Wednesday, November 11

In Floatilla Lore, This Explains So Much...

1977: Bootleg Snacks: Swallowed Deep Into The Love: Track #: Lost


We'll fade it in at this point, Jack.

Everybody lean in real close and listen up real good. It's Auntie Toys, searing sonnets and psalms in your ear.

Once upon a time, far away, years and years ago, screaming out my name as I went down, a young woman entered college on Labor Day evening of her nineteenth year... As pure and true as the driven snow.

Floatilla Men:

(Hey, what the hell!)


She had never been kissed, she had never been fondled, she'd... god knows she'd never been wasted. She was a doe-eyed, rainbow-deprived virgin. Nineteen years old and still half-drunken with youth... In this century!

One Fourth of July she was out drinking on a fake ID in one of those tweak and freak disco dance joints...

Floatilla Women:

(Leather Bitch!)


The kind of girl you want to know
From her head down to her toenails, yeah...

Super Freak, my ass; Blow daddy!

Floatilla Men:

(Break out the good shit!)


Anyway, she was out drinking on a fake I.D. in one of those tweak and freak disco dance joints, underneath a Southeastern coastal city. When under the confusion of the flickering, upright line-of-sight disco ball and storming PA...

Floatilla Women:

(We’re gonna burn this mutha down!)


Not to mention... not to mention, all the microdot and schnapps she ate and drank that night...

Floatilla Men:

(Pour yourself another round!)


She got separated from her alabaster friends. And she was... stricken with fear.

When suddenly there appeared like a dark angel at her side, a thirty-seven year old sweet-talking suave smooth disco gigolo named Dr. Love.

Floatilla Women:

(He used to be mine!)


Now, Love was a striking man, in fact, he struck her several times later on that very same evening, under solemnly obligated patriotic prescription circumstances.

There's some people engaged in flagellation back there.

Floatilla Men:

(Who the hell asked you?)


Well, what would any red blooded American nineteen year old virgin female do when confronted with a thirty-seven year old domination-wedding-chapel-leather-bar disco gigolo named Dr. Love?

She went home with him!

Floatilla Women:

(Will you remember me?)


It's not even midnight, and in an age old time honored right of passage, Dr. Love made a woman out of her.

Floatilla Men:

(Give it up!)


It took three whole days and two whole nights, but he did it, he made a light-socket, bottle rocket woman out of her.

About halfway through the second day, they stopped, and he tried to make a man out of her, but she didn't like that part, so they swap playthings.

Floatilla Women:

(That ought to do you for now!)


Don't look at me like you don't know how that could be..! The measure passed with ease.

Floatilla Men:

(Hypocrisy Gestapo!)


And don't tell me you haven't thought about it. You haven't?

Is this your first summer in town? Let me show you around.

Floatilla Women:

(WWD Love do!)


From there, the house call relationship went, um, downhill, if that's possible. It got really sick. It was one of those twisted night after night after night, all day long, all night long, kinda corkscrewed down the back of the night on two wheels kinda things.

I hear some twisted men out there that like that.

Floatilla Men:

(I’m right here!)


There's hope! And that's the start of a sad mysterious story: a story of love... love, love, true performance artist love and full witch doctor regalia.

Floatilla Women:

(The best things in life are we!)



All Floatilla:


Sunday, September 6

Girls' Night

She slides her heels off at the door and in her stocking feet
She glides across the floor while I pretend to be asleep
It's too late to take her makeup off
It's too dark to see
It's girls' night
She made a promise to me

Between the discothèques and lounges and martini bars
They ride in hansom cabs and limousines and new European cars
They pretend that they're still single
They pretend to be stars
When it's girls' night
You're free to be anyone you aren't

It's girls' night
While all the haunted city sleeps
It's girls' night
And the unwanted spirits weep
It's girls' night
She made a promise I know she'd never keep

Don't fuck with me
Don't fuck with me
I'm not in the mood
Don't fuck with me
Don't fuck with me
I'm not in the mood

Every hair is still in place without a trace of sin
Her kisses don't taste anything like cigarettes or gin
She eases up the blinds to let the moonlight in
It's girls' night
We made a wager I knew I'd win


Wednesday, August 5


They can have their little feckin' apostrophe ... lowe's

but I am certainly not freakin' capitalizing them... Lowe's

and, I far'gain dare ya to even just ask me to use their proper fuh-reakin' name...

Lowe's Home Improvement Stores

so, don't even flipping consider fackin' mentioning their official f'ing name in my company...

Lowe's Companies, Inc.

I don't even know where to start.
But, I will say: dogs.
Fuckin' eh, I like daigs.


Saturday, August 1

gots mad skillz

So, I have some new skills I can add to my resume, now. Though, I am not sure that these are items I particularly desired to have on my resume in the first place... but, I am sure it will come in handy, sometime, right.

Here goes: Painting (Interior, only, so far), Cement / Mortar (it's like clay - art therapy - without all the Patrick Swayzeick), Various Texture Applications (now that just sounds like a fine sextoy accessory), Electrical (never in the attic...never, I say, never), Bondo (I think I actually like racing the clock with this... I don't know why I was always so intimidated by it before), general Construction / Demolition (is that, really a skill? - demolition, man, that would be fun to list on your taxes, I suppose), and [I may be adding] Ceramic Tile [to that list] (but I hope not)... [among other things].

FYI: Thus far, I have successfully avoided all plumbing and cabinetry... I wonder where I'd add that to a resume. It feels like a skill / category: avoidance ... PS?

I think I will leave this last one off the resume, but it has become quite a mastered skill... and in a fairly short time. Experience levels really help with that, with the constant contact... it just becomes like a second nature. Born again nature? Blessed nature. At least that what they always say.

Skill: Crackhead Grounds Maintenance (it sounds only marginally better than calling it yardtrash)

Did I mention? No, t.v. Well, if you don't count NCIS reruns ... and old Fawlty Towers episodes on the laptop... that is, of course, no real, live t.v. atm.

And that, my friends is it...

D day:

D - 51

and counting...

Monday, July 27


Every once in a while I am reminded that this blog site is still here. And I have yet to update any of the links I lost when I updated the template to the 21st century. I don't know why, but I just don't seem to have even the slightest bit of interest in doing html code any more. I guess it was just a phase. At least it lasted longer than the mo-hawk phase, although no where near at long as the vegetarian phase.

So, now I have this site I never update... a twitter, I almost never use... a myspace, I log in so infrequently I have to request the password every time I sign in... and what is the point, really. Sure, it's nice to re connect with some long lost friends... but must I have a bookmark folder full of these thingies in order to communicate.

So, what I am wondering... when do they create the one service that let's you unite all these varied 'message' services together. When can I sign into gmail and have it link to twitter, flitter, aol, yahoo, myspace, facebook, icq, etc... and all I need do is make one universal entry. Why must modern technology take so damn long to become mildly convenient?