A deliniated response to life rich pagentry.
Many of you (I'm really only talking to me, because who else is out there?) may be aware that James Brown was recently (try months ago) pardoned by the State of South Carolina on the 20th for the 1988 antics that made so many headlines. As reported by his publicist and the Washington Post, Brown sang God Bless America after the decision was announced. A quote from the post:
"God bless America on this beautiful day. I hope my pardon shows the youth that America is a beautiful country," the 70-year-old singer said in a statement. "I feel good!"
I remember reading that Brown thought that a mixture of PCP and heroin was the elixir that would allow him life everlasting. Police reports said that--before the multi-state car chase in which he drove the last several miles on his rims, sparks flying as though he were driving some hell-borne chariot--Brown entered a seemingly random insurance seminar, high on PCP and wielding a shotgun, demanding to know if people were using his private bathroom. Imagine being a participant in that seminar (now were going to explore the ethical and public health issues inherent in allowing your client to use the toilet in a prospective piece of real estate, and in bursts James Brown). It also makes me wonder if theres a kinda high or a little high when on PCP. It seems more likely that youre either not high or stark-raving mad on the shit.
Im reminded of another ageing rocker that made headlines in the early nineties, although only Spy Magazine was brave enough to run the story. Chuck Berry was the object of class-action suit stemming from a massive video library of toilet tricks that was uncovered when police searched Berrys home in response to a bogus drug trafficking tip. Berry, who had developed a quite a knack for video equipment, had alledgedly installed surveillance cameras in the womens toilets of his many restaurants and logged hours and hours of women dealing with their intimate affairs, zoom-ins on the aprs-toilette, high quality sound reproduction, the whole nine yards.
Spy even went so far as to describe a scene from one of Chucks personal home videos (how they got a hold of this, who knows). They describe (these images, even without actually having seen them, are burned into my head) an opening scene of a buxom blonde luxuriating in a large, whirlpool tub before Chuck appears naked in the frame. He talks down to her, subjugating her and asking if she loves him while loosing a steady steam of urine on to her chest. She makes a show of liking it, rubbing it in to her chest telling him that she loves it, etc. When she tries to kiss him after the piss, he says, I cant kiss you. It smells like piss.
She rinses off while Chuck is off-screen. When shes done, you hear Chuck say time for my breakfast, in a very enthusiastic manner. He enters the shot to replace her in the tub. She squats above him and defecates. He grunts and moans like a wild animal. Those last words are a quote from the article. It gives new meaning to My Ding-A-Ling. (If you dont believe me I found at least one site that seconds.)
I guess this is when I learned that the word scatological didnt refer to Mel Torme.
Many of you (I'm really only talking to me, because who else is out there?) may be aware that James Brown was recently (try months ago) pardoned by the State of South Carolina on the 20th for the 1988 antics that made so many headlines. As reported by his publicist and the Washington Post, Brown sang God Bless America after the decision was announced. A quote from the post:
"God bless America on this beautiful day. I hope my pardon shows the youth that America is a beautiful country," the 70-year-old singer said in a statement. "I feel good!"
I remember reading that Brown thought that a mixture of PCP and heroin was the elixir that would allow him life everlasting. Police reports said that--before the multi-state car chase in which he drove the last several miles on his rims, sparks flying as though he were driving some hell-borne chariot--Brown entered a seemingly random insurance seminar, high on PCP and wielding a shotgun, demanding to know if people were using his private bathroom. Imagine being a participant in that seminar (now were going to explore the ethical and public health issues inherent in allowing your client to use the toilet in a prospective piece of real estate, and in bursts James Brown). It also makes me wonder if theres a kinda high or a little high when on PCP. It seems more likely that youre either not high or stark-raving mad on the shit.
Im reminded of another ageing rocker that made headlines in the early nineties, although only Spy Magazine was brave enough to run the story. Chuck Berry was the object of class-action suit stemming from a massive video library of toilet tricks that was uncovered when police searched Berrys home in response to a bogus drug trafficking tip. Berry, who had developed a quite a knack for video equipment, had alledgedly installed surveillance cameras in the womens toilets of his many restaurants and logged hours and hours of women dealing with their intimate affairs, zoom-ins on the aprs-toilette, high quality sound reproduction, the whole nine yards.
Spy even went so far as to describe a scene from one of Chucks personal home videos (how they got a hold of this, who knows). They describe (these images, even without actually having seen them, are burned into my head) an opening scene of a buxom blonde luxuriating in a large, whirlpool tub before Chuck appears naked in the frame. He talks down to her, subjugating her and asking if she loves him while loosing a steady steam of urine on to her chest. She makes a show of liking it, rubbing it in to her chest telling him that she loves it, etc. When she tries to kiss him after the piss, he says, I cant kiss you. It smells like piss.
She rinses off while Chuck is off-screen. When shes done, you hear Chuck say time for my breakfast, in a very enthusiastic manner. He enters the shot to replace her in the tub. She squats above him and defecates. He grunts and moans like a wild animal. Those last words are a quote from the article. It gives new meaning to My Ding-A-Ling. (If you dont believe me I found at least one site that seconds.)
I guess this is when I learned that the word scatological didnt refer to Mel Torme.