Imaginary Conversations and Random Thoughts

I swear, for a half a second there, when Jagger was waving his arms around, I saw old man waggly back of the arm flab. I could handle the craggly face; it didn't make me see him as old. Heck, Keith has looked about a hundred and ninety since he was seven. I've always thought of Mick as this cut, rock-hard body type of guy, you know, a rock immortal. And now the king is dead. I'm more disturbed by this than I was by Janet Jackson's nipple. I don't even care about Iran anymore.