It was 80's night down at this bar/club/thing, and because I have quite a morbid curiosity I decided to go check it out. To my surprise, there were no protesters, only people dancing and drinking. Hell, I didn't even hear any one talking about the Gipper, the fucking Gipper for christsake. I do love saying, "the Gipper," though how does one elect a man with that sort of moniker, which, wasn't even rightfully his; Reagan got it because he played some guy in a movie. Even in Hollywood he was a fucking thief. Anyhow, enough about the Gipper.
On to Lionel Ritchie, I am ready to say ANYTHING that was done post-Commodores is complete shit, and I hope all of you feel the same. I mean, come on, Dancing on the Ceiling, Three Times a Lady? Mr. Ritchie, go fuck yourself.
The evening wasn't all bad, the beers were cheap and Peter Schilling's Major Tom (Coming Home) was played. Again, it wasn't a total loss.
Oh, and one more thing: I don't really miss leg-warmers.
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