The Flying A-Holes

Ok, let’s be clear. Assholes do not fly, not in the literal sense anyway; perhaps in a spiritual context, philosophical setting or as a rhetorical point of reference. As an example: that drunken, sweaty prick sitting next to you in coach, singing along to Enya, reading the latest issue “Hot Wet Teens” and screaming for more white wine…yes friends, that would qualify as a flying asshole. The idiot hitting a guardrail at a buck twenty, sailing through the windshield, might qualify – briefly.

Thankfully, according to Darwinian principles and mechanisms, these swine share one common and positive trait…an early shelf life. Not so in the case of our Flying Assholes (or for the sake of propriety, Flying A-Holes)…a gaggle of wretched geezers who have survived the years of drugs, disease and divorce only to come out the other side of the grinder still playing rock and roll like pissed off teenagers of yore. And yes, they are still pissed off. Lawyers and rehab will do that to you.

Yup, these guys are still cranking through sets of passionate rock and roll with a complete and total disregard for public sentiment. It’s too late to care. Nay, rather let’s fire up the old grey beast for another hay-ride to hell. Experience, time and a history of unfortunate choices dictate it. DEMAND IT. There are sins to pay, but not now Sally. Now’s the time for The Flying A-Holes The devil be damned! Or better yet, tell him you’re going out tonight and want an extra shine on that shoe!