ELVIS is DEAD
I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again. I HATE ELVIS. He’s just not my type. I don’t even like sideburns. There’s just something about him. He almost reminds me of Tedemundo when he laughs. They are playing an Eric Clapton song on the radio and I’m really digging it. It’s actually an old Bo Diddly song, Before you accuse me, which is pretty cool. I’m sure Ken would HATE it because he HATES everything Eric Clapton, especially the old remixes.
If you’re going to listen to old music, you might as well listen to something that’s legit, something with teeth, something that stands up and bites you in the ass. None of this sudo-Elvii, I’m fat but still wearing a jumpsuit kind of crap that passed for pop ditties back when Elvis was “King.” Sorry, but gyrating hips is just not enough to make me love a song. You have to do it right, play it once more, with feeling. Put some chomp into your bite, if you know what I mean.
Same kind of feelings I have for Cabana Boys, Trent Reznor, and guys who are about six feet two and have dirty blonde hair. Guys named Scott or John or Bob who drive little sports cars and have white scarves flying in the breeze as they zoom down Mopac. Guys who aren’t afraid to cut their sideburns. Guys who don’t have to act cool, it just oozes from their very being. Guys who play chess or golf or, crap, even shoot pool.
Give me a REAL MAN over a DEAD ELVIS anyday. I’m sure Billy would agree. Next happy hour, we’ll get together and toast to all things that have feeling, all things that breath new live into old blood, and all things that keep Elvis dead and buried (where he belongs) and not roaming around being spotted in seven-elevens all over the world.
ELVIS HAS LEFT THE BUILDING. Have you? Did you go outside and smell the flowers today? Aren’t they blooming just for you?
Maybe you should.
Until next time…
