Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: orlando

Les Paul, More Bob


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In addition to his post-show speech to the Bonnaroo crowd, Bobby also addressed the Orlando massacre while being presented with the Les Paul Spirit Award.

(It would be dickish of me to make jokes, so I’ll just say that Bobby spoke wonderfully. He was very gracious and humble, and when he was done he put the award in his fanny pack, changed into his pajamas, and took the stage.)

From My Hot, Dead Hands

I would like a flamethrower.

You can’t have a flamethrower.

Bullshit. I want a flamethrower.




You hunt your way; I’ll hunt mine.

No. You cannot hunt with a flamethrower. It’s not for that.

Well, I just want it. I’ll take it to the range.

No, you won’t. That’s an awful idea. Very unsafe.

There you go again with your ignorance about flamethrower safety. You leave your finger off the trigger (or button or lever or however the fuck flamethrowers work) and you never point your flamethrower at anything you don’t want to throw flame on.

Still, though: you can’t have one. They’re illegal.

Allow me to quote: “A well-regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”


And would you not agree that a person bearing a flamethrower is armed?

That’s not what they meant.

No one knows that they meant. Not my problem.

You can’t have a flamethrower. They serve no legitimate purpose in civilian life because their designed purpose is to kill a whole lot of motherfuckers at once. Most weapons are for killing one motherfucker, and let’s be honest: there might come a day when you need to kill a motherfucker. But you never need to kill a dozen.

Possibly true, but if you don’t let me have a flamethrower, then the next step is banning matches and Bic lighters.

It’s really not.

Again: possibly true. The fact remains: I want a flamethrower and the Constitution can be interpreted in a way that says I’m entitled to one.

You’d have to be a lunatic to interpret it that way, though.

None of the things you are saying are false. Still: flamethrower time.

Did we make a little point?

Very little.

What can a scribbler do in a world of shouters?


A Love For Real

The original ain’t bad.

Nightclub Jitters


A clean, well-lighted place. A drink, and some dimes for the Wurlitzer. Maybe someone cute to dance with.

I guess it is too much to ask.

Drowning In Our Own Shit

The One Stage Of American Grief

  • Blame someone.

And then we get to do it all over again next week.

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