Gibby is the king of awesome

I just got a comp with "Movin' To Florida" on it (which I pretty much bought it for). I don't know why I think this is one of the best songs ever, I just do. I haven't even heard it, in like, 20 years and it's been haunting me the whole time. Well I just listened to it about 16 times and here as best as I can tell are the lyrics-

Moving To Florida The Butthole Surfers

I’m a’gonna move down to Florida
and I’m gonna bowl me a perfect game
I’m gonna cut off my leg down in Florida
and I’m a’gonna dance one legged, off in the rain

Well they say that Sidney Portier was a blind man
and they say that LBJ was a Soviet Jew
I tell that when I go down to Florida way
there ain't no kind of sexual healing that I would not, should not or could not do
I say this right here

Well I’m moving down to Florida
and you know that I’m a’gonna have to potty train the Chairman Mao
And I’m gonna make the governor write my doo-doo a letter child
And then I’m gonna grind me a White Castle slider outta India’s sacred cow

Well I’m goin’ down to Florida child huh huh
and I’m gonnna build me the atomic bomb
I’m gonna hold time hostage down in Florida child
ain’t nobody, ain’t nobody gonna tell me what to do, stepchild

By this time I guess you figured out about Florida
Turn the muddy water inta’ vaseline stained
They be making tadpoles the size of Mercury’s in Florida
That be telling Julio Iglesias what to sing now

Well whoever said that Sidney Portier was a blind man
knew the same of Elvis Presley too
Cuz all the sausages that dance like Ray Bolger on the hood of a car in a traffic jam
Know just exactly what to do - right here

Well I be going to Florida
pole cats and dusty seminoles son
You know that I’m in Florida
just like Vince I walk (unintelligible)
When I went down to Florida I got hurt
So I took all the children down to Florida
then I started to get lonely gee
Well I’m never going back to Florida
That's why I’m leaving J W
When I settle down in Florida
I’m a gonna explode the whole darn Tampa Bay
Get that boy in Florida
to teach me what to do

Good Old Boy

I dreamed of Tom Mott. He hasn’t been seen (by me anyway) for twenty years or more.
Basically his story was you take a big, fairly handsome football player type and put him in a severe car accident in his late teens. The body is fine but the Traumatic Brain Injury basically turns him into one bigass kid, with a mans appetites. He had a penchant for reciting incredibly goofy, hippie inspired, doggerel, quarts of Miller beer and young girls. We used to hang out with him and his best buddy “Sylvia Superdog” quite a bit when we ourselves were kids. He was always good for a couple bucks if you cut him in on the fun. He had a souped up Catalina and he could buy liquor. The basic theory was, put the cute girls up front with him and he’d drive you and your crew anywhere.

I remember going to his house a few times. I can’t see his Mother’s face in my memory but I can see a little, wispy woman in a house frock and apron wringing her hands and sort of moaning as Tom would gleefully and with great, grinning, enthusiasm tell her what the demented plan of the day was. This sad, old, very worried, widow woman with the 6’5, 280 lb. 10 year old couldn’t do shit about stopping whatever we had cooked up. And we ourselves were not much different than Tom, we had little comprehension of the impact that acting on our desires had on the world around us.

I have dreamed of him before but it’s been a long time. In that dream I was trying to find out where Sylvia Superdog was but I couldn’t get any sense out of the huge, blubbering, man child.

“We’re coming to your town, we’ll help you party it down... ”

• Earworm - “Lollipop” morphing into “My Boy Lollipop” which is sometimes “My GIRL Lollipop” depending on the version. The ska version is male though and that’s the one I’m hearing. This despite Oliver trying to poison me with GFR’s “American Band”.

• I don’t feel human in the morning at all until I’ve brushed and done something with my hair.

• Second time this week I’ve had distinct psychic TV. First my earworm was playing the “Peter Griffin Can’t Touch Me” version, (do the Peter Griffin bump). And that was the episode that aired last night. Last Sunday I said “Dash Riprock” (with no real provocation) and those were the two Beverly Hillbillies episodes today.
If this is the main affect of these abilities then they just become evolutionary blips.

• Speaking of The Beverly Hillbillies - Julie Newmar as a guest star, in a bathing suit no less. Mmmm Mmmm Good. 2nd only to Diana Rigg.

• Speaking of Diana Rigg we’re very excited about our new album cover by Sebastian.
A mod portrait of HERSELF for our latest (not finished due to the floating bass player debacle) album “The Woman” by The Bottom 99.

• After being interrupted in our LP, recent acquisitions, playing, orgy by the dying, moans of the turntable, our most recent trip to the asshole of Michigan (it’s very near Colon), yielded not one but two potential replacements at least while my Technics is in the shop. The one that is working is odd. It’s a ”linear arm” little thing, I’ve never seen this before but it’s kinda cool. The second (which is not working - yet) is a big, expensive Swedish/ Danish? Bangen/olfssonn something or other, Quadraphonic - Whoot! Now I could potentially play my “Night At The Opera” album and get all freaked out by “The Prophet’s Song” just like in 7th grade when for the first time I actually got stoned. (As opposed to smoking pot in 6th grade and thinkin’ “Man, cigarettes are a much better buzz”).

• I think I’ve given up on the idea that I have to be funny/clever in the blog. Perhaps this will allow me more spaciousness to actually blog. If you think you’re neglected you should see the double secret blog, it’s a veritable desolate, wasteland at the moment.

• I’m still doing daily squatter watch. Nothing particularly sinister has happened recently besides them temporarily picking up, and bringing home some of the more obnoxious street people around here. Luckily there appears to have been a rapid falling out between them and they (the annoying little brunette street woman and entourage) moved along to greener pastures albeit somewhere else farther up into the neighborhood.

• Porch sale happened. I did OK. Never enough to make up for the amount of effort put in though...... We’ll try again later towards fall. We now have so many electronic gizmos as to make it potentially quite profitable for Mon Oliver as it’s his dad’s estate stuff.

1974

Best of Soul Train today is:
George McCrea - a C list soul singer with a dance hit or two.
Franklin Ajaye - wonder what ever happened to him?
Billy Preston - Whoot! (With a big ‘ol badass ‘fro entourage)
And to top it off -
Rufus. With Miss Chaka Khan lookin’ so young, so good, in a purple sequin tube top and black satin hip hugger elephant bells with roses appliquéd all over them. Singing “Tell Me Something Good”.
I remember riding the Tilt-a-Whirl at the Hillsdale County fair while that was playing over and over. Man I loved the Tilt-a-Whirl. That was the time that my Mom had to sit me down and explain genes, chromosomes and inbreeding to me because I was completely flipped out by all the mutants there. She used the House of Hanover/Windsor to illustrate her points to me. To this day I am completely freaked out by the Monarchy and obsessed with any movie that has mutants.
Happy Birthday Ma, wherever you ended up.

Symbols

I can’t help but feel that it is wholly representative of the odd dichotomies that are me, that the very first 45s I ever walked over to K-mart to buy, on my own with my own money, were Black Sabbath: Electric Funeral b/w Iron Man, as well as The Jackson 5: Dancing Machine.