What Song Are You Listening To, Right Now?
- Thread starter charver
- Start date
Matt Dillon
Semolina comes from wheat
T. A. Gardner
Thread Killer
NiftyNiblick
1960s Chick Magnet
I'm enjoying quiet like now,
Thing is probably still there.Here it be. Ya got me now!
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubuivZ7BvC0
Mmm..I like it!
If I gotta pick a favorite song, this is it. This is the hill I will die on.
That album got me across the state back in the day to pay some tickets.
In a $250 Chevy van with a straight 6 that was blue.
There and back, and I didn't make it back home.
I made it 3/4 of a mile from home, and that van gave up the ghost.
I left it right where it died, it served its purpose. Took the mini boombox with the Great White cassette in it and a couple tools, and that's it.
I kinda bought it just for that. Somebody got $100 from it, I'm sure. I walked my ass home. Oof, I've done that a few times. That's not nice.
Back in the wild days of my teens, in the summer of '88, me and my buddy Tȟašúŋke Witkó—Tommy to the uninitiated—decided to live dangerously. Our small town, smack in the middle of nowhere, had a curfew stricter than a nun's ruler: 11 p.m. for anyone under 18. But we were rebels with a cause—blasting Ozzy Osbourne’s No More Tears cassette on my beat-up boom box, overtaxed speakers crackling like an open fire in the autumn.
We were strutting down Ralston Road, named for a "legendary" local Native American leader, because irony loves company. Tommy, a Lakota kid himself, was air-guitaring to “Crazy Train” while I, another Native kid with a chip on my shoulder and a mullet to match, screamed the lyrics into the night. The stars were out, the air smelled of sagebrush, and we were invincible—until blue lights flashed behind us.
Enter Officer Tiny, a cop so short his badge was practically at knee level. He rolled up in his cruiser, looking like he’d just graduated from the Munchkinland Police Academy. His flashlight shook as he pointed it at us, his voice cracking like he was auditioning for puberty. “You boys know it’s past curfew?” he squeaked, eyeing us like we were Black Sabbath’s road crew.
My butthole puckered like I was trying to make diamonds but Tommy, ever the philosopher, grinned and said, “Officer, we’re just paying homage to the Prince of Darkness. No harm done.” Tiny’s eyes widened; I swear he thought we were summoning demons. He stammered, “S-stay right there!” and scrambled back to his cruiser, radioing for backup like we were Bonnie and Clyde.
So there we were, two Native kids on Ralston Road, standing under a streetlight, waiting for the cavalry while Tiny hyperventilated in his car. Twenty minutes we stood there, Tommy humming “Paranoid” and me trying not to laugh at the absurdity. The backup finally arrived—a second cop, equally unimpressed, who looked like he’d rather be eating frybread than dealing with us. They conferred, decided we weren’t worth the paperwork, and sent us home with a warning to “keep that devil music down.”
We shuffled back to my place, laughing so hard we nearly tripped over a tumbleweed. My mom, unimpressed, threatened to ground me for a week, but I didn’t care. We listened to Ozzy at a much healthier volume late into that night...
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Hh2FXufVPo
We were strutting down Ralston Road, named for a "legendary" local Native American leader, because irony loves company. Tommy, a Lakota kid himself, was air-guitaring to “Crazy Train” while I, another Native kid with a chip on my shoulder and a mullet to match, screamed the lyrics into the night. The stars were out, the air smelled of sagebrush, and we were invincible—until blue lights flashed behind us.
Enter Officer Tiny, a cop so short his badge was practically at knee level. He rolled up in his cruiser, looking like he’d just graduated from the Munchkinland Police Academy. His flashlight shook as he pointed it at us, his voice cracking like he was auditioning for puberty. “You boys know it’s past curfew?” he squeaked, eyeing us like we were Black Sabbath’s road crew.
My butthole puckered like I was trying to make diamonds but Tommy, ever the philosopher, grinned and said, “Officer, we’re just paying homage to the Prince of Darkness. No harm done.” Tiny’s eyes widened; I swear he thought we were summoning demons. He stammered, “S-stay right there!” and scrambled back to his cruiser, radioing for backup like we were Bonnie and Clyde.
So there we were, two Native kids on Ralston Road, standing under a streetlight, waiting for the cavalry while Tiny hyperventilated in his car. Twenty minutes we stood there, Tommy humming “Paranoid” and me trying not to laugh at the absurdity. The backup finally arrived—a second cop, equally unimpressed, who looked like he’d rather be eating frybread than dealing with us. They conferred, decided we weren’t worth the paperwork, and sent us home with a warning to “keep that devil music down.”
We shuffled back to my place, laughing so hard we nearly tripped over a tumbleweed. My mom, unimpressed, threatened to ground me for a week, but I didn’t care. We listened to Ozzy at a much healthier volume late into that night...
Jade Dragon
And I'm the one that jaded you.
My favorite Ozzy song came out a little while before I was born. All this stuff is older than I am, but here we are. I guess that shows his impact.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mzyz2egx_0c&list=RDMzyz2egx_0c&start_radio=1