"Are you now, or have you ever been a member of the Grateful Dead?"

That's the top-rated comment on this Reddit post:

 

I liked this comment, which reminds me I've got to get around to finishing "The Philosophy of Modern Song":

Should have had a congressional investigation into The Philosophy of Modern Song. 

"Mr. Dylan, on page 191, you wrote of Mr. Warren Zevon and I quote: 'You’re the tomcat with the stiff penis who pisses gold urine.' Mr. Dylan, surely you are aware that Mr. Zevon was a member of the Homo Sapians species of primate known as 'human.' He was never a 'tomcat' nor any other kind of feline. As a human, Mr. Zevon's urine would have been liquid, not a precious metal such as gold—isn't that correct, Mr. Dylan? Furthermore, you must know it is exceedingly difficult to urinate with an erection. Are you prepared to admit, Mr. Dylan, that your description of Mr. Zevon was false, that we shouldn't believe you, and that you are a liar? And will you agree to henceforth play it fucking loud?"

The scenario reminds me of something I read in this new book I've been listening to on my Wisconsin walks, "The Waste Land: A Biography of a Poem":

In 1929, after a reading of ‘Ash-Wednesday’ at the Oxford Poetry Club, an undergraduate asked Eliot: ‘Please, sir, what do you mean by the line: “Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper tree”?’ Eliot looked at him and said: ‘I mean, “Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper tree.”’

Calypso singers laughed.