Kool Filter Kings

While looking through a box of junk from my recently deceased uncle’s house, I came across a bottle of "Hai-Karate". Anyone born after 1975 probably never heard of Hai-Karate, but for me it caused a levee in my brain to let loose, flooding the poorer ethnic sections of my brain with memories of the late ‘60s & early ‘70s . . . probably bombed from the government side. (Allusions courtesy of Calypso Louie)
I remember seeing Hai-Karate commercials on our 13" diagonal Zenith. My favorite started off with a Jamesbondesque character applying some of the aforementioned shave balm to his ruggedly handsome face. "Peter Gun" style theme music swells in the background. He steps out of a seedy brownstone in a bad part of town. A girl in plastic go-go boots and white lipstick casts a sidelong glance from beneath lizard blue eyelids. Her delicate Audrey Hepburn nostrils twitch and she turns to follow the man of mystery. Then a girl in a trenchcoat catches his scent and follows. Then another. And another. The next thing you know he’s running from a teeming throng of nubile Smantha Stevens’ evil cousin look-a-likes.
He uses his best Judo & Karate moves to escape his pursuers. (Hai-Karate get it?) Then, suddenly a rope ladder drops from the sky. He’s saved! Pseudobond climbs to safety, only to find a helicopter filled with refugees from a Russ Meyer flick, who immediately begin to rip off his clothes in preparation for some sort of off-camera, man rape.
Way back then I was still in my single digits, and wouldn’t see my first pube for another few years.
I thought, "If he didn’t want to be chased by a bunch of girls in blue eye shadow, what did he rub it on his face for in the first place?"
Besides, I was an Aqua-Velva man.
Aqua-Velva men rode motorbikes, climbed mountains, drove race cars, and hung ten on curling waves. There were usually a few girls around the Aqua-Velva men too, but I had the idea that they were ancillary to the cool activity schedule.
Besides, my dad was an Aqua-Velva man.
He had hair all the way down to his ears, a well trimmed handlebar moustache and drove a metallic lavender ‘67 Dodge Charger Hemi Fastback.

Trust me, in the late ‘60s in Mississippi City, MS you couldn’t find more man than that. When I was a toddler he used to take me down to the beach for one of his favorite games "Bikini Spotting".
Legend has it that my first word was, "Daddy", and my second word was, "Bikini".
So, as you can imagine, one of my early goals in life was to become an Aqua-Velva man.
For my third or fourth birthday I received a cube shaped bottle with a top like a tiny wooden barrel. It was "English Leather". I have no idea how the Brits treat their bovines, but that shit smelled nothing like cow hide. Also, English Leather was linked in commercials to the same girls with lizard blue eyelids that had tainted the image of Hai-Karate. Not only that, but these girls with their iridescent ocular coverings wanted their men to wear English Leather or "Nothing At All". Here in 2005 wearing nothing at all with an Emma Peel clone doesn’t sound too bad, but in the summer of ‘69 it was as unappealing as brussel sprouts, bathing, or bedtime.
I think the first time I saw blue eyeshadow was in a Kent’s department store in Hattiesburg. My mom & I had stopped in so she could buy cigarettes. (Smoking was still cool back then) The woman in line in front of us at the check-out was young and pretty. Her hair was impossibly black and was lacquered into the exact shape of a Godiva pudding-bowl motorcycle helmet. She had on white lipstick. She wore a bright purple mini-dress with a 4" wide white belt and a 4" white stripe down the front like an inverted cross pointing a her cooter. Below that was 4" of exposed thigh, followed up by shiny white plastic go-go boots that smelled like the 4" deep inflatable swimming pool in my backyard.
She turned and talked to my mom while they waited. She said how cute I looked. She looked down at me, and asked how I was doing, and wasn’t I just the cutest little thing. Then she blinked. I was mesmerized. Her eyelids were painted the exact same color as those of an anole lizard.
She bought two packs of Benson & Hedges. My mom bought the same thing.
For the longest time I though that pretty girls all smoked Benson & Hedges.
Older women who hated men, and were trying to look like pretty girls smoked Virginia Slims.
Boys smoked Camels.
I longed for the day I was old enough to smoke Kool Filter Kings.
Kool Filter Kings were smoked by Aqua-Velva men.

Posting post to post a post

I felt like posting today, but I can't think of anything to post about, so I'm just going to post a Christmas poem I wrote a few years ago.
Here goes.

'Twas a "hic" night 'fore Chris "hic" mas

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all ‘round my home
Were guests and relations, a few were quite stoned
From the party just ending that Christmas eve night
They staggered & stumbled & made such a sight
Saying good-bye as they left for the evening
As I gathered up all their Christmas tide leavings
A half sack of wack & a bottle of Brooks
And some real special brownies that somebody’d cooked
Some bottles of wine & some bottles of beer
Told tale of the guests who had left in good cheer
I set the leftovers on the floor by the fire
And wandered upstairs to my bed to retire
As I was drifting toward well deserved sleep
From the floor down below I heard a soft creak
Then a thump, and a footstep, a cough, and a sneeze
My heartbeat grew heavy, my breath was a wheeze
I knew now for sure that there was someone there
I picked up my Colt and I crept to the stair
I came to the landing from there to see down
To the living room scene from whence came the sound
Of this fat motherfucker who was scarfing my stash
He’d eaten my brownies & smoked up my hash
He guzzled my bourbon with unrestrained glee
Then walked down the hall to the bathroom to pee
I picked up a pillow to muffle the blast
And without hesitation popped a cap in his ass
He fell to the floor with a wet meaty thump
And lay there quite still in a red & white clump
I searched through the house for his method of entry
My dog having proved to be shit for a sentry
Out on the lawn there stood munching on hay
Eight goddamn reindeer attached to a sleigh
There was no snow, on the ground, not a flake
So how did it get there, there must be some mistake
I went to examine this deer powered sled
And found there were presents piled high in the bed
I climbed to the seat to check out the loot
Gameboys, & yo-yos, a basketball hoop
Dollies, & teddies both stuffed and to wear
Bicycles, skates and an X-box were there
Popular gifts for girls and for boys
Even a few of those adult type toys
You know the kind that are shaped like a prick
For ladies & faggots who can’t get no dick
I turned to the reigns, the deer stamped in alarm
I tried to assure them they wouldn’t be harmed
As I looked round the cockpit surprised what I’d found
A whip that said one smack for up, two for down
A smack on the left & they turn to the right
Figure the rest out you seem pretty bright
So I snapped the whip once o’er their heads with delight
And fast as a comet rose into the night
On Dasher on Dancer on Chewy & Paco
On Sleepy & Dopey on Nancy & Rocko
Hattiesburg faded away in the evening
Before me I knew not where the reindeer were leading
Down to the coast in the blink of an eye
Approaching Mach 2 we tore through the sky
Casinos & shrimp boats soon shrank in our wake
We hung a quick left then we got a bad break
Coastal defense with some fast F14s
Had scrambled to shoot down my sled & my team
We dodged & we ran from their sidewinder missiles
Then settled to earth like the down of a thistle
And where did we land with SAC on our tail
But the Mousetrap-A-Go Go in Fort Lauderdale
I landed the sled on a Cadillac car
I tied up the deer & strolled into the bar
Four different strippers had a dance in my lap
So I picked out one with a really nice rack
I took her out side to check out my sled
We hopped in the back & ...
well lets just say it’s my poem & I’ll finish it any way I want to

Cool

I can post from my cell!

'Tis an ill wind that blows no good

Last night I was awakened at about 3:00 a.m. by a scent.
This was no ordinary funk, but a reeking, breath banishing, eye stinging miasma.
This stench was worst than bad cheese rotting inside a putrescent cod dipped in a septic tank and fermented under the backside of the Devil’s ball sack.
It smelled worse than a Peugeot full of Frenchmen.
As I struggled to open a window and determine from whence this odour eminated, I heard a flatulent Ppppfffffttt. My dog Bruiser hung his head in shame.
Immediately I rushed him to the back door so he could go in the back yard and release whatever it was that had crawled up his ass to die, but he refused to leave the house.
I’ve been feeding him the same kibble as always, so unless he’s been sneaking cabbage, bean and limburger burritos behind my back he must have developed some kind of digestive issues. I seriously considered duct taping his ass shut, but I settled for locking him in the bathroom. Another night of this and he’s off to the vet.

P.S. WARNING: Don't bother googling "Dog Fart"

NOT about: hurricanes, cat's, or the fact that democrat's are morons

Poor old Beretta.
Why can't folks just leave him alone?
http://www.miami.com/mld/miamiherald/entertainment/12749699.htm
http://www.kesq.com/Global/story.asp?S=3902035&nav=9qrx
Robert Blake was a hero of mine when I was a kid (I begged my parents for a cockatoo).
Although, I believe he's innocent (A lot of other people wanted that bitch dead) . I admit he might have done it. But, when I look at the Blake-Bakley-Brando-whoeverthefuckelse relationship, I think, hell, every once in a while ya come across somebody that needs a good killin'. So, let's just give Bobby a little break.
Besides, I think that with regards to the Blake, Simpson & Jackson trials we are over looking the most important fact in these cases. The right of rich people in the United States to buy their way out of any situation (Right Teddy "Chapaquiddick" Kennedy?)
Do you really want to live in a world where your average multi-millionaire can't snuff some whore without regard to the consequences. In the words of Drew Carry, "What's the point of makin' the money if ya can't enjoy spendin' it?"

You've come a way baby.

Where were these "Cool Moms" when I was in high school? http://www.thedenverchannel.com/news/5019924/detail.html Of course looking at this chick I'd have probably still just picked up chicks from Our Lady of Victories. When I was in school a "Cool Mom" was one that served snacks when everybody came over to watch "Friday Night Videos".

I survived Katrina & all I got was this lousy blog post

Howdy folks,
According to the number of hits on my blog no one really misses me. But, in case you did, I didn't die in Katrina. Apparently, I was in Missouri.
If you ever have the opportunity to experience a cat. 4 hurricane I highly reccomend that you do so from at least 4 to 5 hundred miles. I have no phone, no electricity, no gas, & no cable, but the water is on, so as soon as I can find some ice I'll have something to mix with my bourbon.
I have been through a number of huricanes. I lived in Mississippi City during "Camille" and weathered it in Hattiesburg, MS. My most vivid memory was a pecan tree that fell between my grandmother's garage & house without touching either building.
I lived in Gautier, MS during "Fredrick" and weathered it in (once again) Hattiesburg. After "Fredrick" we (in Gautier) were without electricity for three months. I still had to go to school (bummer) but only for half days. The other half of the day every one from 8 to 80 wielded chainsaws, axes, & shovels to dig out the town (that's how I learned to run a front end loader at the tender age of 14). Today, even the sound of a chainsaw makes me nauseous.
for huricane "George" I lived in Hattiesburg, in the same house I own now. My relatives from the gulf coast and my wife's relatives from their trailer-parks road out "George" in my house. "George" didn't bother me very much. Power was only out for seven days. I came close to killing my in-laws. (don't take refuge in my house & then try to tell me how to scramble fucking eggs). The wife & in-laws are now, thankfully, gone. Although "George" had little to do with that.
"Katrina" is the first huricane that I have ever actually watched in it's entirety. My house shook. Things banged. Wires tore loose. I looked out my upstairs window and saw trees, signs, & large pieces of my neighbors' homes blowing by on the wind. All-in-all an unnerving experience. It's over. But, having done this before, I know its not over. There's so much work to do to recover, I'm nearly overwhelmed just thinking about it.
I wish I could go live in a place where there aren't any huricanes. But, there would probably be some other violent form of nature to torment me there. Besides, where else would I go? This is Mississippi. Every time I move away. I come back. This is my home.
An interesting fact about Mississippi, although we have the lowest per-capita income in the nation, we have the highest per-capita charitable giving.