When Sonja came home from work The Heartbreaker's "One Track Mind" was playing on the stereo. It was loud enough to pogo to which is exactly what Sonja did. The Hammer joined her dancing around the living room. For an old broad, Sonja can still rock like it is 1976. For a moment I thought I would join her. Have not pogo'd much recently. Instead I reached for the bottle of malbec I had uncorked after work, topped up my glass and poured one for my pogo girl.
One day you are rat bastard punk rocker, the next day you are a wine shit.
3 comments:
Yes. The archaic pogo can be very overrated, especially with liquids jostling fiercely in one's body where pharmaceuticals might be better employed.
Far wiser to enjoy it as a spectator sport.
I have forgotten a lot of punk rock crap but I will never forget pogoing. It is the Anarchist's dance. Thanks Sid! And thanks for killing Nancy before you done yourself in.
And sadly almost the only dance I have ever managed to master - with the exception of a waltz, maybe - a source of ontinual irritation along the lines of "white men can't dance; jump..." and sundry others.
I hadn't much time for Ms. Spungen either.
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