It took Paul Simon four days to hitch-hike from Saginaw to Pittsburg, I've added this to my ever-growing body of evidence proving, objectively, that Paul Simon is a soft-bodied little turd. I hitch-hiked to Pittsburg from Saginaw in twelve hours, while rolling on a massive parachute of speed I constructed out of gas station toilet paper and a piece of medical tape, nursing a two inch stab wound on my right thigh and trying to drive an Uber in upper California. A truck driver I met once said that he had known Jack Kerouac, at the time I hadn't read Kerouac so I went to get some and I thought it was nonsense. If you want to read about hitch-hiking, don't. Go do some of that sweet speedway-thumbin', it's pretty safe as long as you're packing some kind of heat. Wear a big knife in your boot, or shoe. A real big knife, maybe even a sword. If your socks are thick enough, your sword won't cut your ankle.
Unfortunately, Simon & Garfunkel's landmark album Bookends isn't exclusively about hitch-hiking, in fact, there's a lot of things on this album that aren't about hitch-hiking even in a vague, metaphorical sense. This is okay, though, as I found a lot of the songs relatable on a level not yet known to me. Simon & Garfunkel downright diddled me in the brain-goods, and I can take a good guess at what you thought when you read that, “Wow, this guy thinks Simon & Garfunkel will straight diddle my brainy-bits. Only good-ass trap-shit will do that to my neurons, turn this Simon & Garbage off, gimme beats.
What a sissy idiot, Simon & Garfunkel is for sissy idiots only, please.
To that I say, sissy is a sexist term and you should be ashamed, I think; and also, fuck you. Bookends is the all-time-best-album-ever to come out between Sgt. Pepper's and Abbey Road.
If you can't relate to the seminal and often overlooked, Punky's Dilemma, you might actually be a cold-hearted killer. Most days I wish that I was a Kellog's Corn Flake, at some point, at least once. I mean, Paul Simon, you get me. I do wish I was an English muffin. Damn.
I don't think Paul Simon knew that I wanted to put myself in a toaster, and turn it on and toast myself until I'm one dead English muffin, but that's okay; the metaphor is there and we can fucking run with it.
Bookends makes me feel like my blood is made of sweet vanilla bean, I'm ready to die of a heart-attack because my blood is pretty much just sugar, but, hey, my whole body tastes like vanilla right now. Vanilla is a good flavour, fuck you.
“This guy likes vanilla flavour and Simon & Garfunkel? He must also like being a weak human who cannot defend their territory from hostile intruders.”
Correct, I cannot protect my home from intruders, but I have a trick. Play Bookends at the time an intruder might bust in, that way they will have to listen. Only the coldest mother-fucker could listen to A Hazy Shade of Winter and not be at least a little turnt up.
In conclusion, if you're wondering, “What about Garfunkel? My boy, Art Garfunkel?”
Well, I ask you, what about Garfunkel? I don't know, and as a reporter I do not I must do any research; far as I know, Art Garfunkel was never a member of Simon & Garfunkel. It may have been Paul Simon and an articulated ventriloquist’s dummy all along, nobody knows except Paul Simon and Puppet Art Garfunkel. These are the facts, this has been 48 minutes with Roland Wardrobe.
10 Paul Simons out of one Introducing the Beatles