Hello Dear friends and people who owe me money,
(You know who you are and by reading this I've accessed your account and I am downloading your genomes. Ha!
Mick Dog -1 Reality- 0. Suck shit God! and yer sneaky little Viva La Evolution friend with his swanky banjo hit "Mama, you all is one baldy Ape ).
Anyway.....to make a short story far longer than it should be, I'm frankly perturbed and persnickety about how unfabulous this 21st century bizzo is.
Man alive....when I was planning for this century I started by throwing out the Suzi Quatro eight tracks, turning my flares into a bird feeder and getting ready for what I thought was gunna be one pimp century with none of the 20th C's bitch jive.
I thought to myself "Yeaha!.....what with Miles having broken through the 40minute beep barrier who knows what funky jiggery is gunna bop my bee'd brain. "
I was all cut and thrusted, waiting to hear new spicy jalapeno sounds from swashbuckling beat fezzers who'd take up the Holy Torch of Outsoundishness and really set my brain 'a whirrin,
Eight years on and I'm still licking Elvis......and this isn't even one half of one nth of a nanoscoot of the worst of it all.......so lemme just clear up a few things until the knitting needles finally meet at Club Oblongata...
1)The New ACDC album
Hmmmmmm......didn't Holden bring out a "New" Monaro? Didn't every body look at it and say "What a bloody shopping trolley.."
Sure... it had the Monaro badge on it and some fat bloke in tight overalls did a wheelie in it, and sure, it revved up a virtual BBQ of tyre rubber and made that deep throbbity noise that makes the faithful steam their smalls, but deep in our hearts we knew that what ever this bloody piped-upped grocery wagon was, it was not a Monaro.
Not even close.
Nah. Nada. Nope.
Badge whatever ya bloody like but that thing ain't a fuckin' Monaro.
But it made you want a Monaro, made you wanna suck back a cold tinnie in a Monaro and make comments to your mates that the young lady walking by, with her straight hair and her crisp Madder Lake album, was a good looking sort and when you sat in a Monaro you were the Kings of the Wood and you could say "Sure...my bloody relo's were a bunch of tissue box stealing convicts who got sent to the land of flies and buggery, but fuck you coz I've got a fuckin Monaro".
New Monaro? I'd rather pedal around on the shin bones of Bon Scott.
2)The Young Kiddies
I had a young kiddie in their 20's look at a picture of Karl Marx and say "Who's that Boong?"
Can't tell the difference between The Father of Communism and some Darwin derro on the bot? Please...have a seat you poor dear.....I've taken the liberty of plugging it in for you....
3)The Declining State of Funk and it's perpertuance by people who have less groove than G.W.Bush's spoken word album "Don't make me laugh. Coz I won't. ".
Wasn't it creamy and delicious? When you first heard it, didn't you go "My Goodness! I had no idea I could root for this long"?
When J.B sang "Say it loud. I'm black and I'm proud" didn't you want to shake the crumbs out of the toaster and rub yourself hip?
And when something in your life was getting to be a tired scene, didn't you and your mojo just slip on some rumpy, rumpy bass response and git your membership card at the Library of Allright renewed?
Wasn't everything juuuuust a little bit better with Funk?
Wasn't that Solar Eclipse just a little shinier? Wasn't living in a cardboard cut out of John Belushi a little more zazzier?
Didn't you marvel at how the same set of sloppy monkey genes that you had mooching about your own personal bustop had been re-arranged through the Power Of Being Crazy Alive into that spirit jiggling aruba that made being not O.k with things O.k?
Why of course you did.....we all did.
And we loved it. We thought it would never end. We'd sing and dance forever and a day.
Ma Baker would always keep cutting the soul cookies and we just hadda just keep hanging round the window sill hoping for the hot sound of a new cooling cookie? My Lord we did.....and we were richly rewarded.
O.k.....now cut yourself a looong line and snozz yourself forward a few years.....
Did you get up wiggle it (just a little bit) when Audrey Shrinkbot and the Frank Ifeild Funk School Graduate Diploma Group of Pre-approved Groove released "Get up offa that thing and find a variable mortgage rate"?
(Now let me think....I'd just done the dishes and was helping Jaidyn with his homework...no I don't think i did)
Did your Doctor ask you at casualty where you got that sexy pelvis after slamfunking your night away to Gritty Saucebottle's soul stirring blockbuster " Tear the roof off the child proof Aspirins"?
(Oh heavens no....I'm pretty sure I was listening to 774's "How to save money by marking the days on the calendar when you need to have a shit and holding on 'til the dollar hits 67 cents to the Farnham")
And did your lover just wanna lick the pure animal sauce that smoked out of your pores after you got front row tix to The Harry Butler Trio's " I wanna be nice!" Tour? ( Well..actually things have been a bit tense lately.....I suppose I do work long hours and after reading the Helen Razor's book "Stress yourself to Celibacy", I can really see how much time I wasted being happy when i could have been just quietly bearing things)
Shame reality. Shame, Shame Shame.....
You had every chance of using the 2000's to lose some weight, give up smoking, getting to the gym and you did.
You cut out the fat, swapped the thrills for carrot water, and traded places with respect so you could pretend you were your own Dan Ackroyd.
You made it O.k for uptight honkeries to feel good about singing and listening to that chinless pap that passes for Groove while I'm spitting out curdled spume suckle from this low fat titty of Fonk and frankly (To quote Pope Hardstart the First) I'd rather listen to St. Gavin taking the Shine off a pair of Heels than this wheedling trickle of self satisfied bumsnot.
'Til next time
Mick "Tonga is funkier than us. Tonga for fuck's sake!" Dog