My ticker just won't stay on the leash. There are other things that I should probably share before they are wiped from the lobes. For example, life is too short for brown guitars. Fashion doesn't excuse excess. Remember when young African Americans first began sporting "naturals," "afros?"
No, of course you don't! That was a very long time ago. I do, though, and it was a positive trend. For awhile. There was a certain pride factor built in and society agreed that it was all good. Of course they expanded in size until thin young men everywhere looked like great big tootsie roll pops from a distance. Naturally, pardon the pun, the fashion quickly spread to young caucasians and they all looked ridiculous from the get go.
That usually happens when white culture attempts to appropriate black culture. Everything hep around here began with darker folks. You had the majesty of Little Richard with "Tutti Frutti" blasting out of the little Japanese transistors. Then you had Pat Boone's flaccid version, suitable for Sunday school picnics.
That example serves so well that I really don't have to go on, ranting about Vanilla Ice, crooked caps, pants d
If it were up to me, and yes I know very well that it's not, white people wouldn't dance in public at all. Well, I suppose that I would make exceptions for Donald O'Connor, Eleanor Powell, Fred Astaire.
Let me get down from my racist soapbox where one side has Duke Ellington and the other sports Eminem, and get right to my sexist views. I believe that I've written here before that women are superior to men. That is undeniable and I will stand on Hugh Hefner's coffee table in my boxers and beatle boots and tell the world.
My side has Dick Cheney, Adolph Hitler, that guy who raised the medicine prices.
The other team, the good one, has Brigitte Bardot, Joan of Arc, Aunt Jo and all of the ones that I have attempted to mail ears to. They smell good. Of course they have Ann Coulter. The usual unkind attack is that she's really a man. As a man, I resent that. It's probably true.
So I remain lonely over here in my own prejudiced domain, right as rain but terribly out of fashion. The emperor has no clothes. Remember who told you.
Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war. Grandma taught me to end my prayers with that thought. She was one quarter Creek. Don't get me started.