If I knew you were cumming I'd have turned my head . . . Oh No! I di-int just write that here. Where can that take us? To the boys club where supposed adult males still show latency in maturation. The thing is, someone somewhere will ask is the guy that gets written about here me? Why ask? The more astute question is why does any of this appear anyway? One of the understated maladies of the 60s was tambourine trauma. You couldn't play the piano or guitar so you picked up a tambourine and fucked up your thigh real good slappin' it to what now is classic rock. The Marconi Experiment with Dave Herman, Carol Miller, Pierre Robert as in Colbert,good tunes, should've gone to the harmonica instead of bangin' that circular leg humper. "Arise my heart, and fill your voice with music. For he who shares not dawn with his song, is one of the sons of ever darkness", then "Flying" by the Beatles. It was before you needed a baseball bat to protect the bar. Steel belted radial tires were Formula 1 used only. And don't pretend you never heard of Jinx Falkenburg. I was a google prequel - never wanted to harm anyone and never really did with my fists. Those who can, write. Those who can't, drool lexiconically. I used to shimmy with your sister, mate.