Talk Dirty To Me

The Gonzo Journals January 2nd, 2023

Well, my baby officially had a baby. I know this sounds strange at first glance but calm your filthy minds and think about it for a second. My youngest biological child just had his first baby. Anakin had Valkyrie. We can discuss how cool our naming skills are later. The real topic here is how old I am.

I blame the media.

No, seriously. I’ve had this discussion several times with my younger wife and now I’m going to have it with all of you guys. Why do I have so many ex-wives, children, and grandchildren? That’s an easy answer.

Being a child of the eighties, my music of choice (and millions of other Americans at the time) was whatever they blasted out daily on MTV. Yes, MTV played music once upon a time. Not only did they play music, but they played it twenty-four hours a day. The world watched it like MAGA-ots do Fox News. It was an important part of our lives.

The videos themselves were works of art. Low budget, for the most part with a few splurges here and there depending on the band or artist, these offerings belong in a museum for the people to cherish until the end of days. Modern children are so missing out, don’t you agree? To be quite honest, I have zero knowledge of any new music because I always got my introductions via MTV. This may or may not be a good thing. Goddamned Taylor Swift sounds like a one hundred- and twenty-two-year-old steam train squealing through the curves in a friction nightmare. I know this for a fact since I’ve experimented and placed the two side by side. Perfect match.

The lyrics to all the songs I listened to were about sex, drugs, and more rock and roll. Glam metal took a more cryptic approach when compared to today’s hits. Example: Warrant’s “Cherry Pie” means the same thing as Cardi B’s “Wet Ass Pussy”. At least my generation owned the respect required to keep it a secret from the old folks!

Seriously, after a decade of this music insisting that I fuck everything that moved, drink like there’s no tomorrow, and grow my hair to the ground, it’s no wonder I ended up being in the situation I’m in. I listened to the music, I had babies, my babies listened to my music, my babies had babies. I’m sure it’s all a lot more convoluted than that, maybe even scientific, but it’s today’s rant.

I am on the verge of having grandchild number seven in the next month or so and I’m only forty-nine years old. Bret Michaels and Axl Rose may owe me back child support.

Let’s see what the jury thinks about that one. Maybe I’ll be able to get a MAGA attorney. Poor racist bastards will believe anything they say…

Peace.