One last record-related post.
This is the first album I ever bought.
Could you just die that an eighth-grade girl went into a record store and laid down $5 for this? Don’t they have rules about selling stuff with sexually-confusing images (not to mention the inter-species thing) to minors? Apparently not back in the fast-and-loose 1970s.
I should have brought it in when I was going to therapy, it probably would have explained a lot.
Mr. Watson is dead now but I still love this record, especially the part where he’s in the baloney section of the grocery store complaining about the prices. When was the last time you had baloney? Jack has a friend who just got back from Memphis who said the most incredible thing he had to eat the entire trip was barbecued baloney. Not slice-by-slice, either — those Memphissians take a whole long-dong baloney and stick it on the barbecue. No, thank you, I have a problem with long sticks of processed meat in general and if therapy didn’t help, barbecue sauce won’t either.