Someone accused me of being Rock and Roll once.
I was two fisting with a cigar in my teeth.
Single.
Simple.
And pissing four times a night.
Wasted.
Angry.
Waxing philosophic on the merits of fatherhood.
Making the leap, claim, and uninformed assumption.
No empty pill bottles, no alimony, no better living through backyard chemistry.
That's fine since Rock and Roll is dead.
Can't roll without the rock
or at least the tar.