Pony Payroll Bones Talkin I Threw Away My Garth Brooks T-Shirt

Well, I was gonna review in depth Country Sizzlers Volume 2 as performed by The Music City Rangers on the old Pickwick label. The review still happens though trunctuated. Some shit went down that got in the way.

These spit shined by God smooth hitters make all the competent moves. They cover all the hits of the day. Such as "Every Which Way But Loose" and "Don't Take It Away."

The group often impersonates the singer who made the original song a hit. For instance, the already mentioned "Don't Take It Away" was a big ole hit for the sexy lizard man with a perm Mr. Conway Twitty.

The stand out track on the album is the Jennings/Nelson cover "I Can Get Off On You." The song sings a whole lot about cocaine, pills and whiskey. Those Music City Ranger Boys pull a smooth fast one again by pulling down a decent Waylon coked out gruff vocalization.

All right. Typical days can be like horse shit. Sometimes that horse shit will often take it's very own special shit of horse shit. I'm not shittin you! Then, I heard the dark yodel of death.

Nihilism! A goat with rabies! Struck asunder! Boiler explosion on this here Mark Twain steamboat called REALITY.

A whippoorwill crawled in my heart and died.

I have no shoes sometimes because I am confused whether or not if death has finally made good on his promise and stole well my leather brown dress shoes.

Sometimes I wake up in a dark damp cave. I can feel my bare feet gettin cut on sharp loose rocks strewn in this absolute dark. Stalactites upended--shattered. I know my naked feet are cut not from the pain of flesh lacerated. I know because I feel the warm wet blood seeping out. The cave is full of dark lightning you cannot see for the lightning is also made of darkness.

Well, I have reached another breakage. I finally threw out my Garth Brooks t-shirt. Suicidal Ideation and the man who became Chris Gaines somehow got mixed up in a Pony Bones psychosis. I bet both thought they was on the wrong side of the tracks. I mean if abstract notions could be personified into the gummy flesh.

Why the hell would I get rid of such an iconic t-shirt? Why you may ask?It has no stains. It has no rips or holes. The image of Garth Brooks face on the cotton short sleeved tee is not even faded. The city concert dates that Mr. Brooks met with the Steel strength of stardom still look crisp.

Here's a tagent--that goes no where. Not even an allegory. You see I am a fool and I search for the wrong things in this slowly hyperventilated United States of America. Maybe I was looking for a clue. A red herring so to speak. Like the time you heard Rockin Robin was gonna play a free secret concert up in that lonely oak tree standing struck stark near that skinny dirt path in the back of the city park. I got to the oak tree and I found out it was a lie. The whole thing was not a miscommunication or misunderstanding. You see Rockin Robin is God damn liar. He thought it would be a good ole joke. Even bad publicity is good publicity. It was that time yesterday over back in the hills. Folks of all kind were sayin Rock and ROLL is EXPLOSION!

Well, I obtained that Garth Brooks t-shirt in Fargo, North Dakota. The shirt I discovered in the men's section of this Native American charity thrift store. It was a rainy October afternoon in tha plains state. All was on schedule. We knew for sure because the Red River was still flowing backwards, South to North, into Canada.

I wasn't sure if I liked Garth Brooks or not. I thought I had good memories of the man. Well, most thoughts are decieving. LIsten here!

His plastic cd jewel cases haunted me in my early adolescence. I was bothered by the music videos. I was particularly disturbed by the music video that accompanies the inspirational Garth Brooks song where the disabled kid takes a real low down bad luck nasty fall upon that asphalt race track loop. However, I found strange inklings of future phantom tampering inspiration within the dark wellspring of "The Thunder Rolls."

Fuck you Garth Brooks for your Billy Joel cover on your first multi multi million seller.

I can fuck off for rollercoasting a depravity of misplaced one ass cheek hangin in tha wind stuttered metaphysical nostalgia.

I do not care for your former Rock and ROLL firework sparkin antics nor your new Las Vegas act where you sweat blood and urine into your dry cleaned cowboy shirts.

In fact, I am still depraved--inside a myopia tornado of depravity. I do not even want to be writing about you Mr. Garth Brooks.

Yes, nihilism! There's a good chunk of this life I do not care for and I must say my attempts at reconciling these thangs are very poor. NOT for lack of trying. Somehow the Garth Brooks t-shirt got tied in with my emotional depravity.

I woke up kinda sour like a ghost shipwreck in my stomach instigating nausea. I threw up a nice blend of white wine and yellow bile. I only drank two bottles tha night before. I backed outta tha music show I was initially invited to play. I was gonna jump off tha 29th street bridge cuz i walked toooo far and did not make the correct pedestrian turn upon the 28th street bridge over the Jones Falls.

I could see very well crystal white shimmerings of the toxic river through a web of slightly shifting river bank trees. If I leapt I would hit that water crushing my bones. I would be much like a glass bottle exploding into shards against an unkept abandoned parking lot. Well, I got away from that devil dealin ideas. One makes it home confused as where the girlfriend is cause you jumped outta your ford pickup again. Where's the key to tha house.

You know, I really get weary with country music. When you been livin that life for a while. It just gets damn and old.

Yeas. I woke up retching a blend of white wine and yellow bile. That bitter ugly taste that lingers in yer mouth. Yes, I have been on that month long drinking binge. Yes, now I'm gonna tackle a break.

Well, you don't know till ya try. Alcohol got lonely without me. Three days later I'm sipping a Bud Mangorita two miles deep on Big Gun Powder Falls. I look down and I be damned. Thar's a baby copperhead snake slithering right past me with a slug in his mouth for dinner. I think some kinda omen or portent is breakin through tha veil.