shitbat crazy

A teen-ager showed me the song "Leather and Lace" (Stevie Nicks and Don Henley), on You Tube. (Thanks, kid, I heard it when it came out!) [That doesn't need to be said. Instead, "Wow! What a great song! Thanks!"]
Under the song, the Comments -- from people across the planet -- of course incorporate some sort of "voting" -- "like" or "dislike" the song.
That actually seems kind of unproductive, to me.
I guess they ("they" -- whomever is "running" the internet) consider thumbs-up-or-thumbs-down to be a starting point for conversation.
A few people, of course, commented in that they didn't "like" the song.
And someone typed this comment:

"You have to be shitbat crazy not to like this song!"

shitbat crazy...
is a phrase I had not heard before. Seems Genius, to me, somehow ...
I think Jack Kerouac would have liked that phrase and would have worked it into On The Road, had he known about it.

Like -- from the excerpt below, it could have read,
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time -- the ones who are shitbat crazy, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing..."


[excerpt, Kerouac - On The Road]-----------
...I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!" ...Wanting dearly to learn how to write like Carlo, the first thing you know, Dean was attacking him with a great amorous soul such as only a con-man can have. "Now, Carlo, let me speak -- here's what I'm saying..."

...Then came spring, the great time of traveling, and everybody in the scattered gang was getting ready to take one trip or another. ...I was busily at work on my novel ...Dean was wearing a real Western business suit for his big trip back to Denver; he'd finished his first fling in New York. I say fling, but he only worked like a dog in parking lots. The most fantastic parking-lot attendant in the world, he can back a car forty miles an hour into a tight squeeze and stop at the wall, jump out, race among fenders, leap into another car, circle it fifty miles an hour in a narrow space, back swiftly into tight spot, hump, snap the car with the emergency so that you see it bounce as he flies out; then clear to the ticket shack, sprinting like a track star, hand a ticket, leap into a newly arrived car before the owner's half out, leap literally under him as he steps out, start the car with the door flapping, and roar off to the next available spot, arc, pop in, brake, out, run; working like that without pause eight hours a night, evening rush hours and after-theater rush hours, in greasy pants with a frayed fur-lined jacket and beat shoes that flap. Now he'd bought a new suit to go back in; blue with pencil stripes, vest and all -- eleven dollars on Third Avenue, with a watch and watch chain, and a portable typewriter with which he was going to start writing in a Denver rooming house as soon as he got a job there.

...I promised myself to go the same way when spring really bloomed and opened up the land.
And this was really the way that my whole road experience began, and the things that were to come are too fantastic not to tell.
-------------------- [end Excerpt.]
{On The Road, by Jack Kerouac. Copyright 1957. The Viking Press. New York.}

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