blud was doing fag dances in women jeans with his cock bulging and boomers didn’t see anything zesty with this?

>>127004996 (OP)
That's how you make girls come to your gig, and all the boys come to your gig to meet girls.
Even fucking Pink Floyd got gigs only because Syd was hot.

>>127004996 (OP)
If you're not constantly shoving your crotch in the world's face while in your 20s, you are wasting your life. This applies to all generations.

>>127004996 (OP)
>didn’t see anything zesty with this?
They did. girls loved him. They were not uptight incels who get bitter over constant rejection.

>>127005146
>wasting your life

zeppelin ran through every teenage groupie on the planet in the early 70s
that dude got more tight, moist snapper than anyone on this board can dream of

>>127004996 (OP)
someone post the cursed manager picture

>>127004996 (OP)
Plant has a horse cock and youre jelly

>>127005180
>zeppelin ran through every teenage groupie on the planet in the early 70s
>that dude got more tight, moist snapper than anyone on this board can dream of

>>127005173
I don't get how Dave was so involved with groupies and models during the crazy coke & hoes years of the 80s but he ended up a loner in old age

He could have settled with one of those hundreds of hoes he must have shagged during those years

>>127004996 (OP)
boomers listened to glam rock lol they were the most zesty generation

>>127006682
Maybe he was always a loner and the booze and coke just dropped his resistance to isolate.

>>127006682
>he ended up a loner in old age
He has had several longterm Gfs - most recently when he lived in Japan. he's named the lines on his forehead after them.

>When Robert Plant awoke from his afternoon nap in Detroit, he stank so badly he was dispatched to buy some shampoo and deodorant for himself. As he stepped out of the motel onto the street, a trucker stopped at a light, cursed his long hair, and spat in his face. Robert was upset. "I'm white," he said later. "I can imagine how a spade feels here."

>>127007645
That trucker now living the poor old age of a blue collar, while Plant sipping fresh juice in his jacuzzi

>In New Orleans they stayed at the famous Royal Orleans Hotel and cavorted with the French Quarter's rampant drag queen population. By day, Robert would hold court at the Royal Orleans observation deck overlooking the Mississippi, dressed in a skimpy red bikini. At night, Richard would take the band out to gay bars, where they caught the attention of the Bourbon Street drag queens. One fell for Robert and lavished him with silver and turquoise bracelets. Another came on to Jones, who took him back to the hotel not realizing it was a man. Late that night Peter Grant got a call from the Royal Orleans night manager, who said that "Mr. Jones is all right and so is his friend." Grant called up Richard Cole and told him to go have a look: So Cole went to Jones's room and found the door broken off its hinges. Apparently, according to Cole, Jones and a drag queen called Stephanie had smoked a joint and then passed out drunk. The joint had caught the bed on fire, and the fire department had broken down the door to discover Jones and Stephanie unconscious, "with her dick hanging out." Cole duly reported back to Grant, and Jones was teased relentlessly about his faux pas.