Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Divine Wrath (I hope)

So the whole swampy state of New Jersey is sick. At least my corner of the hole is, anyway. I just finished my ‘script of antibiotics and I’m still swilling a bottle of tri-tussy syrup like some bowery wino. Oh yeah, I might feel better, but I still continue to cough the cough of a decade-long smoker, even though I don’t smoke – yet.
I was diagnosed with some form of a sinus infection last week. The drip got down into my chest and messed me up, gave me a fever and chills and sweats and faintness and all kinds of horrible things and actually got me to shell out a few petrodollars in the form of a primary physician’s visit copay. In my throes of illness, I think I managed to spread my pox upon my backup band (Dawn and the Spawn) because there isn’t one of them that hasn’t hacked, dripped or fevered since.
Now – I’m all about Old School Wrath of God. By all means, bring on the brimstone and destroy a city for me. Turn a river to blood. Shit, turn that bee-yotch into a pillar of salt ‘cuz she looked funny at ya. I’m down with that. But man, of all the tools that the Big Man has in his belt, I have gotta hate Plague the most. Sure – famine is WAY up there, but I live in a nice place where bacon is everywhere, and thanks to a few can-can sales, I ain’t worryin’ about the starvation thing quite yet. Sickness though – watch out. Being sick is the worst. Struck down by the invisible. Eaten away from the inside. Drowned in snot. Young, old, it don’t matter to a new strain of bug that has no antibody with its name on it.
“Hey, man, how are ya? I haven’t seen ya for a while, put ‘er there…” ZAP. You got it, and it’s that easy.
Now – I’m not going to go all Monk on you, because you know better of me. I’m just telling you that 95-99% of us are sick right now, or are about to be, and that is too high a number for it be outside of Divine Will. (and no – I said Will, not Wil) I mean, as cool as it is that Divine Wrath is upon us, I just can’t help my nature and complain that He didn’t choose someway else. Like maybe frogs.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Indians 1, Cowboys 1

Right now, Tonto is laughing.
I’m not one for following any form of movie awards, like emmys, globes, Oscars, whatever. That overhyped drivel is nothing more than a statement to the world that we Americans have our heads completely up our asses with totally messed up priorities. Besides that obvious revelation, I couldn’t escape the media blitz on one of the recently aired Hollywood spectacles. Hearing the theme over and over again, I’m brought to a trans-generational institution of America – the cowboy.
Ok – get your mental picture of what a cowboy should be. Thanks to Big Media (which is an earthly subsidiary of Satan’s empire) we’re in serious danger of losing that image. C’mon, a cowboy is some open-ranged, bow legged tobacco spittin sun burned horse riding sonofabitch that loves only one girl and can keep that Marlboro lit even during a spring torrent. We’re talking about John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Slim Pickens, and even those other Hollywood cowpokes like Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and dare I say it Clayton Moore (a.k.a. the Lone Ranger). Let’s get real and talk about the really bad asses like Jesse James, Wyatt Earp, Billy the Kid, Wild Bill Hickock and whole Dalton Gang.
Those M-F’ers were cowboys.
Bad news, pardners. Welcome to the 21st century where we no longer are allowed to play “Cowboy and Indians.” Back when it was cool to do that, because you got the least favorite kid in the group to be the Injun and you ganged up on him and kicked his ass. It was American. Well, we boomers and gen X’ers grew up, we saw the Red Man crying on teevee with all those pollution commercials, and some of us went gay.
Yup – some of our generation looked a little too close inwards and fell in love. They went on to be people like everybody else, and closets everywhere got a real spring cleaning. Whatever. It don’t bother me.
But – as we all have noticed that Hollywood has nothing new in the ways of a conscious or a semblance of anew idea when it comes to material, those pesky film makers have tread upon an institution. We come to the crux of my dilemma – since when are gay cowboys cool?
I just don’t see the Outlaw Josey Wales holding back on his .45 to give a little nod and wink to yonder cowpoke. Slim Pickens rode an H-bomb, not a young Tom. I’m not gonna touch the Lone Ranger inferences, they’re just too easy. All those Hollywood cowboys from pre-1965 were by today’s standards a little weak on the testosterone.
But damn – the whole world is enthralled with this Humpback Mountain movie. I dare say even the Microsoft Assistant could have helped the viewer find a better movie.
“I see you want to watch a cowboy movie, do you need help?”
“I see you want to watch a romance, do you need help?”
I see a few million of you should have clicked YES.
Cowboys plus romance equals the lead female dying at the end. Done. End of plot twist.
Am I too conservative here? It really doesn’t matter, because with the way the weather has been and the global political climate as of late, it’s probably the end of the world. No need to stock up on canned goods. TP, maybe.
/me shakes head in shame
What’s next? Gay pirates? Damn. Penzance.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

King Day, epilogue

As a follow up to this weekend’s Holiday of Holidays, I bring a small snippet of perhaps someone’s overreaction to a loyal King’s celebrants’ activities.
How apropos that both stab wounds and love figuratively and literally burn? It’s only too real for a couple down in Sydney.
Over the top? Oh yeah.
Here’s hoping that your King Day didn’t result in such disaster, but a grease-laden, soulful and rockin’ Sunday.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

E-day Prep Mach II

Update to the King’s B-Day preparations!
Thanks to the good folks at, I have the ultimate in what every aspiring Elvis acolyte should be a part of:
The BOM, or Bacon of the Month Club. This is a dream come true to those of us who really have no self-value in terms of nutrition or general health, least of all gastro-intestinal.
Now that you’re hip, sign up now, or give the ultimate gift on the King’s day. Make it a E-Day that your personal Elvis will never forget, or at least be reminded of once a month for a year.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Stock up!

Lessee. Gotta check the cupboards.
Peanut butter? Check.
Bacon? Check.
Butter? Check.
I mean, several pounds of butter? Mega check.
If you, gentle reader, aren’t following along, you had best check your calendars and look not too far ahead. This coming Sunday is a holiday. It’s almost like Christmas, as we will celebrate the birth of a King. The King.
Elvis Aaron Presley would have been 71 this Sunday. I figure if he hadn’t “bowl”ed over back in ’77 and he carried on even at half pace, he would be around 423 lbs. and blind and mostly deaf. Not a pretty picture, so it’s up to us as survivors to rejoice that we are still here rockin’ to kick it up like the King did.
So get out to the local food emporium and stock up on the essentials. Bacon, butter, bananas, butter, gravy, butter, peanut butter, bacon and burger! And don’t forget the biscuits!
Oh yeah – the King liked dessert, too.