Good Night

My Lady Wonder Wench wrote a comment on the blog at Dick Summer dot com about the fact that I forgot our wedding anniversary again this year.

She said, "My Louie-Louie Lad remembers me all the time...with jelly beans, and daffodils, and holding hands, and laughing at silly jokes, and bedtime stories. Don't get me wrong, I love getting jewelry and candy and flowers and fancy dinners and marvelous blouses from very fancy shops. But I love my Louie-Louie Lad more."

That's the kind of thing that will make a Louie-Louie Generation guy like me stand up very straight, and look her right in the eyes, and kiss her face until my fillings melt. She slips sexy notes into my shirt pockets. She plays with me, and laughs. She makes me feel powerful, because she lets me make her feel beautiful. I am some kind of lucky guy.

My Lady Wonder Wench is wonderful. She deserves a good husband. Fortunately for me, I grabbed her before she found one. I forgot our wedding anniversary. How the heck could I do that? She's never more than an inch away from whatever I'm thinking about. We've been together for decades...singing in the rain, and crying through some tough nights. I FORGOT OUR WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. I think one reason Louie-Louie generation lads and ladies don't have babies, is that the Lord is afraid we'd forget where we put them.

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather pappa chair, seriously considering telling you my favorite joke. My Lady Wonder Wench calls it, "The Deadly Moose Hunter Joke." And she says she hates it, but she likes it when I ask her to do the punch line. Maybe that's because she knows when she does that, it's over. I like my moose hunter story so much that I tell it when I notice somebody is feeling a little... frazzled. A little fizzle sneaks into every life. Usually it's little stuff. Somebody sends you a get well card, and you get a paper cut from opening it. You wake up in the morning, and you realize it's Monday. You rent a porn movie and fall asleep watching it. That's a fizzle. I figure one way to fix a fizzle is with a giggle. And my moose hunter joke is usually good for a giggle. So...here goes.

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room. I like being comfortable. Louie-Louie Generation guys have earned the right to be comfortable. That's why I have just changed from my formal attire...my black silk and leather cape with the sterling silver clasps, my gold lame loin cloth and matching purple ostrich feather, to these jeans, which have, as the commercial says, "A scosh more room." They go nicely with my "Save The Dinosaurs" tee shirt with the hole under the left armpit, and my stylish, purple orthopedic sweat socks. It's not stylish, but it's me. It's comfortable.

Women like to snuggle with capable, comfortable guys. And Louie-Louie Generation guys are very capable of giving singularly superior snuggles. We will smuggle a snuggle into our lives at every opportunity.

Although I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather pappa chair, I think it's stand up time. An Email just came in from one of my favorite Proud Podcast Participants. I'll just call her, "Lady B." It says, in part, "I have to walk kind of slouched over, because if I stand up straight, people accuse me of trying to 'work my thing."

Proud Podcast Participant, "Lady B" is a beautiful, well built, Louie-Louie Generation lady. And she's walking slouched over because she's letting some simple Pimple People make her uncomfortable. Big Louie, his own bad self, immediately sent her a return Email that said..."You have the right to stand up straight. Do You."

You are about to experience a whack attack. Listen, you know people who are having a hard time...people who are obviously uncomfortable. They always say, "I'm all out of whack." So let me tell you that tonight, I am very definitely IN Whack. What's left of my Louie-Louie Generation body has just about conquered a beastly bug, and I am feeling remarkably lifelike.

I'm sitting here in my big, black, comfortable leather pappa chair in my living room, which really helps make me comfortable in my fanny and in my feelings. When things get out of whack for me, sitting in it always helps me get back into whack...where I belong.

Most people are out of whack way too often. They're not comfortable in their fannies and their feelings. Even some of my fellow Louie-Louie Generation guys who should know better get their shorts all knotted up. They get jealous of the young guys. They think the young guys all live lives involving large hot tubs full of naked Victoria's Secret models. Ha. According to Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation, the fact is that the typical evening of excitement for Pimple People guys is watching the third re-run of the scores on ESPN, while eating the last few kernels of popcorn from the bag they just brought home from the movies.

I am the youngest person in Port St. Lucie! This place is Heaven's Waiting Room. Downtown looks like a Haloween parade. We are watching the N.Y. Mets flail about furiously trying to play baseball. "Wait till next year" is already, the fantasy heard around the stadium. We'll be back in time for the April 3 podcast. Meantime, here's another fantasy you might like to share.

A terrorist cold bug has seized me! So I am fleeing to Florida with my Lady Wonder Wench, to boil it out of my bod. This is not the first terrorist creature that has crept into our lives. Another beast challenged my monster defying abilities a while ago. In case you have forgotton...here is the legend... re-told.

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather pappa chair in my living room, trying to figure out how to do a better job of explaining last week's Do You Do You podcast. I don't think I made it clear enough. And it's important to me that I make it clear enough that you really understand. Because I am a big fan of spousal spice. I guess you could call me a spousal Spice Guy. Spousal as in my Lady Wonder Wench. And Spice as in hot.

Some things are so clear, they don't need an explanation. There were orange traffic cones on Rt. 52 today, with a totally un-necessary sign that said, "Construction next 2 miles." Right off hand, the only other explanation for orange traffic cones on the road I could come up with would be, "Psychedelic witches embedded in macadam next two miles."

There are some signs...that should be just as clear...all around us...But it looks like we're not seeing them. And that's what makes me think you might want to remember to Do You. I call them signs of the swift shrinkage of spousal spice.

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather pappa chair in my living room. I know where I am, I know who I am, and I know why I'm here. I'm not confused. And it's obvious that lots of people are. That's because they don't follow Big Louie's best advice of all time: "Do you."

"Do you", means think for yourself, and never let anybody else eat your hunch. "Do you". Just two words. But they clear up all kinds of confusion, and sometimes they even lower your blood pressure to within human tolerances.