Sweet Home South Carolina

wooly mammoth can't bare to look at Eve offering Adam the apple

The wooly mammoth can’t bare to look at Eve offering Adam the apple

It’s been a memorable year for South Carolina’s state government. Nikki Haley has staunchly blocked the expansion of Medicaid to help spur the shiftless into seeking gainful employment, so rather than leeching our tax dollars to deal with their health and dental problems, the poor can suffer the wages of their sloth. If their unemployable children suffer as well, so be it.

Call it “natural selection at work.”

shot in SC by NY Times

photo shot in SC by NY Times

Oops, check that. It appears that some of our legislators don’t believe in natural selection.

First, Senator Mike Fair R-Greenville took issue with the following clause in new state science standards and had it removed:

Conceptual Understanding: Biological evolution occurs primarily when natural selection acts on the genetic variation in a population and changes the distribution of traits in that in that population over multiple generations.

Sez the Senator: “To teach natural selection is the answer to origins is wrong. I don’t have a problem with teaching theories. I don’t think it should be taught as fact.”

Not to be outdone, Kevin Byrant R-Anderson essentially derailed a bill that would have designated the Carolina Wooly Mammoth as the official state fossil¹ by adding an amendment to the bill that adds this modifying clause  ” [. . .] Carolina mammoth, which was created on the Sixth Day with the other beasts of the field.”

You’ve got to wonder given their non-evolving protective fur, if both the wooly mammoth and polar bear were thrilled to see the Fall given the 72 degree F. temperature that allowed our grand sire and his mate to loll around paradise naked.


¹It seems as if our representatives spend a great deal of time designating state shit:  State horse: Marsh Tacky; State grass: Indian grass; State language: English; State spider: Carolina wolf spider; State insect: Carolina mantid; State popular music: beach music; State snack food: boiled peanuts; State STD: gonorreah . . .

Carolina Mantid

Carolina Mantid

In other noteworthy legislative events, only a mere 15 years after legalizing interracial marriage, the state looks as if it’s no longer going to go after retirement home canasta clubs. Senator Tom Davis R-Beaufort introduced a bill that would legalize card playing in the Palmetto State:

“Davis, an attorney, said he developed the bill after state police warned a manager at Sun City Hilton Head last May that the bridge and canasta social clubs advertised for residents violated state law. That prompted management of the 14,000-resident retiree community to remove all signs and tell the clubs they could no longer play in community game rooms.”  – The Columbus Republic

At this rate of progressive progress, our dying great grandchildren may one day be able to legally use medical marijuana!

The Lighter Side of the Son of Sam

Back in the summer of ’77 when we hepcats were making that awkward transition from lobbing Molotov cocktails to burning our way across the dance floors of disco, David Berkowitz – aka the Son of Sam – killed 6 people and wounded several others. As far as serial killing goes, this paltry total can’t compare to the number of victims dispatched by Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, or South Carolina’s own Peewee Gaskins; however, Berkowitz PRed his way to the top of the nation’s serial killing charts by leaving a series of cryptic notes like this ditty:

Note from Son of Sam Killer David Berkowitz

What narcissistic nonsense.  Of course, alley cats are going to mate and sparrows sing – if the feline and avian survivors of Chernobyl don’t let a cataclysmic environmental disaster affect their reproductive compulsions, certainly a couple of gunshots ringing out in a Brooklyn night ain’t going to affect their behavior.*

Of course, the media didn’t pay as much attention to Peewee as they did to David.**   Peewee was no poet, and if he had been, his poems would have sounded something like this:

Whose corpse this is I ought to know

cause I’m the one what kilt it so.

I hope nobody come ‘round here

to watch me in the lake it throw.


*This from National Geographic’s website: On the other hand, Mousseau admits that some birds have thrived [at Chernobyl]: drab, non-migratory birds seem to be doing very well, “possibly because they have no competitors,” he said. These birds don’t use up their carotenoids, which are powerful antioxidants, to create colorful plumage, and they don’t need to spend extra energy on long migrations, so their immune systems may be stronger, Mousseau theorized.

** How many serial killers are you on a first name basis with?

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At any rate, during the Son of Sam’s spree, while bartending at the Golden Spur, I came up with what I thought was a brilliant idea: to form a comedy terrorist group called “The Lighter Side of the Son of Sam.” These slapstick desperadoes would attack obnoxious celebrities like Tom Snyder of the Tomorrow Show and make him perform demeaning acts on camera, stuff like, you know, like making out with one of Liberace’s exes while David Jones of the Monkees sang “Day Dream Believer” at gunpoint. Nobody would get seriously hurt, and the madcap band of practical jokers would always somehow get away to punk some other obnoxito in the unforeseeable future.

This idea returned to me after I watched the second episode of the Bravo reality show Southern Charm. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if some latter day version of the Lighter Side of the Son of Sam could infiltrate the filming and wreck some boomerang karma on the vapidiots appearing on the show? Let’s see. How to punish Shep? I got it! How about updating Sartre with a little No Exit action by locking up Shep, Rosie McDonnell, and Dennis Rodman in a Motel 6 room for forty days and forty nights? [cue demonic laughter]

rosie, shep, and Dennis

Rosie and Dennis could entertain Shep by performing a two man/woman show of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf or entertain him by wrestling for the remote that operates a TV that gets only the Lifetime Network and the Shopping Channel.

Just some good old fashioned retributive fun brought to you by that band of lovable losers, the Lighter Side of the Son of Sam!

Ides of March Madness

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Actor and Def Poet Paul Edward O’Brien

As I was polishing the prose of yesterday’s post into a blinding sheen, I received an email from my former student and current friend, the actor and poet Paul O’Brien, with a link to this amusing layout of Shakespeare’s plays bracketed for an NCAA-like tournament to determine the very best of the best.

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Shakespeare’s March Madness

Accompanying the link was Paul’s commentary on the above bracketing, a tour de force that echoes the idioms of sports commentators.  I asked Paul if he would be so kind as to drive over to Hoodoo studios here on Folly Island and record it for you, which, obviously, he did, because – presto – here it is!

Make sure you hit the grey arrow below so you can hear Paul’s performance as you read along.

O brother, we few, we happy few! Madness? I’ll say, mad as the sea and wind when both contend which is the mightier! Whose picks are these? Marlowe? Earl of Oxford? Some amateur wannabe? Where to begin? Okay, first in the Tragedy Region: there is no way that two powerhouse top seeds like Hamlet and Lear meet in the first round! No way. That really would be a tragedy. They don’t square off until the quarters. Hamlet would have to get by Othello, which would be tough, but that tenacious squad of Danes and their unselfish style of mutual murder and mayhem would carry the day for Elsinore. Yeah, Iago’s got mad skills, but let’s face it, he still hasn’t learned how to be a team player. MacB is bloody good, wicked good, but lacks solid ball control–he just doesn’t know when to stop sometimes, and Lear advances especially if Kent keeps up the tight defense. The quarter final match up between Hamlet and Lear would be close, but I’ll take Hamlet by a couplet at the buzzer. On to the History regionals. You want history, hey, Henry V–you’re history! You’re all pomp and circumstance and bluster in the middle, and you put on a good show, but you run out of steam in the fourth quarter, while your younger self has still got moves and knows how to take control and change the game at the right moment. Yea, sure, Falstaff doesn’t always come ready to play, but hey, you got Hotspur coming off the bench. Gimme a break! Henry IV wins and then beats the Romans, who really just don’t have their act together enough to go too deep in this tourney. As for Comedy, here’s some comedy: Twelfth Night over The Tempest. Are you crazy? Who’s gonna stop Prospero when he’s in the zone? Viola? The Duke? Malvolio? Malvolio?? Oberon and Titania are too much for Benedick and Beatrice bickering in the backcourt, but it doesn’t matter because Tempest is going to the final four. And here’s a problem alright: The Merchant of Venice over Troilus and Cressida. No way that’s happening. Achilles takes it to the hoop past Shylock every time. And Antonio just doesn’t match up well with Ajax in the post. Final Four: Troilus and Cressida v. The Tempest and Henry IV v. Hamlet. Finals: Hamlet v. The Tempest. Hamlet is the favorite, but they’ll all be dead by then, and The Tempest has magic going for it, which is pretty tough to beat. And won’t it be great to see Caliban cutting down the nets?

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sparknotes: Bravo’s Reality Series Southern Charm

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General Info

Context

Southern Charm is a reality television show created and broadcast by Bravo, a basic cable satellite channel.  Begun in 1980 as a suscription-only platform devoted to cultural programs, Bravo originally featured a PBS-like mix of international and independent films, musical shows such as Jazz Counterpart, and stage productions like the Texaco Showcase presentation of Romeo and Juliet

Interestingly enough, the evolution of Bravo mirrors the decline of Western Civilization itself. After MGM and GE took over the channel, programming shifted from highbrow entertainment to decadent reality shows like Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and the various Real Housewives shows.  Bravo’s shift from high to low is a microcosm of a macrocosmic degradation.  For example,  during the Elizabethan Period, educated people considered Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet pop art, middle brow entertainment that nevertheless enthralled even the rotten-tomato-toting lower classes of London.  Now almost 400 years later, even most college educated people consider Shakespeare too highbrow, and theatre goers in London would much rather sit through The Lego Movie rather than a production of Twelfth Night.

It is within this context – the decline of civilization and in this case, Late Empire American culture – that Southern Charm takes its cues.  Not unlike Petronius’s skewering of the excesses of Nero’s Rome, (e.g., the Romans’ obscene ostentatious consumption of food; their round-the-clock drunkenness; their loveless, indiscriminate sexual couplings), Southern Charm documents the decadent and extravagant lifestyles of a group of Republicans who live in the most glamorous city of a state that refuses to expand Medicaid.

Oh, yeah, there’s one significant difference: whereas Petronius mocked the excesses of decadent Roman culture, Southern Charm celebrates it.  It would appear that people’s lives are so impoverished that they would rather live vicariously through vacuities than engage with other humans in bars and restaurants.  Academics disagree as to whether Bravo’s management is cynically exploiting the “stars” of their shows in a post modern commentary on the poverty of contemporary culture or simply stuffing their pockets with money and not giving a shit.

Plot Overview

Set in the tourist and retirement mecca of Charleston, South Carolina, Southern Charm follows former South Carolina Treasurer Thomas Ravenel as he readjusts to life outside of prison after doing 10 months for buying and distributing cocaine.  Although the show purports to explore the life of Charlestonians, Ravenel is the only local featured (see characters).  Besides Ravenel, the show focuses on five other main personalities, two women, and three men, all white and seemingly a couple of decades younger than 50-year old Ravenel.  The cast also consists of minor characters: mothers, fathers, hook-ups, carriage tour horses, polo ponies, etc.

Essentially, the show explores the main characters’ interactions as they engage in tedious conversations in ever shifting scenic spots as they eat, drink, woo, reject, seduce.  As in most other “reality shows,”  the viewer peeks in on the principals’ daily routines, in this case at their plantations or town houses or out on-the-town in swanky shops, restaurants and nightclubs. In addition viewers also get to hear the characters’ personal takes on the events as they smugly backbite into the camera.

Character List

thomas-ravenel-headThomas Ravenel – the son of successful politician “Cousin” Arthur Ravenel and a graduate of the Citadel, Thomas himself aspired to be a politician, unsuccessfully running for the Republican nomination in South Carolina for the US Senate but later being elected as State Treasurer.  A backer of Rudy Giuliani in the 2008 Republican nomination battle, he supported Ron Paul in 2012.  Of course, Ravenel’s 2008 coke conviction brought his political career to a screeching halt.

A hedonist, polo player, and wealthy man about town, Ravenel feels pressure to settle down, marry, and sire male heirs. Here’s Thomas on his way to his plantation on Edisto talking to his father about what Thomas hopes to be a bourgenining romance:

cameran-eubanks-headCameron Eubanks – a native of the Palmetto state but not of Charleston, Cameron likes, according to Bravo’s website, “boating or laying (sic) on the beach with a good book.” (The Carpetbaggers perhaps?)  So far on the show, she parties with the boys and engages in non-witty repartee.  Having just turned 30, she offers subtle hints of her biological clock’s ticking as she shifts careers from cosmetics to real estate.

craig-conover-headCraig Conover – Drawn from Delaware to the College of Charleston, 25-year-old Craig has stayed on in the Holy City (don’t they all) to attend the troubled Charleston Law School.  The spawn of an incredibly athletic family, Craig seems more down-to-earth than other cast members, perhaps because he “finds meditation in diving, golfing, and shooting guns.”

“Om, Fore, Boom!”

jenna-lee-king-headJenna King – Aspiring fashion designer Jenna hails from Sumter, South Carolina and manages somehow to be simultaneously country cute and avant garde cool (see hair).  This globe trotting graduate of Trident Tech has a passion for animals, especially horses.

william-shepard-rose-iii-headShep Rose – Listing his profession as raconteur, Shep nevertheless ends each sentence with the interrogative lilt made famous by Vally Girls.  He’s a man of many diverse interests, like drinking, dressing like a preppy, talking, fornicating, listening to the Grateful Dead, and hanging out with Republicans.  Perhaps not the most perceptive of raconteurs, Shep describes his friend Whit (see below) as “an elitist hipster” despite the latter’s penchant for wearing pajama-looking shirts and silver chains around his neck.

whitney-sudler-smith-headWhitney Sudler-Smith – Self-proclaimed composer of “brilliant screenplays and ingenious independent films that few will see” (it appears that he and your humble sparksnote reporter have something in common).  Despite having directed a film about Halston that has been “screened” on Showtime, Whit lives with his hideous mother in what the producers of the show call an “urban plantation.”  He and Shep are “partnering” to open just what Charleston needs – a sophisticated rock-n-roll bar.

Themes, Motifs, and Symbols

Themes:

Not unlike The Great Gatsby, which doesn’t have a likable character in the entire novel, Southern Charm centers on the privileges and decadent lifestyles of a cast of wealthy characters; however, unlike Gatsby, not one of the characters in Southern Charm is even vaguely interesting.  A quote from the National Lampoon’s parody of “Desiderata” comes to mind:

Be assured that a walk through the ocean of most souls
Would scarcely get your feet wet.

Major themes include the tension between enjoying a hedonistic lifestyle and settling down, the difficulties of maintaining successful bromances when libidos get out of hand, and lastly, how cool everyone is because they live in Charleston.

Motifs – the need to procreate, lavish dinners, hangovers, hooking up, unresponsive women turning down swashbucklers accustomed to bodice-ripping, Ravenel’s tarnished reputation. Old buildings.  Nice things.

Symbols – Charleston = Rome.  Whiteness is also a symbol.  African Americans are virtually nonexistent. Maybe that’s why no one smokes weed.

Quotes

“I am a cunning linguist.” – Thomas Ravenel, putting the moves on Catherine.

“I don’t like Brandy [her seemingly closeted gay son’s romantic female interest].  I don’t like Brandy.  I don’t like Brandy.  Have I made myself clear?  I don’t like Brandy” – Whit’s mother.

“I often wake up drunk,”  – Shep.

Discussion  Questions:

Discuss the title.  Is it serious or ironic?  Identify elements that one might find charming.

Compare and contrast Shep and Craig.  What do they share in common?  How are they different? Which one would you murder first?

Mothers and fathers play an important role in the series.  Given how their children turned out, why do you think they’re so eager to have them replicate?

Whom do you hate least and why?


 

The Delicate, Censorious Damsels of Wellesley

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In case you haven’t heard, a number of delicate damsels and/or censorious puritans at the so-called liberal arts college Wellesley have gotten their granny panties in a knot over a temporary outdoor installation of art by Tony Matelli entitled The Sleepwalker.

Warning: the image below may be offensive to you, especially if you’ve been sexually assaulted by an older male somnambulist undergoing chemotherapy.  

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The account below comes from the “Globe,” the newspaper, of course, no stranger to controversy having covered in its day the banning of many works in Boston including Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, and the Everly Brothers’ Wake Up Little Susie.”¹

Anyway, “Zoe Magid, a Wellesley College junior majoring in political science, started a petition on Change.org with other students asking college president H. Kim Bottomly to have the statue removed.” The petition in part reads

[T]his highly lifelike sculpture has, within just a few hours of its outdoor installation, become a source of apprehension, fear, and triggering (sic) thoughts regarding sexual assault for many members of our campus community [. . .] While it may appear humorous, or thought-provoking to some, it has already become a source of undue stress for many Wellesley College students, the majority of whom live, study, and work in this space.

Here’s a thought, Zoe.  Given that you’ve only been out of high school for 3 years, why not leave the selection of temporary art installations to professionals who know what they’re doing and stick to those skills you’ve mastered, like Tweeting (#philistine),  You’re following in the footsteps of Jesse Helms and John Ashcroft, the latter who famously had the piece of filth below covered with curtain in the Robert F Kennedy Department of Justice Building because exposure to an aluminum breast is, well, um, not necessary.

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Not only are poly sci majors down on The Sleepwalker, but art history major Annie Wang² also wants the statue removed because she sees it as an “assault”.:

“I think art’s intention is to confront, but not assault, and people can see this as assaulting,” Wang said. “Wellesley is a place where we’re supposed to feel safe. I think place and a context matters, and I don’t think this is the place to put it.”

I just don’t get it.  The statue ain’t exactly Gustave Courbet’s L’Origine du monde, and I believe my 83-year-old mother could out run the poor [pardon the tautology] unhip, unattractive, tightie-whitie wearing somnambulist.  I suspect that what really offends these young ladies is that the statue embodies unbeautifully the thing they most fear: growing old.

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1.  I shit you not.

2.  By the way, I’m offended by Ms Wang’s surname because it brings to mind verbal assaults I suffered in locker rooms after PE in junior high school.

God, Why Did You Let So Much Shit Go Down on Me Today?

bieber and god

Justin: God, can I ask You a question?

God: I don’t know.  Can you?

Justin: I mean, May I ask you a question?

God: Shoot.

Justin: Promise You won’t get mad.

God:  Son, have you read Job 38, 1-41?  Genesis Chapters 9-6?  Genesis 19?

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Justin:  [lying]:  Yeah, sure.

God: I promise not to get any angrier than I did back then.

Justin: Why did You let so much shit go down on me this week?

God: What do u mean?

Justin, Well, I got popped for egging my neighbor’s house.

God: Yes?

Justin: Which led to my bro, Lil Za, getting busted for coke.

God: Okay?

Justin: Then I got pulled over for drag racing doing 60 in a 35 zone.  Like, I had my dad and a couple of Escalades blocking traffic so nobody would get hurt.  Seems real unfair.

God: Huummm.

Justin: And then for the mug shot, the pigs wouldn’t let me put on no make-up or put on my shades, and a couple of zits show up for all the world to see.

bieber-mugshot

God: And?

Justin: And on top of it all off, when I got to the hotel, there were only about 30 chicks camped out there.  Nothing’s gone right this week! Why did You do that?

God: Let me see.  Well, first, I let Satan tempt you into egging the house to let the world know just how childish you are so tweens will still identify with you and buy your records.

Justin (humbled): OH!

God: I had Lil Za, like an idiot, leave the blow out in plain sight so you could bask in big boy trouble without your actually getting into serious legal trouble. So you’re still appealing to tweens and the older crowd.

Justin: (17 watt light bulb illuminating above his head): Oh.

God: Hey, look.  I could have had u drag-racing out in Salinas like I did your previous incarnation James Dean, but I had u in the streets of Miami where it’s virtually impossible accelerate fast enough to receive fatal injuries.  So now you’re copping prehumous press, unlike JD, whose posthumous academy award nomination didn’t do him personally a whole lotta good. Look, compare his Porsche with your Lamborghini.

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Justin (quizzical): Okay.

God: Hey, sorry about the zit, but u ain’t the only peep I’m taking care of.  Some kid’s parents were praying that he make a free throw when your arrest was going down.

Justin (softly): I see, God.

God: Oh, and those chicks.  I kept the numbers down so you could sleep off your hangover without a muffled roar going down outside your window.

Justin: I’m Sorry, God.

God: Don’t be sorry, just learn to Trust Me…. in All things , the Good & the Bad.

Justin: I will trust You.

God: And don’t doubt that My plan for your day is Always Better than your plan.

Justin: I won’t God. And let me just tell you God, Thank You for Everything this week.

God: You’re welcome, child. It was just another day being your God, and I Love looking after My Wealthy American Children . . .

matching assholes

Rag and Bone Shop

Now that my ladder’s gone,

I must lie down where all the ladders start

In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.

WB Yeats  “The Circus Animals Desertion”

Farewell, 3-am dance move; hail therapeutic pillow. Farewell, Ricks Cafe, Negril, Jamaica; hail, sodium free cafeteria, Bishop Gadsden Retirement Home.

Ain’t got it in me no more. Brother Testosterone done absconded with his first cousin Recklessness. Gotta start calling assholes jackasses, spades trowels.

So I’ve sent that old demented muse of mine packing.

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Young literary lions and lionesses, the unrealized projects below are yours for the taking, have been collecting dust in the mobile storage unit of my consciousness far too long. I consider them junk furniture put out on the side of the road, pick-up truck plunder for aspiring novelists, playwrights, and screenwriters.

Oleander Daiquiris

Non-literary fiction:  Pat Conroy meets Fanny Burney:

Cecilia Rhett’s parents drowned off the coast of Bermuda when she was five. The last Rhett of her line, she has been reared by her eccentric uncle, Middleton, a gay artist obsessed with the so-called War Between the States (he has decorated his East Battery mansion with his own works: giant canvases of battles, romanticized portraits of major Confederate combatants).

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When Middleton discovers he has pancreatic cancer, he rewrites his will stipulating that Cecilia can only inherit his fortune if the man she marries takes her surname, a major problem because she has fallen in love with an impoverished French marquis who happens to consider descendants of planters nouveau riche. This escapist novel features the resiquite troop of Southern cliches: acerbic cotton-haired colored manservant, alcoholic fag hag, promiscuous vampish cousin, evil Republican inheritance-coveting lawyer.

T-Bone and Lemon

Modernist musical drama: Samuel Beckett meets Chet Flippo:

Liberal adaptation of T-Bone Walker’s stint as Blind Lemon Jefferson’s guideboy when the famous bluesman was a street performer in Dallas in the the Teens of the 20th century.

In this two act tragic-comic musical, T-Bone is only eight, a sort of prototypical Tween Hobo, at once worldly but innocent. With a rope tied to one strap of his overalls, T-Bone leads Lemon back and forth across minimalist sets where he moans the blues, encounters unscrupulous record producers, sleeps with golden-hearted prostitutes, and eventually freezes to death with a belly full of rotgut. Cryptic, poetic African American dialogue, plus killer blues.

Theme: life sucks, especially if you’re a blind black man living in Post-Reconstruction Texas and/or if you’re a human guide dog.

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Señor (Tales of Yankee Power)

Full-length theatrical movie: Sam Peckinpah meets Salvador Dali. You can listen to the song as you scroll down:

Very loosely based on Dylan’s cryptic song from his Street Legal album.

Señor, Señor, can you tell me where we’re headin’?

Lincoln County Road or armageddon?

Seems like I been down this way before.

Is there any truth in that, señor?

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Señor, señor, do you know where she is hidin’?

How long are we gonna be ridin’?

How long must I keep my eyes glued to the door?

Will there be any comfort there, señor?

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There’s a wicked wind still blowin’ on that upper deck,

There’s an iron cross still hanging down from around her neck.

There’s a marchin’ band still playin’ in that vacant lot

Where she held me in her arms one time and said, “forget me not.”

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Señor, señor, I can see that painted wagon

I can smell the tail of the dragon

Can’t stand the suspense anymore

Can you tell me who to contact here, señor?

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Well, the last thing I remember before I stripped and kneeled

Was that trainload of fools bogged down in a magnetic field

A gypsy with a broken flag and a flashing ring

Said, “Son, this ain’t a dream no more, it’s the real thing”

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Señor, señor, you know their hearts there is as hard as leather

Well, give me a minute, let me get it together

I just gotta pick myself up off the floor

I’m ready when you are, señor

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Señor, señor, let’s overturn these tables,

disconnect these cables

This place don’t make sense to me no more

Can you tell me what we’re waiting for, señor?

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