Sonja bought me Ian Hunter's "Man Overboard" for Christmas. Listened to it in bits and pieces as I moved from A to B in the car. Sounded alright, especially the song "The Girl From the Office" which is about giving the old turkey neck to the good looking girl in the office all the boys on the shop floor want to fuck.
Tonight I put the cd on the home stereo after work. Turned it up to Motorhead. The old Mott the Hoople cunt can still make a record. The old Mott the Hoople cunt can still make a record - for me.
Up in the morning, unsteady on my feet
I can't seem to focus, didn't get much sleep last night
Look in the mirror, what do I see?
There's a ghostly shadow of a man staring back at me
Go fucking buy it. Hunter is on the same label as the Drive-By Truckers and Steve Earle now. Go fucking buy it right now.
From records to books - Kyle bought me "The Devil's Picnic" sometime ago. I put it onto my to read pile and finally got into it. The book is about the many things our Shithead Rulers have forbidden us to get shitfaced with over the years. Absinthe, coke, dope, skag, chocolate (!), unpasteurised milk products, Cubans, moonshine: the shit we could not and will never live without. Written by Canadian Taras Grescoe, who writes in a slightly more intellectual style than I can manage, it is the sort of book that makes you think. Even for somebody like me, who believes nothing is true and everything is permitted, the details of this fucking entertaining book are worth the price of the book alone. Go buy it, motherfuckers.
Now, for instance, I know, most, if not all, the absinthe I have choked down is shit. You have to go to some redneck canton in Switzerland to find the real thing. Looks like the best absinthe I have drank is from my own home province, it's not that great; and the absinthe I have enjoyed in Mexico - it is fucking excellent if you mix it with a few buttons of peyote.
Buy the fucking book. Learn about shit. Get pissed. Destroy! Or as Ian Hunter sings, "Reality this, reality that/I been there once and I ain't going back/They squeezed me 'til I came apart at the seams/Now I'd rather dream drunk and disorderly dreams."