The same assholes who gave Nobel prizes to douchebags like Hussein Obama, Al Gore, and Yasser Arafat have given Bob Dylan a Nobel prize. Bob Dylan seems rather unimpressed and has not bothered to even acknowledged he got the award. Now these guys who gave him the award are saying Dylan is arrogant for not responding. Actually the arrogant thing is for a bunch of elitist to get together and give Bob Dylan an award he didn't ask for and then expect Dylan to be doing backflips over their phony award. Good for him.
Actually Bob Dylan probably finds it insulting that a bunch of elitists think that he writes "literature" when there are so many excellent authors who he follows that actually write books. I expect Dylan thinks that the Nobel committee are a bunch of nutcases who can't tell the difference between lyrics and literature.
I can only guess, but I would suppose that Dylan loathes the very premise of this cooked up award. These dopes represent everything he wrote and sang about. Like nearly every liberal from the 60's, they sold out like a bunch of cheap whores, too lost in thier own idiotic idealogy to realize that they have become exatly what they hated those many years ago, and that's being kind. In truth they are much, much worse, far more corrupt, and dangerous to a degree that would make Nixon look like a pacifist.
Masters of war by Bob Dylan could have been written about Alfred Nobel. Masters Of War WRITTEN BY: BOB DYLAN Come you masters of war You that build all the guns You that build the death planes You that build the big bombs You that hide behind walls You that hide behind desks I just want you to know I can see through your masks You that never done nothin’ But build to destroy You play with my world Like it’s your little toy You put a gun in my hand And you hide from my eyes And you turn and run farther When the fast bullets fly Like Judas of old You lie and deceive A world war can be won You want me to believe But I see through your eyes And I see through your brain Like I see through the water That runs down my drain You fasten the triggers For the others to fire Then you set back and watch When the death count gets higher You hide in your mansion As young people’s blood Flows out of their bodies And is buried in the mud You’ve thrown the worst fear That can ever be hurled Fear to bring children Into the world For threatening my baby Unborn and unnamed You ain’t worth the blood That runs in your veins How much do I know To talk out of turn You might say that I’m young You might say I’m unlearned But there’s one thing I know Though I’m younger than you Even Jesus would never Forgive what you do Let me ask you one question Is your money that good Will it buy you forgiveness Do you think that it could I think you will find When your death takes its toll All the money you made Will never buy back your soul And I hope that you die And your death’ll come soon I will follow your casket In the pale afternoon And I’ll watch while you’re lowered Down to your deathbed And I’ll stand o’er your grave ’Til I’m sure that you’re dead Copyright © 1963 by Warner Bros. Inc.; renewed 1991 by Special Rider Music
"You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows." "It's easy to see without looking too far That not much is really sacred" Never more appropriate than today.