The Mystery of Pink Floyd - by Mike Beyer

Ahh, I'm a new man. Scotty! Last call, right? We'll need two shots, a Malort and a Rumpelmints for Junior over here. Four Schlitzes, too – you're moving downstairs after closing? Well, why don't Bender and me go open the room for you right now? No problem.

You know, we look back on the 70s, and you and me ought to be ashamed to be an American. American music equals shit. The Eagles? Snore. Then you had all the one-namers: Kansas, Journey, Foreigner, REO, Styx – they all had their great, fleeting moments of ass-kicking. In the end, they hit the cheese a little too hard. The Doobies? Not bad! Michael McDonald? Goddam right! He makes "Sweet Freedom" a fucking jam 'cause it's Michael McDonald singing it. Yah Mo B There, Christopher Cross – did you just say Steely Dan?

I'm through talking to you. You are officially a jackass. No, Steely Dan sucks balls. I will calmly tell you that if you mention "Steely Dan" and "good tunes" in the same sentence, I'll knock you OUT. Shitly Dan, is what they should have called themselves.

James Taylor? James Shitlor. Jackson Brown? Shitson Brown. Crosby, Stills and Nash? Shit, Shit and Shit. I can't talk (and don't mention the Grateful Dead in my presence) about these mellow groups, 'cause then I get sleepy, the Schiltz catches up with me, and then I'm puking and falling asleep right here at the bar in my own puke, just like last night, ha-ha.

What did you say? Oh, fuck Lou Reed. Now, if you want to throw in a little Ronnie James Dio, then now we're TALKING! We'll talk all night – oh, sorry. No, you're not going anywhere! It's Thursday night! Practically the weekend!

I tell you what, though. Boston had one album and nothing else, but that one little album FUCKING ROCKED. It kicked the shit out of anything those fucknuts Eagles ever did. Quick, what's the bigger jam: Long Time or Peace of Mind? You're fuckin' A right it's Long Time! Now drink that shot! That one right there! It's on the house, that's where it came from! Grow up!

All right, all right, yes, yes I know, punk rock was the greatest music to ever come out of the 70s. I know, I fucking know that! Thank you, Kurt Loder! Oh! Oh, MC5 rocks, is that what you're telling me? Oh! Oh, is that right? How about the Stooges? They rock as well? Oh! Oh, the Ramones! Yep, yep, yep I read fucking Lester Bangs. Think for yourself, dick! Tonight I am talking about Pink-ass Floyd!

While we're on that, tell me this: Do you or do you not deny that the greatest band of the 70s was Cheap Trick? What – huh? Oh, yeah. That's right. You already told me it was Floyd. Gimme one of those smokes, will ya? I SMOKE NOW. Why? Because I'm LOADED.

Words cannot describe the greatness that has been achieved on the jukebox. Are you hearing Buffalo Tom right now? Tell me, are you hearing it? Are you understanding the genius? Huh? Are you feeling and knowing it?

All right, sorry. Back to the Floyd. Listening to a Pink Floyd album is like creeper weed: You start off thinking, "I paid sixty bucks for this shit?" Then before you know it, you're off to the races. You don't even know when the hell it happened, but you are sitting there stoned off your fucking gourd. And that's it. You are officially sucked in.

Same with Floyd. You listen at first, and you're like, "I paid sixty bucks for this shit?" But then you get sucked in by the guitar ... and you don't know when the hell it happened, but, but, something happens to you that's weird, cause the guitar rocks but it's mellow, and then you're, you're, um ...

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