Have I Gotten So Old That I Am No Longer Interested in Smashing a Guitar at Some Point in My Life???

Everything in this blog is just my opinion, not fact. The views here are mine and not those of any organization, person, or sentient cat. If you take this seriously, that’s on you—proceed with caution and maybe a sense of humor.

So there I was, fresh off a plane from Philadelphia, climbing into an Uber and doing what all of us seem to do these days to avoid thinking about life’s deeper problems: scrolling through Bluesky, the latest social media thing that’s like Twitter but with fewer billionaires trying to outdo Bond villains. And, lo and behold, who should I stumble upon but That One Guy I Cannot Stand ™. You know the type: smug grin, probably smells faintly of Axe body spray and bad decisions, now hawking his “limited edition” guitar collection like he’s trying to out-sell the ShamWow guy.

And here’s the kicker—it’s not just any guitar. It’s a Gibson Les Paul-style guitar. I say “style” because I’m praying Gibson had no part in this atrocity. Gibson makes guitars that rock legends use to melt faces; this thing looks like something you’d find in the “As Seen on TV” aisle at Walmart, next to the Slap Chop.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Oh, he’s mad at you because you made that ‘I Wanna Be Your Dictator’ song and video.” And yes, you’re right, he probably is mad about that, but let’s not pretend this is about me. The point is, seeing this guy peddling cheesy guitars made me irrationally furious. Like, why is the incoming president of the United States acting like he’s running the QVC Christmas special? What’s next—selling commemorative plates?

Naturally, I had to skeet about it. (That’s “tweet” for those of you still living in 2020, but we’re cooler now and say “skeet.”) And what did I skeet? The first dumb thing that popped into my head: “I tell y’all what, if ya buy it for me, I’ll smash it!!!” Which, for the record, sounded just as hayseed in my head then as it does now.

Now, Bluesky is still new enough to be fun, so the replies were gold. My favorite was someone suggesting we start a GoFundMe to buy the guitar so I could smash it. I mean, this is brilliant—we could all bond over destroying this monstrosity while supporting local therapists to deal with the emotional fallout. But then someone made a sobering point: He doesn’t care. You give him money, he wins. That’s it. Whether you smash it, frame it, or use it as a doorstop, the dude gets his cash, and we’re the suckers.

This got me thinking—did this guy get into a fight with Guitar Center or something? Is this his petty revenge scheme? Like, instead of focusing on governing, he’s over here trying to outmaneuver a retail chain that just wants to sell drum kits to middle schoolers. Meanwhile, he should be doing things like, I don’t know, background checks on cabinet nominees? Because right now, the only qualification I see for these people is “has an NDA for terrible things.”

Anyway, all this thoughtful feedback on Bluesky made me realize something: maybe skeeting about smashing guitars wasn’t my finest moment. I mean, I love guitars. Guitars are sacred to me. I’ve loved them since I was in third grade and saved up paper route money to buy my first one. (Side note: remember paper routes for kids? They don’t exist anymore. Neither does the Sears catalog, which, frankly, is when the world stopped making sense.) I would fact-check all of that, I believe in fact-checking! 

So there I was, wracked with guilt. What does a responsible, guitar-loving person do to redeem themselves? I donated to Girls Rock! Chicago, a fantastic group that helps girls my daughter’s age get into music. It felt good. It felt productive. It accomplishes three things:

1. It helps kids.

2. It’s music-related.

3. The only thing I’m smashing now is barriers, not guitars.

So, here’s my advice, internet: let’s not pool our change to buy one of these guitars just so we can smash it. But if one of them ends up at a government-confiscated property auction after someone gets a cozy bunk in federal prison, well… that’s a different conversation entirely.

Let’s keep talking, keep scheming for better tomorrows, and maybe, just maybe, leave the guitar-smashing to rock stars.