“Look at my fine possessions.”
You have a lot of clothes.
“I’m a fashionable motherfucker. Always. Had to have my hair neat and beautiful. Italian shoes. Used to get my suits made, but I don’t wear suits no more.”
“Tell you why. Was playing a show with some fucking hillbilly group. What’s their name? Pretend to be from New Orleans when they’re from the suburbs of San Franfuckingcisco. Always wearing lumberjack shirts.”
Creedence Clearwater Revival.
“Terrible. Jingle-jangle bullshit. Simple fucking shit. Play a C a couple times. Go to G. Back to C. I’d put my gun in my fucking mouth before I got to the chorus. White people like some baby music. Who’s that motherfucker likes to fuck rabbits?”
Lenny from Of Mice And Men?”
“Yeah, that motherfucker. That’s all you. Bunch of rabbit-fucking retards.”
Please don’t use that language.
“So they out on stage playing that up-and-down bullshit. Singing about how he was born on the bayou. Motherfucker, you was born in a mayonnaise shop. And I’m standing there. I look sharp. Double-breasted jacket with a real subtle herringbone. Tie from Hermes. Looking clean as a motherfucker. Band’s looking good.”
“And everyone backstage is kind of edging away from us. Giving us the corner of their eye. I assume these white motherfuckers are racist.”
“But there’s n—–s down there staying away, too.”
Please don’t use that word.
“Fuck you. So, I don’t understand what’s happening. I call over the promoter. What’s his name? Jew who yells a lot.”
“That’s him. He comes over. I say, ‘What the fuck is with these fucking people of yours? They’re treating me like a leper.’ He starts laughing. Says, “Schmuck, they think you’re a cop in that fucking suit.'”
What did you do?
“First, I glared at Bill for about three or four minutes for calling me a schmuck. Then I thought about what he said. At first, it angered me. Slapped all the white people around me. This calmed me down. Felt better. Slapped them all again. This felt good. Next day, I threw out all my suits and bought some flashy shit.”
You looked good in the suits, and you look good like this.
“About taste, y’see. Gotta have taste. Fashion ain’t shit. All about taste.”
“I’ve always said that in regards to dressing.”
“Goddamn, you look like shit.”
“Nah, man. Like you said. Different taste.”
“No, motherfucker. You just sloppy.”
“Ah, bite me. You got any stash?”
“Shit, yeah. Get the fuck in my closet, you fat Mexican motherfucker. Bring your guitar.”