Bob Dylan does things on his own schedule. For a half century now, newspaper people and other media cretins have regularly parachuted into Bob Dylan Land, taken a confused look around, and then ran back to their typewriters or radio mics or television studios or laptops or, we guess, cell phones with the Twitter, in attempts to stir up some newsstand sales or page views or Facebook likes or other forms of venereal disease of the heart, by claiming Bob Dylan did this or that thing. In
Someone's got it in for me, they're planting stories in the press Whoever it is I wish they'd cut it but when they will I can only guess. They say I shot a man named Gray and took his wife to Italy, She inherited a million bucks and when she died it came to me. I can't help it if I'm lucky.
Alt-post: what comes out of Maureen Dowd's mouth.
I hope you still have that suit, my man.
You could stuff yourself into it and wear it any way. That would be way ironic. Especially if you went over the top of the stall to get in.
Someone's got it in for me, they're planting stories in the press Whoever it is I wish they'd cut it but when they will I can only guess. They say I shot a man named Gray and took his wife to Italy, She inherited a million bucks and when she died it came to me. I can't help it if I'm lucky.
Alt-post: what comes out of Maureen Dowd's mouth.
e: damn it, SorosBot
to be fair, maureen dowd was probably really hot in the 70s.
No shoving?