Tonight some dude I’ve never met asked who I’d
play guitar like if I could play guitar like

anyone. What a great question. Five long years
ago I’d have said Jimmy or Jimi and

a million other people would have groaned, “Riiight.
What else do you like, fella? Steak and blowjobs?”

Three years ago I’d have picked Jack White, because
the basement band I used to front covered Ball

and Biscuit. Our guitar and bass player switched
instruments so everyone could play a lead.

Everyone but me. I couldn’t play a lick
back then. Things have changed, though. It’s like John Lennon

said, “I may not be technically good, but
I can make the fucking thing howl.” That’s rock and

roll, right? That’s what it’s about, allegedly.
I suppose it’s only fitting, then, that just

six months ago I’d have said, “Bob Dylan. Just
bury me so deep my howling can’t be heard.”

He’s not known for his proficiency with six
strings and a box of wood, especially not

when it’s plugged into an amplifier and
the cool hum of electric sex is running

through it. Just listen to Leopard Skin Pillbox
Hat. Someone send Doc Brown back in time to tell

Bob to turn the fucking gain down. He’s so shrill.
Then again, perhaps that was intentional.

I’m pretty sure the song’s about a blowjob.
I don’t know who gave it to him or when. I

just assume it was the Factory Girl, but
hey – what do I know? And where was I? Oh yeah.

Mark wanted to know who I would play like. Well
hell, man. I guess Chuck Berry. Or Marty Mc…


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