The passage of time eliminates some of the more intimate details of one's existence. The routine trivia like passing water and shitting and the amount of food and alcohol consumed in the course of daily survival. Sure, there were girls. Lots of'em. It's inevitable.

Blow your brains out and do it right, make sure it's on prime time and on Saturday night.

You hate me and I hate you, so at least we understand each other.

Newsmen winding up the nation, a little bad news helps circulation, pass on the panic to the population.

Oh, demon alcohol, sad memories I can't recall.

Our repertoire consisted of rhythm and blues, sort of country rhythm and blues, Sonny Terry things.

If I told you God was black, what would you think of that?