No Marr Drama

SO, LAST NIGHT HAD TO BE THE CRAZIEST FRIDAY NIGHT EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE SUBURBS. FIRST, I ATE MUSHROOMS. NO, NOT THOSE ‘SHROOMS – PORTOBELLO WITH SPINACH AND CHEESE. THEN I SMOKED ME SOME MINI CIGARS UNTIL MY THROAT HURT AND I WAS DIZZY. THEN, I WAS REPEATED TO THE INSTRUCTIONS FOR PROPER HOUSESITTING WHILE THE FOLKS ARE AWAY AT HILTON HEAD. THEN, I SAW MY SISTER’S NEW THRIFT STORE CLOTHES. THEN, I WATCHED A THE SMITHS CONCERT FROM 1984 IN GERMANY. MORRISSEY DANCES WITH HIS ARM OVER HIS FACE AND SIDEWAYS LEG KICKS UNTIL HE NEARLY TOPPLES, ALL ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY POUNDS OF HIM. ANY GOOD SMITHS’ SONG HAS AN EXTENDED PERIOD OF HIM WHINING IN SOUND RATHER THAN WORD, AND THEY HAVE NO BAD SONGS. SIS HEARD HIS WHIMPER AND VENTURED AWAY FROM PACKING TO JOIN ME IN MOM’S LIVING ROOM. IN 1984, THEY DID NOT HAVE ENOUGH MATERIAL FOR THREE ENCORES, SO THEY PLAYED MANY OF THE SAME (GREAT) SONGS TWICE. THE GERMANS CLAPPED. JOHNNY MARR IS THE GREATEST RYTHM GUITAR PLAYER OF ALL-TIME, BUILDING A SUBTLE WALL OF SOUND THAT WOULD STAND TO BE NOTICED IN ANY BAND WITHOUT THE DRAMA QUEEN AS FRONTMAN…AND OH WHAT A QUEEN HE IS. GREAT HAIR AND WORDS AND THAT VOICE. PLUS, HE HAD FLOWERS IN HIS POCKET. IN POETIC TERMS, THE QUEEN IS DEAD. BUT SHOEGAZING SHALL HALF-LIVE ON IN ETERNITY, I CRY. I LOVED IT WAY TOO MUCH. THEN, I HAD A BEER WITH A NEIGHBOR AND WENT HOME TO MY ART LAIR AND WENT TO SLEEP…ALONE… I WAS NOT HAPPY AND I WAS NOT SAD. AND THE SUMMER NIGHT: CRAZY I TELL YA.

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