If it's good for Bloo, it's good for you.
Mar. 24th, 2006 11:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thehefnerI REMEMBER EVERYTHING!
I remember every little thing, as if it happened only yesterday.
I was barely seventeen, and I once killed a boy with a fender guitar.
I don’t remember if it was a telecaster or a stratocaster,
But I do remember that it had a heart of chrome, and a voice like a horny angel.
I don’t remember if it was a telecaster or a stratocaster,
But I do remember that it wasn’t at all easy.
It required the perfect combination of the right power chords
And the precise angle from which to strike!
The guitar bled for about a week afterwards.
And the blood was zoot, dark and rich, like wild berries.
The blood of the guitar was Chuck Berry RED!
The guitar bled for about a week afterwards
But it rung... out... beautifully...
And I was able to play notes that I had never
even
heard
before.
So. I. Took my guitar,
And I SMASHED it against the wall!
I SMASHED it against the floor!
I SMASHED it against the body of a varisty cheerleader!
Smashed it against the hood of a car.
Smasned it against a 1981 Harley-Davidson.
The Harley howled in pain!
The guitar howled in heat!
And I ran up the stairs to my parents' bedroom.
Mommy and Daddy were sleeping in the moonlight.
Slowly I opened the door,
Creeping in the shadows right up to the foot of their bed
I raised the guitar high above my head
And just as I was about to bring the guitar crashing down upon the center of the bed
My father woke up, screaming "STOP!
"Wait a minute! Stop it boy! What do you think your doing?!
"That’s no way to treat an expensive musical instrument!"
And I said, "God damn it Daddy!
"You know I love you.
"BUT YOU GOT A HELL OF A LOT TO LEARN ABOUT ROCK AND ROLL!!!
...
That's all for tonight. Next time, we'll ask the pressing question on everyone's mind: "On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?"
I remember every little thing, as if it happened only yesterday.
I was barely seventeen, and I once killed a boy with a fender guitar.
I don’t remember if it was a telecaster or a stratocaster,
But I do remember that it had a heart of chrome, and a voice like a horny angel.
I don’t remember if it was a telecaster or a stratocaster,
But I do remember that it wasn’t at all easy.
It required the perfect combination of the right power chords
And the precise angle from which to strike!
The guitar bled for about a week afterwards.
And the blood was zoot, dark and rich, like wild berries.
The blood of the guitar was Chuck Berry RED!
The guitar bled for about a week afterwards
But it rung... out... beautifully...
And I was able to play notes that I had never
even
heard
before.
So. I. Took my guitar,
And I SMASHED it against the wall!
I SMASHED it against the floor!
I SMASHED it against the body of a varisty cheerleader!
Smashed it against the hood of a car.
Smasned it against a 1981 Harley-Davidson.
The Harley howled in pain!
The guitar howled in heat!
And I ran up the stairs to my parents' bedroom.
Mommy and Daddy were sleeping in the moonlight.
Slowly I opened the door,
Creeping in the shadows right up to the foot of their bed
I raised the guitar high above my head
And just as I was about to bring the guitar crashing down upon the center of the bed
My father woke up, screaming "STOP!
"Wait a minute! Stop it boy! What do you think your doing?!
"That’s no way to treat an expensive musical instrument!"
And I said, "God damn it Daddy!
"You know I love you.
"BUT YOU GOT A HELL OF A LOT TO LEARN ABOUT ROCK AND ROLL!!!
...
That's all for tonight. Next time, we'll ask the pressing question on everyone's mind: "On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?"
