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This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 69

By: Rich Cromwell
10 min read

‘If the sun refuse to shine, I don’t mind.’ It’s Jimi Hendrix, grammar or no.

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Rich Cromwell
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Jimi Hendrix’s classic “If 6 Was 9” was written before the dawn of the Internet. One way to deduce this is by using the Internet to look up when the song was recorded and released, which was 1967.

Another tell, though, lies in the grammar. It’s the “was,” man. It should be “were,” although maybe the freewheeling ‘60s weren’t the best time for the subjunctive case. Regardless, it definitely should be subjunctive, which is something the Internet would have pointed out with gusto.

In the words of Grammar Girl over at “Quick and Dirty Tips”: “Believe it or not, verbs have moods just like you do. Yes, before the Internet and before emoji, somebody already thought it was important to communicate moods. So, like many other languages, English has verbs with moods ranging from commanding to questioning and beyond. The mood of the verb ‘to be’ when you use the phrase ‘I were’ is called the subjunctive mood, and you use it when you’re talking about something that isn’t true or you’re being wishful.”

Jimi was only wishing that six were nine, but that isn’t true and he really should have gone with a different mood, as it’s always important to set the right mood. On the other hand, it’s also important to confuse the hell out of people.


The great ones, like Jimi, always did break the rules.


Aren’t these from the lyrics of “Purple Haze?”


White-collar conservative flashing down the street, pointing their plastic finger at me.


Wave your freak flag high.


Maybe this guy isn’t a doctor at all. Maybe he’s just an aging flower child.


Or maybe it’s this guy.


Dig, ‘cause you got your own world to live through.


Maybe you just need more pillows.


I don’t, but there’s this guy named Joe you might want to ask. He’s going somewhere with a gun in his hand and shouldn’t be hard to spot.


“I wish I was a catfish, swimming in the deep blue sea.”


Jeez. Have you ever been experienced?


You know what they say about castles made of sand. They fall into the sea, eventually.


Father, there was a red house over ‘yonder.


Rainy day, dream away.


The ’60s were a different time, man.


Crosstown traffic makes it so hard for them to get through to one another.


Some dude takes the mic at Woodstock, “I have an announcement to make. Don’t go for the greens that has leaves in groups of three.”


I have only one burning desire…


This one’s a highway chile, yeah.


You can find her along the watchtower.


But he could also stand up next to a mountain and chop it down with the edge of his hand.


Nah, you have to have freedom to live.


When the doctor picked up all the pieces to make an island, he discovered they were actually chocolate.


Don’t stop. Soon she’ll be hypnotized by your gypsy eyes.


So is it Mary, then?


Yeah, but she got to walk through the clouds with a circus mind that was running wild.


Get your mind together and come across to me. We’ll hold hands and then we’ll watch the sun rise from the bottom of the sea.


Look, there’s no reason to scream and cry that your little world won’t let go.


Maybe now you can’t hear them, but you will if you just take my hand.


His yellow, in this case, is not so mellow.


The businessman is back, pointing his finger, but this time it’s about a great deal.


There goes Ezy Rider again, claiming the wind takes him higher.


But I don’t know where you come from or if you’re a devil in disguise.


Live for tomorrow, don’t live for today.


There was nothing left to meet him but the velvet moon.


You jump in front of my car, when you know all the time, 90 miles an hour, girl, is the speed I drive.


You got a new fool, hah! I like it like that.


That’s all she ever thinks about, riding with the wind.


The moon did burn fire red on the night that I was born.


They have you to see them through.


If you need me or just wanna bleed me.


Outside in the cold distance a wildcat did growl.


Two riders were approaching and the wind began to howl.


Stone free to ride the breeze.


Although your world wonders me with your majestic superior cackling hen.


Meanwhile, Dolly Dagger drinks her blood from a jagged edge.


Go very, very far away. It’ll take about a day if we travel by my dragonfly.


Once there, we’ll return to the question. What if six really did turn out to be nine? Would you mind? I won’t mind. But if all the mountains fell into the sea, that wouldn’t be cool. That wouldn’t be cool at all. Except for the fact that it was me who stood up next them and chopped them down into the sea. I did take time to pick up all the pieces and raise an island, but as to the sand, I never raised it. I never raised any of it.

Richard Cromwell is a writer and senior contributor at The Federalist. He lives in Northwest Arkansas with his wife, three daughters, and two crazy dogs. Co-host of the podcast Coffee & Cochon, you can find him on Facebook and Twitter, though you should probably avoid using social media.

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