You Can't Be Twenty

No dear brethren, you can't be twenty on Sugar Mountain.



Ask my good friend Neil, here. Despite what has been said, he does not look like my burnout uncle who always used to offer to take the children fishing, "just like your grampa use to take me and your dad, back when your dad had a pair - course that was before he married your mom!" (Why you need "a pair" to go fishing we could never figure out. And we were too scared to ask him. The one time we asked him about his chest hair, he ended up starting a small fire in the dining room showing us a trick he learned back in the day.)


But the point is, Iam sure there are reasons aplenty to be wary of anybody addressing his brethren. Collegues, I can handle. Even fellows. I am pretty sure that my friend Neil says folks, and that's OK with me too. He's green and Canadian and likes dogs and sings about old men and pretty girls and dead junkies and stuff, so he's cool. But who exactly thinks they have brethren? Children, maybe, but brethren?

Not me, buddy!