Monday, August 10, 2020

LOST IN TRANSATLANTICLATION

picture it kittens...it's the summer of 1981 and Miss Clariol shade #86 ultra burnt out...the one hitter wonder KIM KARNES was fly'n up the charts
with her melodic tribute to the silver screen goddess that sounded like she’d been gargle’n on lighter fluid in the studio

Harrison Ford had turned in his growl'n sidekick and the millenium falcon
steal'n the big screen receipts as the treasure hunt'n daddy in a weathered leathered hat and match'n whip...search'n the nazi infested desert fer the golden box of lost souls in "THE RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK"

while George Jefferson and Helen Willis were move'n on up in the wildly
popular pre-BLM series "THE JEFFESON'S" on the small screen

and i was absolutely glued to the tv watch'n the royal wedd'n at my friend
Pat Cudahay's farm down the road from our farm on wednesday july 29th...as the pre-unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe...at the tender and supple age of 10...starr'n the beautifully enchant’n Princess Diana Spencer and the future follically fuck’d Prince Charles of Wales...absolutely in awe of not only Princess Diana's insane beauty and an even insaner train...but cuz it was take'n place in a land far far away that i had never heard of but desperately knew i wanted to go to someday so i could play with her tiara and tantrums

well...roughly 13 years would pass and by 1995...i would take that plunge
all by myself  by save'n up a boat load of benajamins from sell'n pencils in the park...turn'n em into shiny shillin's and book'n a room along the THAMES river at the conrad hilton...where another one of my worlds of wonder filmed his number 1 ditty that played in heavy rotation back in 1983...in hopes that i would have a chance meet'n with one (but hopefully bump into both) of my royalness's

since i was work'n for the hilton in the downtown Minne-Apple area...i had scored a sweet suite at a sweet price and after unpack'n my belongs...
i roamed around my palatial palace that was 10 times bigger than any shit box that i had ever crashed at...blown away that this was all mine fer the next 10 days..and came across not 1 but 2 tidy bowls in my powder room

i was a huge fan of the britsh series "ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS" thanx to
this guy Theo that worked with me back home and on closer inspection...i noticed that the one tidy bowl had roughly a 6 inch silver arm that had extended out from the tank and then i rememebred how Edie was obsessed with japanese culture in an episode...
and that i had that one pic of BOY dressed as a geisha girl from my star hits magazine in the 80's...so i just surmised japanese influences in britsh culture extended way beyond the runways of London's Fashion Week

well kittens...bein' the beauty school drop out that i was...i had assumed 
that after push'n in the lever and notice'n the water spray out like a drink'n foundtain (ummm keep yer finger of judgement to yerself) i DID NOT slurp on it like a kitten to a saucer of milk...OH CHER NO!...i merely presumed that this was some sorta fancy japanese way to rinse off yer teeth off after brush'n them from a vomitous nite out cuz you couldn't garner enough strength to make it in an upright position by the sink

so of course the mates i met at the bar on my 3rd nite out hadda good
laugh at my expense when i told them about my fancy schmancy teeth clean'n tidy bowl...all i gotta say is...i am ever so grateful that the brits don't use urinal mints to clean their shitters!
BUTT...of course...it doesn't end there

after 4 days at the condrad and 3 that were spent clean'n my pearly whites
in the loo...i decided to run as far away as i could from my utter embarassment and checked into a smaller yet quaint lil hostel on the other side of town that i ended up share'n with 3 roomates who wouldn't teach me a thing about british culture at all...well...cuz they were there study'n it themselves from the middle east and only one of my roomies spoke barely there broken english

i recall ask'n the hot front desk chap if he could give me directions to my
dignity...i mean my fav-o-rit place on earth and once we stepped outside to flag down a taxi...he asked me point blank "you bum me a fag man?"

i was a bit take'n by surprise...was this hot-to-trot some sorta psychic? 
how in the sam H-E-double hockey stix did he know i could tie his weine in a granny knot...with my tongue?

he asked me again...and then realized i wasn't catch'n on so he made
 the universal motion to light'n one up to which i figered out was a cigarette so i cautiously replyed "hey...i can find somethin' dirtier to stick in my mouth besides the ass of a cigarette" (he slowly meandered back inside)

i would also learn over the remainder of my eye open'n british invasion
that elevators were simply lifts...bathrooms were loos...apartments were flats...chips were french fries...bein' pissed is just a call'n card to the Betty Ford clinic and CUNT is a term of endearment

OMG...ps...call it the luck of the irish (which we both are) or whatever...
i almost fergot the purpose of said vaca...though i never had a DIANA site'n...the nite before i was to head back to the states...i came across a flier at Virgin Records say'n Boy George would be at the RAW club...so of course i was higher than any heroin addicted hussie and scampered on down in my new Dexy Midnite Runner jumper and ended up dance'n next to him (by absolute shere cowinky dink of course) as he told a gaggle of rabid stalkers begg'n fer his signature on his latest single we all had purchased to "FUCK OFF...I'M WORK'N"
(and that is a direct quote)
 
as he was the DJ instead of the live entertainment and dur'in one of his mini breaks from spinn'n...he asked me where i was from and i simply replied "from Minneapolis" to which he stated "i been there before...it's a bit cold idn't it?" (another direct quote) i nearly died!

cuz i had just blew chuncks all over his shoes at First Ave the winter 
before when he was perform'n live...support'n his brillaintly penned rocky pop album "CHEAPNESS AND BEAUTY" after i got not so graciously pissed from the multiple cocktails i had consumed all cuz of the twisted mgr from the GAY 90's bar who wanted me to "slob on his nob" in the loo before he would take me backstage to meet BOY...
even though i had won the tickets and his autobiography "TAKE IT LIKE A MAN" fair and square and was told that BOY would sign them fer me backstage...oh well!

i would eventually get to fulfill my life's destiny many times over since...
meet'n BOY on numerous random occasions...so cheerio mate...
now GET OFF MY DRESS!

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