A country singer named Sammy Kershaw had a song in the 90’s called “Politics, Religion, and Her.” This referred to the only things off topic he would not discuss. I think, ironically, music is the other pillar in that premise. I HATE pop music. If pop music is Josef Stalin, though, to me techno is Adolf Hitler plus Satan with John Wayne Gacy tossed in. I literally get a rush of rage at dance music made w/ synthetic instruments. I also think people that listen to that garbage are generally mindless assholes that want beats to replace rational thoughts. God in heaven, that felt good to type.
That said, I realize I don’t have to jam my music down the proverbial throats of my pals. I love outlaw country (new country generally sounds like pop, yuck) and metal. Even there, Nu-Metal largely stinks. What is amazing to me, however, is how music defines our lives. I listen to metal (Pantera, Machine Head, Iron Maiden) when I work out or am in a foul mood (a lot). I love old outlaw country (Hank Jr., DAC, Waylon) when I am relaxing, reflective, and usually drinking. Of course, I am usually drinking…but I digress. That’s why I generally don’t judge people’s music tastes (except techno, those people suck at life). Even this old bastard likes to play some Phil Collins, John Denver, or sappy crap on occassion.
I even used to play a lot of guitar. I got a Fender at 7, traded it for a BC Rich acoustic at 10, which I still have. I have written about 12 songs, mostly about dirty things and of course, they all suck ass. Playing funny songs was actually my intro to comedic writing, so I hate guitar comics. 1) Usually not funny or horrible at guitar or 2) I never wrote a song that funny. I rarely play anymore, but my proudest song is “Ol’ Stinky” based on my dogs Joe Camel and Stringbean. Just b/c I like to mix up the blogs, here it is.
D A C G – Guitar chords
Ol’ Stinky wandered in my yard, he came from God knows where. He smelled like a 70 lb. asshole, covered in dirty, mangy hair.
I tried to teach him how to run or stay or play or sit, but the only that dog ever learned was how to always smell like shit.
I put Ol’ Stinky in the back o’ my truck, went to the nicer end of town. He caught a whiff of pussy, was moving when he hit the ground.
For on the other side of the fence you see, was a purebred poodle bitch. Ol’ Stinky didn’t know nothing, but he knew he had to scratch that itch.
The poodle’s owner was in the garden, and she let out a deafenin’ scream. Ol’ Stinky was gonna give her the ugliest litter she’d ever done seen. (Very country spelling, FYI.)
She turned the hose on Stinky, but there wadn’t no stoppin’ him. If that chick had the jaws of life, Ol’ Stinky was still goin’ to win.
She hit him w/ a rake so hard, it broke the stick in two. But Ol’ Stinky’s dumb, he’s gonna cum, fill that poodle w/ his goo.
Well the police eventually showed up, but the scene was still the same. I tried to get that dog to stop, but he didn’t even know his own name.
The police they pulled their guns and fired, shot Ol’ Stinky, tween the eyes. They blew his goddamn head off…but they couldn’t stop his thighs.
If something is that horny, let give you all this warning. Ol’ Stinky died at half past three…but kept fucking til’ the morning! (Flourish!)
I will probably never do that again on the blog, so enjoy. August 25th – www.columbusfunnybone.com. I will NOT do that song.