2004-07-09 - 11:17 a.m.
KITTY ON MY FOOT AND I WANNA TOUCH IT
That special brand of crack I smoked yesterday must�ve been sprinkled with happy potion. Were you turned off by my exhortation to love the world? Did you envision me dressed in raiment white as I laid some of Buddha�s knowledge on your ass? The truth lies somewhere between loving everyone and thinking humans are innately fucked up. It�s all about the gray areas, baby.
Today I�m swallowing this bitter pill�my career as a medical editor�with a little help from the Presidents of the United States of America. In the love shack, baby love shack, that is my relationship with The Honey, this band is experiencing a huge revival. It began in a dark bar in Manayunk, Philadelphia. We like to go early on Wednesday nights when it�s just us, the bartender, and three old alcoholics drooling in their Stella Artois. Some asshole was fucking up my groove by playing John Mayer on the jukebox, so it was time for me take the reins and school that ass. I began with a shout out to The Honey, playing his favorite Black Crowes song, �Wiser Time.� I moved onto my favorite foot shuffling mojo man, James Brown, playing �Movin' it, groovin' it, you know, like-a like-a sex machine, man. Maceo, hit me!� As I flipped through the CDs, looking for the perfect song to complete the Pencopal Trifecta, a blast from the past reached out and tickled my ass. �Lump sat alone in a boggy marsh, totally emotionless except for her heart, Mud flowed up into lump's pajamas, she totally confused all the passing pihranas�� Yes! What the fuck does that mean? Who cares? The Honey�s face lit up when he heard the first strains of the song. �Damn, I haven�t heard this shit in years. I forgot about this band.� Who�s your mama, I wondered. Each time we returned to the bar, one of us played another PUSA song. �Peaches come from a can, they were put there by a man, In a factory downtown. If I had my little way, I'd eat peaches every day, Sun-soakin' bulges in the shade.� But my personal favorite, the song The Honey had never heard, is called Kitty. It�s funny as hell.
The band�s sophomore album was a complete blower, and who knows if a follow-up exists. But that first album is purely nonsensical genius.
While you�ve having fun this weekend, I�ll be writing two papers. Fuck me sideways, this master�s degree better be worth something more than the intrinsic value of higher education. I�m talking dolla dolla bills, ya�ll. The Honey�s brother recently told me he thinks its funny that I go from classy to ghetto in 0.6 seconds. Is that a good thing?
There's one bright spot on my horizon: We plan to invade the home of Pastori-i and his lovely girlfriend. Pastori-i has seen fit to take a night off from his whoring. I hope their sink is tightly installed because I plan to get trashed and start kicking that motherfucker. Hide your prized possessions biotch, I�m that �friend� who comes over, gets wasted, and starts breaking shit.
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