Judy Garland is dead but the memory of Briann Jones lives in all of us

I Charles Rodney Vera, known to my many intimates and precious few peers simply, charmingly, as Chuck, had reason to wear my customary self-congratulatory leer acros's my heart breakingly gorgeous face after breakfasting at four that afternoon, for was my presence not, more than discernible, positively insinuative for the eighth-bottle-ful of six-dollars-an-ounce bracer I had earlier elegantly ’ splashed around the edges of my meticulously starched collar?

Was my dagger-collared gambler’s shirt of many resplendent colors not as close to an exact duplicate of one recently seen on Rolling Stone Keith Richard as could be bought (for a price far in excess of forty-five dollars) in the metropolitan area of Los Angeles?