"…and not for five minutes will I be distracted from the wonder…"


Uncategorized — d-ashes on August 12, 2004 at 5:40 pm

Y’all will have to excuse the absence of what should have been the latest
installment. I spent all last weekend waiting on an egg & olive on wheat from Brent’s.
Don’t get me wrong, it was damn tasty. Limeade and mayo should be an ice cream
or Moon Pie flavor. Hell, I’d like to mix the two and massage the paste into
my cheeks and behind my ears, with just a tiny dab on my wrists, but the damn
sandwich took 81 hours.

As miserable as my adventure sounds, all was not lost.
Aside from running into 62 my mother’s friends, I got some quality shopping
in. I bagged some cushioning pads for the nose-piece of my glasses, a box of "It’s
a Boy" cigars,
one round and one rectangular magnifying glass, the August issue of "Town & Country," a
Goo-Goo Cluster, a comb that comes in a navy plastic sleeve, a bottle of salt
peter, and a surprisingly bawdy birthday card with a gorilla on the front.
And, of course, I got to charge all of this…to Avery Kessler’s grandmother.
Anyway, I apologize for missing a week.

When southern eccentricity was only reserved for mutes, perverts, crazy uncles,
and doubly-inbred nymphos in Faulkner novels, Col. Bruce Hampton
(Ret.) was hanging out with Zappa and Sun Ra. With the Hampton Grease Band,
Aquarium Rescue Unit, and Fiji Mariners, behind him, Col. Bruce now tours
with the jangly/twangy sounds of The Codetalkers. But once he hits the
stage, the old country-gospel, big-band, and flat-out weird favorites continue
to whip crowds into a fine mousse. Bring your two truckloads to George
Street Grocery.

Grab your favorite second hand blazer and fashion a fake mustache from dog
hair because Living Better Electrically is playing Martin’s. Also scheduled
to appear: Their sycophantic throng of hangers-on.

Do you like to shake your butt? Of course, we all do. Well, to give your
posterior that superior shine, check out Juice at George Street. These
504-Yats like to mix good-time originals with New Orleans’ Creole classics.

So, you blew it out all weekend. You spent Sunday justifying your odor to
several. But now you’re some-what recharged, yet you don’t necessarily
want to go buck-ass wild or bull-goose loon. Funny you should mention,
because Songs:Ohia will dish out their own special blend of relatively
up-beat, electric melancholy. It will be bean-bag chill.

Do your best to avoid dripping tears in your beers, because this Sunday, Monday,
and Tuesday are the Senators’ last three regular-season home games. If that
doesn’t get you fired up, think about this. They’re playing those unbearable
cocksuckers, the Pensacola Pelicans. A bigger slew of festering poltroons
I have never seen.

Strathnavern Dunkheld-Fowles IV, Esq. (Ret.)

P.S. Despite popular perception,
George Will did not get his start by dressing up as Chewbacca at suburban malls.

Yes, I’m quite sure Flannery O’Connor never released a collection called "A
Hard Man is Good to Find."

P.P.P.S. It’s time for the percolator.


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