The other day I was driving through Panama City after picking up Lucy Liu from the boarding place. We were chilling at a stop light with our windows down and Frank cranked to 11 when so local yokel rednecks pulled up next to me. The dude in the passenger seat looked over at me as if to figure out what the hell he was hearing.
By the way, when was it ever a good idea to get an armband of feathers tattooed to you arm?
Anyway, he took in the tunes, started bobbing his head and gave me a half smile.
Still cranked to 11, on comes...
I ain't got no mothafuckin' friends
That's why I fucked yo bitch, you fat mothafucka
The inertia from whipping his head around to glare at me caused his cowboy hat to settle a little askew. I was amused.
The light turned green. I giggled and hit the gas, Lucy Liu panted, it was a good time.
A friend told me to give this John Denver concert a listen. I did. Like honestly and earnestly. I do not like it. I've said before that music has to make me want to fuck, fight, or drive really fast. This makes me want to sleep. Maybe braid TGB's hair. Pull the plug on old people in hospice.
But dammit, I tried!