Hail all you goons, you Werewolves stalking London. The lawyers that bring the guns and money, and the mercenaries serving in Africa. Guess what: life sucks and you're shit's fucked up. So come on into splendid isolation, and write your biography at 24. This is a Warren Zevon thread now.

Oh he who leads by bad example, the desperado guerrilla. A renegade of American fortune, and misfortune. The writer for dirty life and times. The singer-songwriter who can tell you thinks to do in Denver when you're dead.

Jeannie needs a shooter, and all there is left behind is the French Inhaler. We'll accidentally like a martyr while listening to Mohammad's radio. And it'll be all right. This is a thread for disorder in the house, dear Carmelita.