In 1987 George Harrison released a song that took the world by storm. Perhaps it was because he went all out pop like he hadn't done before, or perhaps it's because he taught an entire house how to dance.
Now I Love that song, I really do. But I have to say that as far as accomplishments in the life of George Harrison go, waking a house from its pre-sentient slumber, educating it about biology, the socialization of animal species (including human mating rituals), and then teaching it- a house- how to do the Chalreston ranks a little bit higher than another pop song trying to get somebody's dick wet. And it was a Fantastic Charleston, not the fumbling, pretend Charlestons you're used to seeing from the likes of parrots and toddlers.
With admiration and respect I think on how the house was also tending a fire in its chimney, hosting a camera crew, and providing George a worthy chair.
But what does this have to do with me? You might ask. Well I'm not here to answer your questions.
The other night though, man. Me and a bottle of absinthe were watching that moose head dance on the wall and I got to thinking: 'the fridge and the microwave are really diggin' this. Shit, 'the dryer's starting to hum.' So I took another swig from the bottle and jammed out a piece in honor of Mr. Harrison's attempt to get into some high class pants.