20/20 Gonzo 86: Unexplained Diddly Doo Sound

 

These cliches are impressive, an avalanche of empty suitism to the Nth degree.  Women, men, and all the others.  Spitting out phrases like they contagious, like they outrageous, turn the, churn the, burn the pages.  All day, all night.  Unity is for the defeated, and there's no surrendering here.

That thing, like an unexplained diddly doo sound seasoning the music perfectly.  Or an injected marinade making it all tender and delicious.  If it's cooked right.  Low and slow with liquid smoke, in a turkey sized cooking bag, simmering in juice.  Don't fuck up the bird.

The greasers are back, soaked in ivy, filled with shit, without ideas, without answers, flat out stuck up.  One of them insulted my wristbands, called me a white man, mocked my readers, and implied I was a lunatic.  The nerve!  I walked away, of course, turned the other cheek, there is nothing to gain by acting on unpleasant emotions.  Time is involved, and time should not be wasted.