THINK OF ME AND TRY NOT TO LAUGH

Guilty pleasure.

You Wear It Well— Rod Stewart

First comes the voice. That hoarse, weary malted milk and gin rasp. That voice you wish Tom Waits had...

And then the words, wise beyond anyone's years:

“I'm gonna write about the birthday gown that I bought in town
When you sat down and cried on the stairs...”

Who would've expected this to devolve into vapid tabloid fodder? Who could've predicted the schoolyard snickering about a gallon of cum in his stomach?

What a colossal fucking waste of a prodigious talent.

So today it's not my guilt— it's Rod's...