It's Going To Sound TITS.

Listening to Bill Clinton interviewed on the radio today felt like running into an old girlfriend that you never appreciated (although she was a little fucked up). Really brought home what a beady eyed fucked up little xenophobe W is. Can you imagine W speaking in another language? What a bounder. What a weed. SURELY there is a psycho out there somewhere who wants to be famous.

Imagine a world where W gave Clinton the job they're grooming that rat turd Bolton for. He'd be all charming and slippery and elderstatesmanly and banging all the help.

Jesus, I even miss Clinton's sins of the flesh. Really; if you love ass, you love life, and loving life should be a prerequisite for leader the Free World, n'est pas mon petit morseaux du fromage suisse avec le merde d'elefant? And I don't mean that weirdo culto Christian shite that W sacrifices humans to. Who was hurt? Who was hurt? Hillary? Give me a god damn break. Embarrassed and disappointed, maybe. Come on, guys. Hillary doesn't want to do that stuff. Look at her. Hillary's like the Annette Benning character in "American Beauty".

You know, if it turns out Hilary was actually up for it, y'know, wantin' to tear off a piece of Billburger onna Tuesday and a Friday, then Clinton is an asshole.

But my uncanny ability to gauge the human psyche leads me to believe that she is as a field salted and robbed of minerals by The Frosty Winds of Ambition. Who knows. Who knows with the womenfolk. I sure was a whole lot more curious about the Mystery Of Woman twenny five years ago than I am now. It's like losing your interest in bumpers once enough god damn cars have run into you, know what I'm sayin'?

Maybe his dalliances were the original snowmakers. It's likely. Who the fuck knows. Probably it was the dude, what the christ do I know. I don't understand the menfolk either with their slapping that thang around all over. Maybe women SHOULD be a little more turned on by a decent ass and a flat stomach or a brain like a steel trap and less by power and prestige.

People, fuck each other, okay? I don't care who ya are, gay, straight, old, young (not too young). Can't we all just fuck each other? Jesus Christ. Like it's so hard. Let's just take a li'l T.V. time and turn it into Fucking Time. you take the thing, you put it in, ya move it around, bing, bam, boom, it's easy. Anybody can do it. Tell ya, if Mrs. Hitler had spend a little more time on her back and a little less time kaffee klatching with the Daughters of the American Revolution maybe we wouldn't be in this mess.

Pretend he's goddamn George Clooney. Pretend she's Rosario Dawson. Or Eva Longoria. Just not Hilary Swank 'cause that particular Emperor is unclothed. That's an ugly chick, folks. Hell, I'd rather help the other Hilary exact revenge on Bill than get close to that hag. Hilary looks like she done falled outta the Ugly Tree and all the branches punched her on the waydown. I'll even let you put on some fucking Journey if that's what you need. I mean, Christ, it takes what it takes. Just remember- erections lasting longer than 4 hours require medical attention. If you're 80.

Check it out- look at the dashboard of your car. If it's American-made, I guarantee any light or stencling that is supposed to say "gauge" will say "gage".

I'm excited. I'm getting some new pots and LEDs and sliders for my venerable SWR SM400S bass head, I'm going to do all the work myself, and it's going to sound TITS. And it'll cost like 50 clams instead of 200.

I'm producing a song for Henry Slater, the South African Mark Knopfler, and it's going to sound TITS.

I'm going to rock a huge high school graduation party on Sunday. It's going to sound TITS. And I'll get all this CASH. For ROCKING.

Next time I complain about anything remind me of THAT. Or of OPENING FOR CHEAP FUCKING TRICK LAST SUMMER MOTHERFUCKER. Yeah, I did that. Yeah. Or opening for the Ventures. That was O.K., you know? Or opening for The Damned. Or Mike fucking Kenneally. Where you're on stage and Mike fucking Kenneally's fans are looking at you, and you're like, "shit, I have to rock a supremely large chunk of ass tute suite garcon."

Once at the Coach House I was picking up tickets and shit and Chris Isaak told me I had cool hair. You'd have to see an aerial view of Chris and I to properly assess the irony of that.

My buddies Paul and John (?) were in Arthur Lee of Love's comeback tour band. There's some blazing stories there. Whores flying out of windows and gack and all that. My god.

When I was doing live production you'd do these country clubs in Palm Springs and you'd be mixing your big old revue and some 40's or 50's star would come up and do a song that had been their big hit and it's like this one huge song that is totally in the Vernacular and you can't fucking believe it.

It's a crazy old world.

The Bobby Lightfoot Explosion is going to do "What A Wonderful World". How nuts is that? It's going to sound TITS.