It should say "Watch SHOOTING GALLERY!" over and over!
Strangely enough, in the mid-1970s I was a Famous Rock Critic in New York City. I hung out ay CBGB's and bars where the second act came on at, like 3 AM; I learned the Four Most Important Words in the English language — "I'm with the band!" — I went to parties with Hunter Thompson and Tom Wolfe; I traveled on the bus with Willie Nelson; I was thrown out onto 16th Avenue South in Nashville by Hell's Angels goons in the pay of Waylon Jennings; I drank too much, had a Number 1 hit country song written about me (more or less, with the emphasis on less)...I thought Warren Zevon was God. When I was editor of COUNTRY MUSIC Magazine, I had a framed Warren Zevon album inner sleeve featuring a full-sized picture of his S&W M-29 .44 Magnum on my office door. I introduced Hank Williams Jr. to Zevon's music when I wroke Hank Jr's autobiography, and he later did a cover (and a duet) on "Lawyers Guns & Money.
I truly believe I was the only Famous Rock Critic who went through NYC's byzantine process for getting a pistol permit, only to fail when I refused to give a cop a $500 "cash-only application fee, and we don't give no f^&*%&g receipts, neither!" He took my huge stack of paperwork, painfully assembled over a year's period, tore it up and threw it away.
Final note...years later I was hanging out in this really sleazy bar in La Ceiba, on the Caribbean side of Honduras. The bar was called the O. K. Corral, and I was the only one in the bar who lacked some substantial form of hardware. I gathered up my lempira, the aptly named Honduran currency, spent a nickel on a cold National, a Guatamalan beer that tastes like a cross between Corona and piss, and put the rest of the lempiras in the jukebox. Of course they had L,G & M on the juke, and when Warren sang the line about "hiding in Honduras", the whole freakin' bar cheered...
Michael B
MBTV
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