It’s a tense, twitchy time, bringing all the elements together for the Grand Apocalyptic Ending for Bleeding Kansas, which curiously seems to have scheduled itself for the weekend. I know, I should have had this done two weeks ago. Things keep getting complicated, though.
There are worse ways to spend a spring weekend. I’d like to roll into it with this spirited little moral tale of the consequences of throwing your infanticide into a Jersey landfill. A creature awaits battle in the ancient swamp while we talk to Jesus through a hole in the floor over a mean walking bass line. You hear the organ and think “The Doors Meet The Munsters!” The song is so over the top it teeters on the edge of Spinal Tap absurdity—which, for me, is always an indicator of True Greatness in a rock song.
There are worse ways to spend a spring weekend. I’d like to roll into it with this spirited little moral tale of the consequences of throwing your infanticide into a Jersey landfill. A creature awaits battle in the ancient swamp while we talk to Jesus through a hole in the floor over a mean walking bass line. You hear the organ and think “The Doors Meet The Munsters!” The song is so over the top it teeters on the edge of Spinal Tap absurdity—which, for me, is always an indicator of True Greatness in a rock song.
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