Rainy Sunday in New York and Carry on Wayward Son is smudging out the politics of the day. I’m not on message 24/7. I ain’t as righteous as I used to be, but I do require twice the ice-cream. Lord, while I don’t believe in you, just let me have some classic rock and soy milk in my coffee and we’re square today.
I ain’t as righteous as I used to be, but I do require twice the ice-cream.
Oh, and we’re not running for President. Our oily portraits will neither festoon the Presidential mugshots in your classroom nor litter your currency. And while a gay joke is never far from our lips, we’d die for our gay friends. Or at least put down the remote.
Maybe we’re the not-so-missing link between the old breed and the new one. The breed behind so overtly racist, the one ahead telling more appropriate jokes, perhaps, devoid of the baggage of the present tense. A necessary step in the evolution towards a new day, one with its own pins and needles that won’t likely include the color of your skin or who you like to suck on.
“… my peesh has other plans…”
But what happens if we’re in a power relationship? Maybe I’m your hiring manager. Can you trust me then? Shit, I hope so. Can I trust me? Have I painted myself into a corner? Squirrel!
In the same weekend Trump’s “grab her by the pussy” makes headlines, Bruno Mars’s song with its own macho baggage makes it to number one. There’s as many asses in the Bruno Mars video as on the senate floor. Context is everything. And you can’t unscramble an egg.