpful. I don’t even have Twitter friends how fucking pathetic is that. I’m obv barking up the wrong tree as usual. Why am I even here? Spoiler: I’m not anymore.
People who say they can’t watch horror movies because their imaginations are too vivid...I do not understand. Oh wait...they’ve figured out what they think is a cool way of saying they’re wimpy babies. Got it.
I still remember my dad bouncing me on his knee when I was about 6 months old and I looked up at him and said “father, why doesn’t the proletariat strive to control the means of production” and he dropped me on my head. Later that day I wrote the lyrics to Stairway to Heaven.
Howe...Steve...me: where are we now? At home, probably, with tarpaulin draped over each of us, reeking of dust and mothballs. Relive the days when musicians could travel with this antique transmission: