small brush shouldn't fuck with big timber

Death's Door, the view from the Spanish announcers table

Tuesday, December 24

I’m sitting here beating the fuck out of the remote and VH1 just showed some old Huey Lewis and the News. And I feel strong enough in my manliness to admit I dug me some Huey Lewis back in the day. And Culture Club and Kagagoogoo and the Romantics along with George Clinton and the Clash and Windy O’Williams. Also Lionel Richie when he was still black. The Bar-Kay’s, Sly Stone, Living Color, The Specials, and a whole shitload of others. I tried back in the day to go hear and buy everything. If it made my dick hard or made me angry like Rage against the Machine, or Body Count, I brought the muthafucker. It was like this and still is for me. When I go out I want to hear a loud crunchy guitar, at work it’s alternative rock. And when I played drums it was blues or R&B. But for the last week it’s been nothing but “I want a hippopotamus for Christmas” and other Christmas songs on the radio. Fuck me running, I’m going to hell and it’s all downhill with no brakes.

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