Oh how I wish I had at least one friend who would see a gnome and think of George Harrison.
Today at work this girl taps me on the shoulder while I'm talking to Squeeks on the telephone and I say "WHAT?" and she says "You hear that thumping outside? That loud booming noise?" And I pause for a second and listen and I do.
I do hear the noise of which she speaks.
So I say "Yeah, I hear it," and she says "That's my husband's stereo. He's in the parking lot," and I said "your husband is white trash," and went back to my conversation with Squeeks on the telephone.
I have discovered the new Dylan:
it was a triple bill of shame
degradation and scorn
they pinned it all on you
before you were born
until you're sleeping on coals
just to keep you warm tonight
they broke your hands
they destroyed your honor
from the first cold glance
where they preen and saunter
they said if you won't take her
someone's gonna want her
i suppose they threw a ticker tape parade
to commemorate the call
now the confetti falls like cannon balls
all southern drawls and seasick waves
as you pass by in the motorcade
near the paralegals and paired off gents
all those parasites and sycophants
they're all paranormal, they appear discreet
but they'll squawk and claw like parakeets
and you were once of interest
to the nightly news and the daily press
but now that you've outlived your uselessness
do you know what doesn't happen next?
they'll all call you by your number
they won't call you by your name
on the triple bill of shame
it was a triple bill of pain
immolation and fear
they watched you month by month
they crept up year by year
until you're chained to the door stop
just to keep you here tonight
in your single mind from your double bed
no one falls behind no one gets ahead
she said "how do i love the little bastard?
i could count the ways on one hand backwards"
but you still like to know where he's coming from
though the whole of his parts is less than the sum
and you'll paint him with tar and chew him like gum
-that guy from the Mendoza Line