So Keith Richards says he snorted up a bit of his Dad, in an interview in the guardian.uk, one nicely Brit upon Brit …
Why is it so reassuring these days to see people of foreign lands get along perfectly well without us. Yawn, how tiring to think of the way these eight years will clog histories for eons to come, when in fact the living of it—unless Neil Young releases a war album (so cool) or there’s a really ghastly oversight revealed, or an astonishing truth comes out (like, Condi Rice may actually be accomplishing something?) —is so tedious, exactly the sort of exhausting banality about in the land one would expect from absurd High Crimes. Where was I.
Keith says he ground up a bit of bone himself; the resulting high was neither here nor there, but what a wonderfully atavistic act. He liked his old man. Which I think we knew; those indefatigable wacky good spirits.
I love the way he says to the interviewer, “ … shit, Keith Richards has got to do everything once.”
A model boy. As we know.
