We used to rage, man. Against machines.
We smashed things too. Like pumpkins.
And if we had flowers they were roses and we also had guns.
We wore flannel and when we were happy it wasn’t just happiness it was nirvana.
We ate peaches and we didn’t get so upset when talking about the different presidents of the United States.
When we looked around we were all like, “Hey hey heeeyyyy a what’s going on?”
We threw our own Woodstock and ruined it because we were so volatile.
Because we didn’t have Hendrix we had Primus and our show stoppers weren’t clean shaven Beatles they were grimy bastards like Metallica.
The other day I saw a picture of Billy Corgan holding two cats on a magazine cover. The article was about how much he loves cats and tea.
I was so angry I almost spilled warm chamomile, which is just a lovely beverage, all over my khakis.
I just wanted to take my boat shoe and stop all over that magazine.
We used to rage, man.
Now we’re cat people.
And the worst part is…I don’t mind it.