A man has been a country music legend for decades.
He has had some bad times, some rough times with the tax man, but he is an elder statesman. His position in the field is assured, quite possibly for all time. Certainly he will make headlines when he finally breathes his last. There will be sad and worshipful elegies.
He is now an old man, if not in energy level then certainly in mileage. You just have to look at him.
He says that he is holding a fundraiser for a Democratic candidate.
All at once a small mob of jackasses who claim to love his music and to have loved it for decades, but who apparently haven’t paid attention to a single damn thing he stands for, throw up their hands and say that they’re going to burn his albums.
They’re going to take these albums, these CDs, these DVDs, that have been gathering dust on shelves or in glove compartments, some of them listened to often, some of them half-forgotten as life or newer music intruded, and destroy them in a fit of colossal pique. These albums, these CDs, these DVDs already paid for, some decades ago. Money that may not still be in his pocket, but by God certainly passed through it, that is no longer paying for his weed.
The man, who is in his eighties, is supposed to say, “Oh, no! My poor career! I have to think of my future!”
Ladies and gentlemen burning his work, I assure you that Willie Nelson passes so far into the realm of not giving a shit that you could likely fuel a city with the trapped methane.
You are more than stupid, more than bigoted, more than childish, with this gesture.
You are broadcasting your colossal impotence for the world to see.
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