I once knew a girl like that, Robot Arm. She had a real nice place, all kinds of Scandinavian furniture. Spent the night getting drunk and talking her up, but then nothing happened. I got so upset when she was gone in the morning I set the place on fire. Sure burned real good, it did.
I have a feeling this is only the beginning.
Back in the day, we were all blown away by The Chicago Transit Authority. We’d never heard Rock’n’Roll Brass with that kind of power, so we were huge fans.
So none of my friends would listen when I’d say “Y’know, if you really needed to know the time, and some guy gave you some Zen TrashTalk, you wouldn’t say ‘Wow, that is SO deep…’ No, you’d be pissed.”
So I was on board with the OP from the first sentence, thinking “Preach it!”
Does anybody really care?
Heh. It reminds me of a guy I met in Brownsville, TX.
The other night I was walking down the street. I was getting kinda hungry. I decided to get me something to eat.
Now I passed up all the chain franchise joints on Hamburger row, and stopped at a little greasy spoon place I always eat at called Eat, Sit and Gulp.
Get you one of the greasy hamburgers, all peppered up, lay you up in the hospital for about ten days. So I ordered me up a couple of those grease bombs. Waitress brought 'em over, lifted up the bun, checked 'em out. Damn, no ketchup.
So I nudged the guy sitting next to me at the counter, I said, “Hey, partner how about passing the ketchup over?” Suddenly, this little bitty green hand holding a ketchup bottle came into view. And I freaked, 'cause the guy sitting next to me was a Martian.
Now in twenty-eight years of eating hamburgers I ain’t never run into no Martian. Not at 2:30 in the morning and certainly not at a fine scarfing establishment like Eat.
Well, he was sitting over there with a bunch of colored sticks on his plate and I looked over at him and I said, “What you eating there, boy, crayons?” He said, “Why no, they’re Martian cigarettes.”
And he gave me one.
Aw dude, slow down. You move too fast.
You gotta make that morning last.
Excuse me, young man. Does this rail conveyance stop at the eastern Tennessee municipality of Chattanooga?
You weren’t trying to get to San Jose, were you? Or maybe Nevada, California?
Define The Arts loosely enough that Chicago counts. 
Don’t be too hard on the guy. He was probably up all night trying to write some song, his legs all cramped from the awkward position he was sitting in.
Don’t get me started on the time I tried to find lodging in Nazareth.
Hmmm. That’s a bit odd. After all, it actually IS the merry, merry month of May.
The sad thing is, someday his band probably will get off the ground. Sooner or later, poseurs find an audience.
And then, it will be a different tune. Let his roadies or his limo driver or his drug dealer be late and give him some crap about how he needs to chill out and slow down, and he’ll be all like, “Fuckin’ deadbeats, you can’t find good help these days.”
I’m trying to understand how that song would inspired anyone to do anything–even to start a thread here.
Ja, ja. Track 29. Can I give you a shine?
Let me tell you about the time I was having me a burger, at a dirty, greasy-spoon cafe. . . .
Did I ever relate the story of how my friends and I was all on the cover of Newsweek? Well, it started with this harmless prank down by the local school playground.
Last month my car hit empty in a strange town, after my wallet had gotten stolen. I’d called the cards in, and was trying to nurse the car home, but just didn’t have enough in the tank, and no way to buy more.
So I asked this guy if he could spare some change for gas, and he’s all, “What a concept! I could use a little gas myself, and we could all use a little change!”
So I knocked him on his ass.
Another thread full of **Chicago **lyrics changed into lame-o puns?
Why do I have the feeling this only the beginning?
This is true. I sometimes suspect that the reason most people fail to make a living in music is that they have too much talent.
And thus don’t spend enough time learning how to fake it, which is what people really want. Lady Gaga seems to be someone who does both.