Sufferin Bastards Local #178~Salad Days: the Bunny-Jo Tyler Incident.

 

(I know, I know,s strippers. But I was in my twenties. And a knucklehead. So sue me.)

Salad Days, Volume 86: the 'Bunny-Jo Tyler 'Incident

Famed Actress and 'Gentleman's Club' Entertainer,

Bunny-Jo Tyler, 50F

It was, as it usually was, sometime in the eary-mid '80's, and I, in my natural prime, was living on the cushy outskirts of Boston, living la vida mocha, doing the construction worker thing by day, and the savoir-faire jet-setting dance-club denison by night. It was the best of times, it was the best of times, as Chas. Dickens used to say. It was Friday afternoon, and our long week of toil had just ended. Me and some of the team were sitting around the pad after a refreshing swim and a cocktail, pondering our plans for this fine summer evening. My cousin I-Dog comes up with the idea to head down to Providence and hit the 'Foxy Lady'. The Foxy Lady, if'n you weren't acquainted, is a 'Gentleman's Club extraordinaire, an establishment of the highest Burlesque, Titillating Tavern of Temptation: you know, a Strip Club, basically. Now, I wasn't the biggest fan of Strip clubs per sé. Not that I was a prude. Neither was it that I didn't enjoy seeing babes naked. I wasn't one of those guys, either, who only said they disliked strip joints to appear to be sensitive. I don't know what it was. Maybe it was just my cheap Scottish streak that found it distasteful to dish out my hard earned Dollar Bills down the garter of some harlot 'working her way through college' at my expense.

But, in the long run, I-Dog and my Penis were pretty persuasive, and we ended up deciding to go down to the Foxy Lady. We pick up two of our esteemed cronies, Ian's best buddy Jake, and ol' Joe Pace, the 5' 1" Italian stallion, son of a Brick Mason, and possibly the funniest bastard you'd want to meet. So we get our pans all greased up and about 10 o'clock we find ourselves in the sleazy, smoky environs of Providence's biggest and best 'Hootchy-Kootchy'. Ian and Guiseppe, of course, head right to the front of the stage, fistful of crinkly dollar bills eagerly grasped between their sweaty mitts. It's go-time for them. Within five minutes, the Stallion is right up next to the stage, in a veritable hammer-lock between the thighs of one of the dancers. I-Dog is beside him, waving his bills, having his 'picture taken' by one of the other 'entertainers'. Now me and ol' Jake, we're a bit more practical. We're not going to shoot our wad all at once, so to speak. We're waaay up back at a table against the far wall, sipping our drinks and smoking and joking about the whole affair. We're having a grand time watching the action, but from as safe distance, far from the solicitous sensibilities of those greedy Hootchy Mamas up on stage. Unlike Big I and Lil' Joe, our stash of dollar bills are folded, safe and dry in our pockets as we enjoy the quality entertainment. There are some great opening acts, doing their sexy dances to the musical strain's of Rick James, or the Ohio Players. But the main event, eagerly anticipated, and just about to come on: one Miss Bunny-Jo Tyler. Star of silver screen and gentleman's magazines, like "Busty" 

and "Gent". Bunny-Jo's claims to fame, as it were, were her anatomical measurements. This gifted and talented young entertainer boasted a 50-F bust size! 50-F! Talk about your Mother, Jugs and Speed! The girl was a marvel of nature. Anyway, so the music starts, the lights go down, and the smoke rolls across the main stage. Then out into the spotlight glides the biggest set of boobs this young reporter had ever seen. Bunny-Jo was wearing this outfits like the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders, with high boots, chaps, a Cowboy hat and the whole works. But the Pièce de résistance was that she had, in her hands, some sort of bottle rockets or something, kinda like she was sporting 6-shooters. As she strutted about the stage, boobss-a-blazing, she would simultaneously shoot out balls of fire that would disperse into the darkness of the club before going out into thin air. Seemed kind of contrary to fire code, but hey, it was Providence. Anyhow, me and Jake are sitting at our table, guffawing about Miss Tyler's gi-normous breests and slapping each other on the back, when, all of a sudden, I look up toward the stage just in time to see on of B.J.'s sexy sinful sparklers shooting straight toward me! Only it wasn't going out! The still flaming, petulant pyrotechnic hurtled toward me at a speed too fast for me to escape. I ducked as best as I could, but the fiery bullet of love whacks into the mirrored wall just above my head and bounces onto my skull. Immediate sparks and flame ensue on the top of my unsuspecting cranium. The music stops. Jake quickly dumps his Gin and Tonic onto my head and pats out the flames. A short pregnant silence follows. Everyone in the bar, including Miss Tyler , turns toward me and my still smoldering skull. After my life flashes before my eyes, the first thing I think about is, 'hey. I smell lawsuit', then 'naw, that'd never work'. Then I think 'hey, how'bout 'free drinks all night'. After all, I could have been killed...after all. But before I can start working on a plan to receive my just desserts, Bunny-Jo, ever the consummate professional, immediately strikes up the music again. She struts on over to our side of the room , where Jake and I sit like deer in the proverbial headlights. We had no idea what was to come next. Wait.What? Now, friends, I don't know if you've ever been approached by a sexy half naked stripper, sporting a come-hither look and a size 50-F bust, but brother let me tell you, it was quite a fright indeed. And a delight. Yes, a fright AND a delight. Miss Tyler approached my table and looked like she was about to give me the treatment. The dollar bills in my pocket set aside for emergency were not needed now. As the music strobed, Bunny began skillfully applying her mammaries to my head and upper torso in a manner, which, I could only assume, was to act as some kind of salve to my singed hair and burned scalp. As I was enveloped by her engorged melons, the bombastic sounds of the night club faded and all I could hear was the sound of the Ocean. "Just like a Conch shell" I thought to myself. Darkness then enveloped me, and for a few seconds, I felt serene and peaceful, liken to being in the womb. Then, suddenly, I rejoined the world of light and sound, and hundreds of screaming and cheering patrons of the Foxy Lady. I was a hit!!! Miss Tyler had turned a possible tragic incident into the highlight of her show! Guys were cheering and shouting 'Yoo-yoo-yoo-yoo-yoo'! Every time I went to the Men's room or bar the rest of the night, I was slapped on the back and congratulated. I never did get my free drinks for the night, which I thought was unfair, but I did receive an 8-1/2 -11'' autographed publicity photo of Bunny-Jo, and enjoyed a brief tete-a-tete with her backstage. My hair was a complete mess, but I never did spend a dollar out of my stash of lap-dance bills Bunny-Jo couldn't have been more nice about the whole thing. What a night.

Anyhow, I've never been back to the ol' Foxy Lady since ( well, wait a minute, that's not exactly true. There was a certain bachelor party a few years ago, but that's another story), and I've never seen Miss Bunny-Jo Tyler again either, though I've subsequently found out she's quite a noteworthy actress and adult entertainer (google to the rescue again). But for that night, for a shining moment in time, this cub reporter was the big story at the Foxy Lady of Providence RI. For being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Thank God for Jake's quick thinking and sacrifice of his G and T, or I might not be here to tell you this tale. And, for that matter, thank God for Bunny-Jo Tyler and her fantastic 50-F's. To think I could have stayed home that night. Or worse yet, to think I could have been working. 

To think I could have been working 5.11.26

 

To think I could have been working -

Volume 45 - 2/3/26

I think I also remember seeing at the Channel locals like Bim Scala Bim, Plate o Shrimp, Del Fuegos, Sleepy Labeouf, Boss Tones, maybe J Girls Band. Iggy Pop show was so good he recorded a live LP of it. They had lots of all age shows, punk shows, up and comers, big names. It was a great place. To think I could have been working...

Song of the Day 7.16.23 Hall of Fame Edition-

Back in the 80's in my filthy, decrepit, rat trap, BELOVED city, there was a bar called the Channel. Take a left at South Station, cross over the channel, walk 5 or 6 blocks, paying no mind to any possibly dead bodies in the water, or in the alleys. When the streetlights stop working, you should be there, the grimiest bar that frequently had the coolest bands. On one night in particular me and my buddy 'Small Room' schlepped over from the preppy Back Bay to get a taste of the Big Easy. The Radiators did not disappoint, dishing out a funky, nasty, musical Gumbo that you kinda had to be there to get. The best approximation, on vinyl, is their 1980 live recording 'Work Done On The Premises'', live from Tipitina's. Funny side note: on a subsequent road trip to New Orleans, I made my way down to Tipitina's to hopefully catch the Radiators, or the Nevilles, or maybe Clifton Chenier. Who was there that night? "That Petrol Emotion....fuckin mopey British posers....just my luck....... anyway. On one night in Boston, the mighty New Orleans Radiators were dishing it out, brother...

''It's bad when the bayou's bloomin' blue lights

And the parking lot is bustin' out in fist fights''.

New Orleans Radiators at Tipitinas

These Are Words With A "D" This Time.

Where Am I? Where Am I Going? And Why Am I In This $150 Longaberger Basket?

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"Arguments, agreements, advice, answers
Articulate announcements.
It's only talk".

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We are definitely living in complicated times my friends. People all getting angry with one another, yelling at each other on the computers, each of us hiding out in our little cyber bunkers, spewing out witty retorts, barbs and bon mots, trying to make ourselves look smart, or at least make someone else look stupid. Now some people say things like,  "back in the old days we weren't like that; people watched out for each other, we were much more civil to each other, blah-dy blah"...you know, "before the internets". The Internets. Ah yes. Well, I'd say that is sort of true. We Americans have always had a latent tendency to turn against each other when the ''other'' looked different from us, or had different ways or ideas. But in recent years technology has certainly accelerated this propensity of ours. There is currently an overwhelming preponderance of media, news, ideas, salaciousness and marketing we are now exposed to, compared to when I was a young person, when inventing fire and catching wild boar for supper was at the top of our mind at all times. The rapid advancement and sheer volume of the shit storm of information now coming out of our TV's, radios, phones, laptops, wristwatches, or even home appliances has traumatized our tiny cro-magnon brains, brains that are only so far evolved as to learn and process information by picking it up and tasting it, breaking it or throwing it. Not by having an algorithm rammed up our butts, giving us way too much useless minutia to digest and pitting our ignorance or insecurity  against others. And when you add money on top of that, well, now you've got something. 

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"Babble, burble, banter, bicker, bicker, bicker

                                                              Brouhaha, balderdash, ballyhoo".

                                                                       

                                                                                        **********

Before I go too far, I must warn you. I'm not exactly the sharpest tool out there in the work shed. I'm just not that politically savvy, or academically intellectual. Not a lie. I until recently thought that Hamas was a delightful middle east dish made from chick peas and spread on flat bread with a shtickel of olive oil and parsley. I voted for Ralph Nader for President. Three time. THREE TIMES. You don't have to tell me ten times to come in out of the rain. Usually three or four times will do. And, also, for your information, I am one of those people who others, successful and wealthy people would call, sometimes disparagingly, a Soc-i-al-ist.... Or a social democrat, if you like. You know, like in Europe. Or like American Democrats used to be. Back when they still had a heart. Remember, Roosevelt, Kennedy, Johnson? Or maybe James Micheal Curley, beloved Boston Mayor and Mass. governor. For those of you who enjoy a little

 old time, down home Boston politics: public works, public goods, schools, libraries, and also maybe a little graft and corruption, and creativity. He actually worked his last term as mayor between residences on Beacon Hill and in a prison in Danbury Connecticut. But that's another time. Back before my people, the Irish and Italians, lived harmoniously with Jews and Bolsheviks and Chinese in West End Boston, before subsequently fleeing to the suburbs or holing up over in the North End Or Southie.

Mmmmm.....Southie....

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, something about contentious dialog ? Oh, yes, I was just about to say, the only provocative thing any of THESE guys (democrats, socialists, etc.) do these days is look sternly over the top of their glasses and read a strongly worded letter to no one in particular. A STRONG-ly worded letter! (We mean it this time!)

As a result, without the watchful, judicious 

eye of these politically democratic dilettantes to toil under, the predominant political power in our land has become the Republican party, also known to some as neo-Fascists. These Republicans are not your pappy's Republicans.  Like Dick Cheney, or Bob Dole. These bastards have run rough shod over our land, our economy, and our constitution. They have taken ol' Gampy Reagan's doctrine of trickle down tax policy, beautification and personification of the corporate body, and screwing the average working Joe, and turned it into something evil. They have taken those quaint notions and made them into a damn religion. The  religion of greediness. Of worship to our Gods of commerce. Not of commerce as a right and benefit of ''the people'', but of commerce as a deity worship that requires unquestioned fealty and unfettered

access to anything they, ''the corporate body", needs to profit. Now don't get me wrong. A little greed is good. A little greedy competition can be very motivating. To some degree it is what has made America great. Given the incentives  to profit, the average guy is willing to go at it, no rest, 24-7, if he has the freedom to cash in, get a foot hold and make a better life for himself. It is kind of what the ''American Dream'' is all about. I'm not some kind of COMMIE for Christ's sake. I said I was a Socialist. Not a whacko.

But, there has to be a level playing field. I think it has already been decided that we need to raise money to put some of us in charge of things to make sure that all this ''profit making'' is done fairly, without hurting too many people and to sort of help along those of us who have some difficulty with all this ''competition''. We'll call this the ''Government''. The government takes some of our money toward infrastructure like roads, rail, communication systems, etc . that helps keep everyone profiting. Your average person, and also the body that becomes bigger than average people, we call a corporation. But, you know, a corporation isn't a ''people''. Different rules apply. You know all this. You've taken classes. You watch the news. You listen to pundits. You've been around. Why are you prevaricating about the bush Jacko?  

Okay, I'm getting to the point. I knew my ''prevarication'' would eventually get on your nerves. But you see, your average Joe human type person has different interests in the ''game'' than a corporate type person has. And the way corporations protect their interests and pursue their goals is often at the expense of ''the people''. I have already acknowledged that greed and profit are two of the bedrocks of our society. Not something to be proud of but it seems to work for us.  But the down side of greed for profit

have to be accounted for, so that some people don't get all the profit and others only get ''buttkus''. 

Because, it seems to me that the ''people'' running the government, funded by money collected from the ''people'', are lending way too much support to greedy corporations, benefiting either their own greedy needs or those of their greedy friends in charge of greedy corporations. So, in the end, corporations, who are made of people, are getting all the profit, paying very little to the government, and get lots of free reign with the rules. That doesn't sound like a level playing field at all. Does it?

So I say what any good Socialist would say. Follow the money. Greedy Republicans (Fascists) take advantage of your average Joes, and the effette, intellectual, totally ineffectual Democrat party

 by siding with corporations, who side back with them, and they strong arm in protections for their corporate benefactors. And what is the Democrats alternate message? Well they don't really have one. Well, they kind of actually also benefit from corporate greed as well. But stay focused kids. We're just getting started. Currently our ''gravitating to the mean'' every four years, two-party system of government has gone off the rails. Both teams seem intent on sticking it to the little man. They both have bloated budgets, both seem content to legislate by blocking the other team's ideas instead of coming up with their own. And as far as the Executive branch of our fine democracy. Well, seems like our president wants to be an emperor. And the Emperor, it seems, has no clothes. Some of us are repelled by his nudity. Some don't seem to care. Some say, yea, he's baked alright, but you know, he knows how to get things done naked. Some of us say, hey aren't there nudity laws. But nobody wants to make him follow these nudity laws. And some, from his MAGA base, think that he is wearing beautiful flowing golden robes. But enough of that guy. When it comes to politics, he seems to suck all the air out of the room. Save him for another time.

Suffice it to say, the old two party system, as currently constituted has it's problems. It's like if you are a baseball fan. But you are only allowed to root for the Red Sox or the Yankees. Now being a Boston homer for all these years, I think that Yankees Suck. No, I KNOW the Yankees Suck! But, you know, if I had been born in Flatbush Queens, or Brooklyn, I might have turned out a Yankee lover. Perish the thought. Both teams, the Yankees and my beloved BoSox, work with such preposterously huge budgets, no other teams can possibly keep up. The fact that the Sox get slightly out spent each year by the Evil Empire doesn't make them any less a part of the problem. Yet both teams somehow keep on making money. Big budgets/big spending wins pennants. Big payrolls win. Everyone else treads water. As a matter of 'fact', I think a few years back, I remember the Yankees paid their star outfielder Albert Belle more money than the Pittsburg Pirates paid their ENTIRE team roster. And those poor bastards had to LIVE in PITTSBURG!

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Comments, clichés, commentary, controversy
Chatter, chit-chat, chit-chat, chit-chat
Conversation, contradiction, criticism

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                                                          "Mommy why is the guy in the polo shirt so mad"?

Pt. 2 Don't believe the hype. Like a game of Three Card Monte keep your eye on the prize. You might be getting juked.

To wit:

~The ''gays'' and the ''trans'' are trying impose their agenda on us.~

Uh. No. Be real. 

Listen, I am blessed with a wonderfully varied group of friends and family. As I may have alluded to before, some of them are very politically divergent of me. Most of them are much more to the right, politically speaking, than me,which is just fine. I care for them unconditionally, and if I was in a jam I am sure they would be there for me and bail me out every time. As I would them. Politics aside, as a social circle, they are also likewise diverse. For a small example: I have gay friends and I have straight friends. Friends that are gayer than a Cher and Liza Minnelli concert with special guest star Lady Gaga. And friends that are so straight that their dangerous handsomeness and toxic masculinity are unimpeachable. Sometimes I can't even tell the two apart. (Hiyooo!)

Now, I happen to be straight. It's never made me any money, but I guess I'll stick with it. I have not been persuaded by my less straight friends or family to join their 'team' and I also have never been pursued. "Not that there's` anything wrong with that'', as Seinfeld once said. Nor do I feel particularly compelled to 'switch teams' as it were, because there are characters on TV, people in the news, public figures in the news, or news stories that gay folks can identify with. I think it's just fine to find your place in society with these type of associations. Example: I used to be a big NBA basketball fan. I used to love Larry Bird. The Hick from French Lick, they used to call him, because he hailed from French Lick Indiana. He was a country boy from the sticks. A pasty white boy who was not apparently gifted with speed and agility seemingly apparent with most of the other very talented more stylish black players of the time. Larry had a 'lunch bucket, hard hat mentality'', they said, that made him such a good player. Now there may have been some slightly racist marketing from the NBA back then, but to me, Larry Legend represented the crafty, hard working, 'git er done' mentality that I could really identify with. That didn't mean I couldn't still idolize Doctor J, or Kareem Abdul Jabbar, nor did it mean I wanted to ban all slick, high flying, black NBA players. I just happened to associate with Larry. Maybe. Just maybe because he was a hick from the sticks. Like me.

Likewise, if I were born as a trans-gendered person, I am pretty sure I would be eager to find someone out there, in the cosmos, that I could associate with, that I could identify with. I would guess that it would make me feel valued as a person, represented. 

Now as I have stated already, I am not the sharpest of intellects, politically speaking, or otherwise. In fact, until recently I thought that the "Straits of Hormuz" was a TV reality show. Like ''RuPaul's Drag Race'' or ''Survivor''.

But if a trans person finds connectedness by association with a public figure or news story or whatever, it  don't hurt me none, neither. And to extend my opinion even farther out on the limb, if a young person wants to play on a school basketball, or whatever, team, that they associate with their true gender I don't care. There are a good many ways that gender dysphoria or whatever can manifest itself. Some are complicated. Some I don't understand. And neither do you. But I also don't understand any higher math I've been taught since 9th grade. It doesn't make it any less miraculous or integral to our society. And as far as ''trans'' kids undermining the integrity of our school sports programs: any of the ''trans'' kids I've ever known weren't what you'd call budding stars. They just wanted to be included. Not dominate the other players or take advantage of some genetic superiority or some crap like that. The kids I am aware of are not really a risk of going to the NBA or impeding any other high school star's ascension to NBA stardom. And for that matter, as I understand it, scholastic sports programs are not out there for use as a ''farm system'' for pro sports. Rather they are an extension of academics, to foster inclusion and participation, to enhance the academic experience, and make more well rounded adults. Not draft picks.

 And get your minds out of the gutters. They're kids.

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"Debates, discussions
These are words with a D this time
Dialogue, duologue, diatribe
Dissention, declamation
Double-talk"

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 ~Immigrants are ruining the country.~

"Tonterías"!

"Yo Ese, could I interest you in some DRUGS?

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Unless you speak Chocktaw, Cherokee, Penobscot, Navajo or one of the other scores of languages of our continent's native peoples, you are an immigrant. Unfortunately for those native folks their hospitality was wasted on us. Unfortunately we probably did eat their pets, and get them hooked on drugs. At the very least we did steal all their jobs and appropriate all their culture and, you know, stole all their land. Talk about gratitude. Not. So, welcoming immigrants didn't work out well for original Americans. Since then it has been hit or miss as far as being welcomed to the new land for more recent immigrants. Depending upon economic conditions, what color you were and how bad we needed your labor. But I would say, on the whole, immigrants have made our country a more interesting, diverse, affluent place to live. You know, except for the natives. For them I guess it has always been, ''Well, there goes the neighborhood". They've always been screwed. Oh yes. And Slavery. There'a that, OK, Genocide and Slavery.

So, in light of all that, otherwise immigration has made us a richer place. Immigrants have always come into America in our times of need, done all our dirty work and brought the tastiest food. My people come from 4 different European countries: Scotland, Sweden, Italy and Ireland. On my Dad's side of the family, his dad's people came from Ireland, ending up in Boston. Say. No. More. My dad's mom's people cam from Italy, in Abruzza region. My Grandmother crossed over in a boat safely in her mom's placenta. Her people were welcomed, more or less, as there was demeaning work needing to be done. Italians were a dime a dozen back then, literally an easily renewable resource, you know being Catholic and all. Big families were kinda their thing. So when things like the Boston Great Molasses Flood of 1919 happened, who got buried in hot sticky molasses after the giant tank full of the industrial liquid sugar collapsed, flooding the North End? Who got killed? The white guys who ignored all the warnings that the tank would eventual collapse? The local politicians who probably wouldn't even dare step into the North End? No, it was the Guineas. They didn't speak English much, they largely couldn't vote, and didn't have no money. And when you got no money, that ain't funny. 
   

I always thought it was cool that my relatives were so new to the American experience. And I think it's cool all the things immigrants add to our great culture. Granted, immigration policy can be a challenge, and illegal immigration can be likewise a tricky minefield. But immigrants, legal or not legal, have not only been a welcomed addition to our culture but a necessary component of our economy.

If you disagree, riddle me this you xenophobe:

~Who's gonna pick that fruit? (Not me, not you!)

~Who's gonna get up on that roof (Not me, not you!)

~Who's gonna keep your kitchen clean, bring you food, wash your car and make it gleam?

Do all the things we hate to do? Not me, not you. Then Who?! 

(That'd be immigrants....) Look if Some one is willing to get up at dawn, wait around at Home Depot every morning for two hours so they can get up on my roof and put up my new metal roof I don't care how legal he is. And if your septic system is clogged and you need someone to crawl in hour septic tank and clear it up, does it matter that the guy doing it is stealing some American's job? How many Americans are fighting for those jobs anyway? It's always been that way. There is an economic totem pole is in effect here. My Irish ancestors used to be on the bottom. Then the Indians (Calcutta not Commanche), then Mexicans, now, who, Somalis? It's the American dream baby. They're here for that. They're not here to rape your children, eat your pets or make you buy drugs. When I was growing up, in Newport Maine, all the drugs on our streets came from a dude named Linwood, who lived down at the trailer park, and he was unimpeachably American. We thought people ''from away' in Massachusetts were illegal immigrants. We didn't need no steenkeeng Mexicans to get us hooked on the drugs.

I'm telling you man, there are os many things out there to worry about these day, but so many things politicians want you to worry about things that aren't worth the worry. Not to beat that old populist drum but ''follow the money''. If someone wants some of the little money you gots brother, it makes it easier for them if they have you fighting with some other poor slobs like you. Keep the huddled masses bickering and suspicious of one another, that's what ''they'' say. Who's ''they"? Corporations. I'll tell you who is not trying to steal your money: The Gays, the Blacks, the Mexicans, the Venezuelans, the Ruskies, the Woke. Who might be? Some person, some body, some ''corporate'' body that might just be closer than you think.

  

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Expressions, editorials, explanations, exclamations, exaggerations

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Oh yeah, I forgot to weigh in on this year's moon navigation. It's a good god dam thing we have everything figured down here on earth before we go to the moon again....

See what Gil Scott Heron and I think of this year's Artemis mission.

~CLICK HERE~

 

~Whitey on the Moon~

 

"I was THIS close too''....

One from the older blog: on the virtues of Everclear grain alcohol

CLICK BELOW FOR A VIRTUAL SERVING OF THROW YOUR LUNCH PUNCH

https://sufferinbastards.blogspot.com/2006/08/salad-days-vol-56-auld-throw-your.html 

A Buckner by any other name....

 

Click below for more Parkinson's fun with Jack.

https://hennessyjohn.blogspot.com/2025/10/5-important-facts-micheal-j-fox-never.html

Meet the old blog. The same as the new blog. An old post about some great old cars.

Papa said son...

Click here to hear about my best old cars ever.

https://hennessyjohn.blogspot.com/2025/11/papa-said-son-you-gonna-drive-me-to.html

SBL#178 ~ Exile on Chamberlain St.

 https://sufferinbastards.blogspot.com/2009/03/salad-days-volume-56exile-on.html?m=0

SBL#178 PRESS HERE FOE STORY!

Peabody's Improbable History ~ Iggy Pop at the Channel 1988

"Mr. Peabody set the Way Back Machine for Boston, 1988"

Author's note:

Links to Iggy Pop and the Channel nightclub in blue text.

          Some facts, names, dates, timelines were bent in the remembering. 

            If you crave exacting journalistic integrity, make your own blog.        

                                  

"You know the worst thing about time travel? Since we were discussing it". We were discussing it? "Yes you were saying you wish you had a time machine. You'd go back and tell yourself not to miss the big Iggy Pop show at the Channel tonight".

... And then I was going to say"...

  "You know what the worst thing about time travel"?     

          It's the damn non interference rule. You can't go back and change anything that has happened, or anything you've done. You can't go back and change history, or use information from the future to benefit your present or past self, like using future stock information to go back and invest in the past stock market to get big dividends in the present day. Savvy? It's kind of like the Star Trek Prime Directive. It prohibits (Star Fleet personnel) from "interfering with the natural development of alien civilizations, particularly those that have not yet developed warp drive, even if well-intentioned, often requiring officers to sacrifice their lives rather than violate it".

All well and good. Of course you would never go back and  teach a bunch of cavemen about warp drive  and then you come back in a half year and they now have military dominion over a whole quadrant of the galaxy. Nobody got time for that. But think back on it. Kirk and Spock used to frequently play fast and loose with the rules about time line interference. They did it all the time. It usually had more to do with who had their hands on the script that week, Ray Bradbury or DC Fontana. Anyway, to quote Hector Barbossa from those 'Pirates' movies, "It's more of a set of guidelines". 

In any case, I'm getting off track. All ethical considerations about timelines and non-interference aside,  a more likely problem you would encounter travelling time has more to do with believability. So say I want to go back in time to give myself some advise. There are many things I did or said, that I would love to go back and change. Jumping into a lake and breaking my neck is a great example of something I would want to go back and change (but THAT is another story for another time). Or even something more simple. For example, say I wanted to go back in time to warn my younger self to not drink so much alcohol and stay out so late on a work night . Well, knowing me, I might be inclined to think I was some kind of a nut. Even if 'I' believed 'I' was 'me',

'I' can just imagine 'past me's' reaction getting lectured by older 'me'. My reaction would probably be similar to an Alfred Hitchcock quote I once heard: "I told myself I need to stop drinking so much. But I'm not about to start listening now to some drunk old weirdo that talks to himself".

I mean, think about what 'I' might say if future me comes up to present me in a pub having a good time, drinking and moshing, and staying up too late on a work night. 'I' start giving 'me' advice about taking better care of myself and what not, and asking 'me' if 'I' needed the pint 'I' was going to order. Sure 'I' might actually believe that I am Jack from the future, coming back to the past to tell you(me) how your(my) present behavior will impact (our) future fortunes. As present me, in the past, I might buy the whole premise of time travel but I would probably also say, ''Well, the guy IS devastatingly handsome. And he does seem really intelligent. But he seems okay, and healthy and well adjusted. If he's future me, I must be doing alright. So I guess I'll go ahead and order me and the gang here another round, and as a compromise, I can just skip work tomorrow. I won't be that old dude for a long time. And I'll only be young once.

You know I think I am starting to get my tenses and adjectives confused. Despite such complications, I still believe a time machine would still be pretty cool, if for no other reason than to go back to a time, when I had less troubles, more fun, a less fucked up lower back, and still had the ways and means to check a few things off my bucket list that I hadn't even made up yet. So, all that said, Mr. Peabody, fire up that WayBack Machine, and set the dials to July 19, 1988. The place, Boston Massachusetts. The Channel Nightclub. Venerable music legend and punk icon, Iggy Pop is slated to play this seedy but similarly iconic bar and music venue.

''See that body, floating in the water, keep on walking, Coo coo ca choob''

To quote past me, in 1988:

Exhibit A~

"Iggy Pop always represented the seedy underbelly of Rock. The Channel always represented the seedy underbelly of Boston Rock clubs. Iggy was also riding a wave of popularity from his big hit 'Cold Metal'. The Channel was one short commuter train ride from where I was living at the time. Iggy would subsequently use the recordings from this gig to make a live record. The Boston Globe described the show in such epocryphal terms as 'tour de force' and 'juggernaut' .

Only an asshole would miss a show like that, right? Well call me an asshole, because I missed it. Not because my Mom was sick in the hospital. Not because I had to be at the birth of my first child. No, just because I didn't feel like going out that night. When I die and go to the Pearly Gates, and they ask me if there's one thing I would go back and change, it would be that I would have gone to see Iggy Pop that night. You know why? Because now he's over 60. And he's got a bad hip. And one of these days, I'll pick up the Globe and read that Iggy Pop has died in his Detroit Mich. home after complications from a fall".

                       

Exhibit B~

    I didn't really have anything to do that afternoon or evening. I was actually IN Boston, verily several blocks away. I was walking right into South Station, and was fixing to catch the Attleboro local back home after an afternoon dicking around in town, after playing hooky from my gig as a carpenter. I wasn't particularly tired. I mean, I was in my early 20's for God's sake. I was full of juice. There was no reason, perhaps except just plain sloth. I had my mind on going home, hitting the fridge for a cold one, then hitting the pool, testing the seaworthiness of a pool floaties. Sloth or whatever, if I had only taken a left instead of walking into the train station, I could have called up my cousin I-Dog, or my old pal Small Room over in Back  Bay, two of my best, most reliable drinking buddies. All I had for an obstacle was a short zip across the channel, past where old Milk Bottle ice cream stand, past the little breakfast nook where I always stop for coffee and breakfast when I play hooky from work, like I had done this morning. I could keep walking, passing the derelict buildings, dead bodies floating in the water, and abandoned cars, and there I'd be there. Bob's your uncle. I could hang out at the Channel until one of my esteemed cronies arrive, and await rock and roll history with a reasonably priced well Channel well drink.

Iggy Pop ~ Boogy Boy

So that's exactly what I did. The show was epic. He was 100% Iggy: a jumping, gyrating, screaming and whooping tour de force. The show was so good that he decided to take the 1recording of the night and release it as a live record. I would have been a fool to have missed it. And as far as disturbing any time continuums, I don't see how any harm was caused. I actually saw him again the next year in Maine at Colby College, backing the Pretenders. When Chrissy Hynde took the stage, she prostrated herself on the stage floor and bowed in deference to the God father of Punk. So I think that nobody was hurt by my foray into skipping through time. Kirk and Spock would  have approved. There was no divulgences of Warp Drive.What I know now about Iggy is exactly what I have always known. He is the master of rock and a giant of giants. All heads must bow. All tongues must confess. No matter what time continuum you exist in.

I'm only five foot one! I got a pain in my neck!

The Channel Nightclub History

Iggy ~ I'm Bored!

"With a bottle of aspirin, and a sack full of jokes.

I wish I could go home with all the big folks"

This Day In History, sort of....A remembrance of parties passed (past?).

SUFFERIN' BASTARDS LOCAL #178

If you lived here, you'd be Drunk by now...

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Hudson's Annual Barn-Jam: a review

Big Bruce savours a sip of Jack Daniels










Host Tom-Cat Hudson and Dave LaStrange Kareoke-King Ronny, Professor Boylan,
contemplate the virtues of Jameson's and BFC, who is seriously reconsidering
that last Jello-Shot.


Hudson Party (sung to the tune of Ricky Nelson's Garden Party)

I went to a Hudson Party, the other night with some old friends,
to have some drinks and play guitar, maybe catch a little twing,
When I got to the Hudson party, out stepped Dave LaStrange,
he had a guitar in his one hand and in the other had a bottle of James

But it's alright now, I learned my lesson hard,
you can crash out in the barn or you can sleep out in the yard

There was a Strange Brew brewin', with Laura on the Mic,
playing all the funkey songs that everybody liked,
Saw Big Bruce and Buddy Hudson out in the Sparkin' Lot,
then Jean and Jay passed my way and poured me a double-shot

But it's alright now, I learned my lesson hard,
You can sleep out on the couch, or you can stretch out in your car

So I put on my ol' guitar, cuz' that's the reason I came,
played 'em all the old songs, that anybody named,
Played some old Hillbilly, played some funky Blues,
But when I mentioned Status Quo, I knew I was bound to lose

But it's alright now, learned my lesson well,
if you want to play 'Pictures of Matchstick Men', y'gonna have play it y'self

The sun was nearly coming up, figured it was time to go,
then Tom-Cat poured me another shot that put me to the floor,
If you go to a Hudson Party, I wish you a lot of luck,
but you better bring your sleeping bag, you'll probably wind up sleepin' in your truck

But it's alright now, I learnt my lesson well,
You can sleep upstairs with the dogs, or you can crash out with Ol' Tom
La in da da da, la in da da da, somethin' somethin' da da

I got invited to this years annual Hudson Barn Jam and, let me tell you, this reporter was very exited. I got my gear, loaded it into my brandy-new Saturn and hit the highway. I had the MC5 kicking out the jams and life was good. I arrived promptly at 7 and commenced to swillin'. Big Bruce got the evening started by shooting of his homemade cannon, and before long the usual line of suspects started arriving. The music started and, as usual it was top-shelf. Speaking of top-shelf, the Jack Daniels Select Buddy Hudson brought was most savory, as was the selection of well-timed late night snacks provided by Hostess Laura Hudson. Somewhere on into the night, whether it was from the Jello Shots or from the second-hand smoke from the Sparkin' Lot, things got a little 'Jimi Hendrixy', and I ended up sleeping with Appolo and Luna on the Dog-Bed. I awoke a couple of hours later, about breakfast, to see Ol' Tom, Dave and Ronny talking Geo politics out in the barn, still alive and kicking. But it was off to work for me, with fond memories, albeit vague ones, and very much looking forward to the next Hudson event.

BFC out!

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