Posted: Jun 2, 2009 3:31 pm |
Edited by: Golightly
I may have gotten this from the Goner Board...but it bears repeating...
"No, goddammit, no. That grouchy genius can't be dead. He was a fucking Gunslinger. He fought monsters. He was loose, he was a surfer, he was a man, he was a lumberjack, he would not be accused, he was looking for a woman, he could bounce, he could twist, he was cookie-headed, he was powered by heart-o-matic love, he was bad, he did the crawdaddy, he let them bring it to Jerome, he shot tombstone bullets, he wore a fucking cobra snake around his neck, he had a rock and roll nurse who gave him pills, he stopped mumbling and talked out loud, he was my dearest rock and roll darling. He was a lot of things, goddammit, but he can't be dead. There's no fucking "Bo Diddley's Dead" in his catalog."
"Bo Diddley invented rock and roll.
He spoke 14 languages fluently, and narrowly missed winning the Nobel Prize for Boogaliciousness.
He not only played guitar, but could use one to fly an airplane or perform brain surgery.
If he ever encountered a crying child, he would reach into his hip pocket and pull out a fuzzy puppy, which he would give to the child as a gift. The puppies had magic healing powers, I am told.
He was a saint.
He always paid his musicians a living wage, and he healed their carpal tunnel syndrome by rubbing drops of his sweat on their aching wrists.
He would have lived forever, but we weren't good enough for him.
God rest you, Bo Diddley.