Holy testicle tuesday!

Johnny Cash didn't actually write Sunday Morning Coming Down.

It kind of puts a black mark next to the title of my blog. What the hell JC?

So, what else could I name it - if it came to that? How about something Beatles-related:

Strawberry Fields, A Day in the Life, Benefit of Mr. Kite, Fool on the Hill, Paperback Writer, Glass Onion.

Hell with it, I will keep the title for now.

In case you don't know where it's from:

"On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishin' Lord that I was stoned.
'cause there is something in a Sunday,
that makes the body feel alone.
And there's nothing short of dying,
that's half as loney as the sound,
of the sleeping city sidewalk
and sunday morning coming down."

Oh, and another song on the hit parade:

The Ballad of John and Yoko.

It is a chronicle of their attempt to get married.

And how did Yoko introduce herself to John? She walked right up to him, did not say a word, and handed him a card. All it said was "Breathe".

Perhaps I should call it, Sympathy for the Devil?

"Oh, spot on, spot on."