That 58 is a veteran. It’s been sprayed, beatboxed, licked, dropped, farted on, licked again, inserted into various orifices, used as a guitar pick, a drum stick, a strapon, a fork, a syringe, a blackjack. It’s seen death. It’s seen down the bassist’s pants. It’s been a medium for sounds that weren’t meant for this universe. One or two people probably even sang into it.

You will respect the 58. It’s survived more than you ever could.