Original Title: Ms. Moon on Fucking Bob Dylan
Ms. Moon did not fuck Bob Dylan. I guess that's how it might have read though.
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- Sarcastic Bastard
- I am a Gen-X, lazy, manic-depressive bastard, with an eating disorder, OCD, and a propensity for alcoholism. I am basically hell to live with, but I enjoy red wine, Ritalin, reality TV, and disdainful cats. This description could also be useful as a personal ad for a dating service.
7 comments:
Are you sure? I mean, I have known a few guitar players in my life...
You crack my ass up! I am sitting here, smiling SO BIG.
Okay, to be honest, NOT EVEN IN MY DREAMS! That would be like fantasizing about fucking god or something. I'd be like that girl I read about once in an article about Dylan who picked up one of his cigarette butts and put it in her pocket, hoping no one would notice.
Yeah. That would be me.
But still- well- never say never. Right? Mr. Moon told me last night that if Dylan sent me out a backstage pass, he'd let me go without him. He said that because
(a) he knew it would not happen, and
(b) when the Neville Brothers' bass player did that, sent me out a backstage pass, I did not go. Because I was married to Mr. Moon.
He owes me one.
Ms. Moon,
Bob Dylan would be lucky to get YOU. Not the other way around. Seriously.
Mr. Moon owes you several, sister.
I loved Ms. Moon's post about Bob's concert. I bet I wouldn't understand half of it either. And I love that she wore sparkly eyeshadow xx
After one shitty fucking week (and it's not over yet) A and I had the best laugh over your original title. A inhaled a piece of pork chop but I was lucky she hacked it out before I had to Heimlich her. Well maybe the week isn't so bad after all. Love ya!
Mel and A,
You know I love you two. Glad I made you guys laugh. Also very glad A did not choke.
Love,
SB
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