And another thing. .

Lux Interior of the Cramps is dead.
Took me while to get my head round that one. Listened to Sinatra from wean age, saw him sing for real and did the same with Johnny Cash, all brown bread. But Lux Interior?
That one hit me hard. Even harder than Carl Perkins, who wrote Blue Suede Shoes and who's blue suede shoes I stroked on night after I got into a fight with a drunk teddy boy in Kentish Town.
My bestest buddy Lux spat a cork he'd pulled out of a wine bottle at me at a Cramps gig in 1990 or thereabouts and I've got it mounted on a marble slab right here (look). Jeeze I loved the Cramps back then.
Bobbins!
I've got a job teaching at a school. Morrissey is looking like he's 50, my young party mates are dads and Lux Interior is dead. Is this what growing up feels like?

Don't like it.