I'VE GOT BLISTERS ON ME FINGERS

[spatch]

When I close my eyes, I see colorful dots and elongated exclamation marks marching together down my field of vision in different formations. Sometimes the dots are stars.

And when I see a bunch of green and yellow ones marching not-quite-abreast in front of some blue and orange ones with red and yellow and green and blue close behind and no gaps in between, I think oh, fuck.

I still love you, Rev. Horton Heat. And you, Rush. And you, Iggy Pop. And you, Dick Dale, and all of you Allman Brothers too. But someone's gotta pay for a set of replacement fingers and once I figure out which of you deserves the invoice the most, I'm sending it out.

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Whammy bar!