“Lance, Just Go Shoot Yourself. In the Head. Twice. And Try Not to Miss This Time.”

HOLLYWOOD!

Up-Dated!!

Re-Visit This One Y’all.

It is fu*king Awesome!

The Vids! The Vids! The Vids!

Ignore My Bloviatin’ Prose!

Please Watch The Videos!

Lance! Go fuk yerself!

OK!

Author’s Note and Warning

How I hear my “inner post Voice”:

Or, if you prefer,

“Clang Clang Clang Went My Folly”

Maybe THIS Version Won’t

Take

Three Fuckin’ Decades To Load!

Here’s to Hopin’!

Hollywood Killed Judy With Drugs

THOSE BASTARDS!!

My Daddy, Dr. Ralph A. Marcom,

once said something incredible stupid to me. Actually it was more of a lament.

He was just thinking out loud, I suppose.

I was knee – deep in my rehearsals with Sister Madelyn, getting ready to perform “The Sound of Music” — read about that somewhere else in these pages. Anyway, he said to me, or asked me: “Why don’t kids ever get together and say, “Let’s put on a show?”

I said, “Daddy, ‘Summer – Stock’ was just a fantasy. No one ever lived that.”

I think that was the beginning of the ending of my relationship, my good one, with my father.

Summer Stock, Le Trailer:

Vid Cred: Panos Golfis

Vid Cred: pokeahugkiss

Street Cred for Vid: kherrick90

Hooray For Hollywood!

***

I May Be Mistaken,

But I Think All The Broads In This Vid

Are The Same Broad:

Christina Aguilera

All Tongue-in-Cheek! I love it!

Credit: TOPPOP: Star sisters

“Any barmaid can be a star-made”

*******

Hey Film Buffs!
This (Below) is Required Watching!

Right On!

Spot On!

Dead On!

Thank YOU! Critical Drinker Man!

You Nailed My Same Same Sentiment!

Visit Crit Drinker Here Below:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCSJPFQdZwrOutnmSFYtbstA

The Genesis of all this Bullshit:

*****

And No!
I also did NOT watch ‘The Oscars’ on My Tee-Vee Either.

I had Something Better to Do!

Like Picking The Lint Outta My Belly-Button.

(Which Was More Gratifying & Satisfying)

******

Golden Age
Lost Now–Magic Has Gone
Never Get It Back
That Ship Has Sailed
Out-of-Sight
Missing Somewhere Over That Recent Rainbow…

My father used to tell a great story about some university asshole who was trying to impress him:

Dude said,

“The reason Wizard of Oz was in Black and White was because in the beginning, 1939, they really did not have color film.”

Daddy replied, “That is fascinating. I suppose when Dorothy got back to Kansas, they had lost that technology, as it went back to black and white.”

Come On!

Get Happy!!

What a Dame!

Judy! Judy! Judy!


There definitely ain’t nothin’ like a dame

******

No Business Like Show Business….
Adding-dumb Dumb da Dumb

(I miss my Daddy; He loved Old Movies)

“What’s The Difference? We’re All Theater”

******

Bonus’esses

Excesses???

(Bring Your Own Dresses)

Of course the Andrews Sisters Inter-text did not escape me.

It’s Silly and Stupid

(But Rather Endearing) :

*****

I love My Oh So Rich American Culture–I Ain’t Rich, but surely you know what I mean.

I love my excesses

Bring your own dresses

*****

Am I gay?

No!

No Way!

I don’t Play that way.

(I just Color outside the lines.)

Expanded–Slightly: “Women Fascinate Me! Women! I Know. I Know!” I KNOW I Have “Issues” So what? At Least I’m Not An Axe-Murderer–I Just Love Women–Not Ashamed To Admit It.

This is stupid.

But I repost it anyway.

I write a lot about my relationships with women.

Why? I don’t know. Or… perhaps I do know. It grows tiresome for most. (especially former Girlfriends/wives) This I know. I also know I have to write what I remember and know, and what I feel/felt, and knew. I recently re-watched “Alien”, a movie that kinda, sorta defined what I ‘was’ in the Sinai Desert in 1979. Not sure how to explain that one… but, yet… Sigourney Weaver…

Anyhow, I write about women. I write about women, and my relationships with women, because I love women. Most of them don’t love me, but none of them (them ‘wimmens’) can ever say they were ever bored with me…

Point is: I love women. I write about my experiences with women because my experiences with all the women in my past have made… me… a feminist.

I love the way they look. (And yes! I love the way they ‘cook’–metaphor–I am the ‘best cook’)

I love the way they dress.

I love the way they un-dress. I

love the way they talk. I love the way they walk.

I love the way they incite. I love the way they excite. I love the way they dance. I love the way they romance. I love the way they taste. I love the way they smell. I love the way they mostly… don’t tell.

And most of all, I love the way they piss me off,

(And drive me crazy.)

Yes. I love women. 

The way they Made Me: Made me who I am.

And I like that.

I like this man called ‘Lance’, that a woman created in me

Him I like instinctively (No Choice)

But, what the hell?!

“That’s what comes from too much pills and liquor.”

Je suis enchante

 

Vid Credit: 

Felipe Ruiz de Chávez

And of course, Joel Gray (and of course  Bob Fosse.)

Token Males… To defend the race of men who think (better).

My “Journey” Through Life With Wonderful Women on My Arm.
I have Been Blessed To Have Known A few—More than a few, Actually.

Yep: Blessed (And Very Lucky)

When you love a woman
You see your world inside her eyes

******

I am NOT a Fan of “Revoltin’” Bolton,

But I do like his rendition of this Original Percy Sledge song.

I am not callous, nor vindictive, and I do appreciate talent when I experience it.

Percy Sledge – When A Man Loves A Woman (Live)

Cred for Vid: PERCYSLEDGEVEVO

Just One More Example of a Woman I love, Admire, and Respect:

“If I were younger…”

********

Just For Levity:

Dedicated To The Michaels Bolton

(Both of Them)

Case of the “Mondays”

And Never Forget:

Life is A Cabaret

Enjoy it While it Lasts!

Why Did Not This Post Get More Love? I Honestly Poured My Heart & Soul Into it—No Shit!–

“Updated and Re-Worked.

All The Reasons Why

(Why I love Women)

Country Women.

I Just Want Eighteen Wheels,

But I’ll Settle for Seven in Heaven.

Just as Long as Kathleen Alice Mattea Is Somewhere Up There.

***

Kathy is Way Below.

You’ll Have To Drill Down

(Ain’t No Free Rides In This Rodeo)

******

“All The Reasons Why”

Paulette Carlson.

I actually have her autograph.

(On My Black Stetson Cowboy Hat)

Saw her perform at some wanna-be ‘faux’ Honky Tonk in San Dog, back in the Later Eighties….)

“Whiskey If You Were A Woman”

***

Mary Chapin: A Wonderful talent.

This is the saddest song in the Her-Story of Song:

Wrong Song

Try This

“What I Didn’t Say”

Just fer fun:

(And for my heart which is with the folks in Louisiana)

Callin’ Baton Rouge

New Grass Revival Version

Oh, and by the fu*king way…

“Samantha” is Favorite Name for the Daughter I will Never Have.

Just sayin’…

Heavy Sigh

******

Saw her too. (San Dog–Got the T-Shirt and her autograph)

Kathy is classy.

She interacted with her audience.

She has respect and treats everyone with same.

A great lady.

So charming.

So real.

So ‘down-to-Earth.’

I admire her.

A lot

She ‘personiflies’ everything that is ‘right’ with my B’love’d America

Such class. In my next life I want her.

Screw that.

I want her in my now life.

My right now life.

Right Fukkin’ Meow!

Kathleen Alice Mattea!

Ya know

I love her!

Kathy

She is poetry in motion.

So good! So great. So perfect.

So fu*king good!

“It Starts When You’re Always Afraid–Step Outta Line–the MAN Come And He Take You Away.” “Lance, You Lie. Not Really–Not Over-Much.–Not Anyhow Brown Cow. Not Really. My Word is-My-Bond-Age:

This All Truthfully Happened–Just As I Wrote It.

I Caint Make This Shit Up–

“Paranoia Strikes Deep–

Into Your Life It Will Creep”

POT--That's What!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.

“Any resemblance to persons living or dead should be plainly apparent to them and those who know them, especially if the author has been kind enough to have provided their real names and in some cases, their phone numbers.

All events described herein actually happened, though on occasion the author has taken certain, very small liberties with chronology, because that is his right as an American. Warning: this story will [eventually] have drugs in it [specifically, Pot] read at your own annoyance.”

–Stolen From Various Sources while illegally surfing the internet using a U.S. Government Network and Computer

*********************

It was the Summer of ’77  and I had just dropped out of college (yet once again).

There was an old friend of mine from high school living in Lake Charles, and pretty much on a bet I loaded up my ’68 Chevy Impala and drove to Louisiana to look him up.

Of course I had no idea where he lived in Lake Charles or what he was even doing there, but I knew Kim John and I knew that he would not be difficult to find even in a town of over one-hundred-thousand.

Really all I had to do was to find McNeese State University and ask around.

For you see, Kim Jim/John was probably the most charismatic, outgoing, affable guy on Earth and I knew that even if he had only spent one week in Lake Charles, everyone would know him or know of him. He went to East Texas State in Commerce just long enough to pledge and become a Kappa Alpha.

That was his only driving ambition in life: to become a KA like his big brother and hang out with the Brothers. I despised Greeks and all their ways.

(Still today, these are not my favorite people. Kim James was my best friend, next to Peanut, and for many years before, even though we did not see eye-to-eye on many things and most especially, things Greek.)

It took me all of about 45 minutes to locate him once I arrived.

He was living large in a beautiful apartment complex close to the university in the best apartment they had to offer: Two-story with four bedrooms, a large den/living room, three baths, a decent sized kitchen with a breakfast nook, a porch facing the pool—‘Classy” is all I could say when he showed me around.

He had a stereo in every room (All of them ‘Marantz’ because years before I had told him

“Marantz makes the best,

(and most expensive)

Audio equipment you can buy”. He apparently never had forgotten that and I was properly impressed. Kim Jim always did his best it seems to impress me.

To this day I am not sure why. It was just his way. Actually it was probably because I was the only one who really knew he was a fake and he knew that I knew.

In addition to the large pool, there were two tennis courts, a game room, outdoor dining room, a sauna, and all the ‘beautiful’ people of McNeese lived there, or so it seemed to my small-town eyes.

One of the upstairs rooms had a balcony overlooking the pool and the tennis courts. Wonderful.

*****************

Against my better judgment, I will continue this story, if I get just one request. It is rather long…

Someone let me know, but be not hasty in your remarks, as this one could land that fictional character in prison.

Is the prose worth it?

Well, the story is just that good, so I suppose so, since the author will be the one to do the hard time.

I never gave two shits for the heat anyhow…

(In light of recent events in NYC, I retract the above statement, 22 December, 2014)

But… Young Neil Young in this vid. Look closely…

Buffalo-springfield-for-what-its-worth

Paranoia strikes deep

Into your life it will creep

It starts when you’re always afraid

Step out of line, the man come and take you away

–Old Hippy Saying

Next Part of the Story Here

I Kinda LOVE This Post–Not Sure Why—Memories, I Suppose—Happier Times. Up-Dated (Can’t Take ‘The Nav’ Outta The Boy) “Don’t RUST On My Parade”

“In the Navy”–Village PPL:

“Petty Officer Marcom! Your Fifty Cals are Rusty!”

M2 .50 Caliber Machine Gun | Military.com

50 Cal NavyA

U.S. Navy photo by Photographer’s Mate Third Class Daniel J. Mark. Cleared for release by ALBG PAO, LCDR Jeff Bender.

Lance Sailor

Marco The Sailor man

I had to  admit. Yes they were. I had tried so hard to keep ahead of the rust, but here I found myself on the leeward side of the second half of a six-month, ‘round-the-whurl-West Pacific Deployment’, and somewhere just off the coast of Somalia.

Yes, rust was my enemy, certainly never my friend—the machine guns were always mounted while we (The USS Callaghan DDG 994, full cast and crew) were Haze-Gray and Underway.

Yes, always mounted and underway:

Haze-Graying, even then

And rusty

My Guns were always supposed to be… somewhere upon the sea… this is what they were purchased for…

And subject to rust. Rust Relentless. Relentless She Be: That Sea. That Salt of the Fucking Sea

Rust.

My Moby Dick-lessness!

How could I not keep Rust off my guns?

Freud certainly would have had fun with me

(Sadly, now I know why)

************

My professional life was to be found somewhere rusting in those machine guns.

And that rust you see, that rust occupied a great deal of my daily routine.

The Navy had a solution though. She had provided canvas covers to cover those guns and make them safe from rust. Alas, those canvas covers had seen better days, probably back when Pearl Harbor was just an ordinary Naval Base that no one had ever heard of.

But rust is relentless and timeless.

While scrubbing the Indian Ocean rust off’n my fifty-cals one morning I hatched a plan. Knowing full well we were soon to pull into Mombasa Kenya, after so many month at sea, I conspired to save my money:

Once in Mombasa, I would smuggle one of the moth infected, salt- digested, jig saw’d, Swiss Cheese, ‘holy’ canvas shards off the ship. I would rent a taxi, find me a young child, show him my smuggled ‘prize’, ask him to direct me somewhere, where I could find and nickel and dime

(I did not have much money then, not un-life-like now) find a leather shop in Mombasa, present to the leather-maker my Holy Canvas, My Shroud,  My Naval Career, and demand, (for US Dollars), that he make me four such more yet new and brand new.

And functional.

And This is exactly what I did, and to the amazement and astonishment of my Master Chief Petty Officer and my Department Head (almost a Navy Commander…

He kind of looked like JFK, now that I think on it. I  did not like particularly like him, but I respected him. Hell, he reminded me of all the things I could have been if I had joined the Nav when I was twelve instead of twenty-eight (Different story. Sorry)

The next time they inspected my Fifty Cals, they were pristine! (They did not take notice nor time to notice that the canvas covers were not exactly Haze-Gray-Naval Gray. No, more like Third-World-Rustic, with just a tiny bit of water buffalo…left over…but Goddamn sure water and sea salt proof.   

And I was so desirous that they did NOT notice, but my Master Chief did notice, yet, never ever noticing nor voicing his ‘inner thoughts’ in front of what he referred to as “Shit Birds” — ‘Officers’ — Never let on.

Master Chief never, ever let out his truth thoughts in front of Shit – Birds. This was his genius. 

And I should have been cognizant of this, yet I was so somewhat giddy after my .50 Cals had finally passed inspection, that I did not stop to think on that anymore. “Not even Master Chief had seen through my ruse” Yeah, Rite!

 I was drunk with my own cleverness and lying back on my back in my rack, curtain drawn,  congratulating me.

(Now, you must realize how the Military Mind works. I was my Ship’s Armor All–Armorer– IN Charge of All The Ship’s Small Arms! .225 Cal to .50 Cal.

If it took two men to lift, wasn’t mine. But one-man-band? Yep!  I was the shit!  I was a Gunner’s Mate 3rd Class! Freshly rocked out of SEAL Training (twice now, but who counts these sorts of thing? I suppose I do) and trying to retain what little was left of my  pride and my so-fifty-caliber-called-life.)

And I loved and Respected My Master Chief. Did not ever want to become an embarrassment to him, nor to my Fellow Gunner’s Mates who worked on the “Big Guns”. (Those ones what ‘bullets’ took two and a half-men to lift)

And even more important, (anyone who has ever ‘Served’ will know this), the Military is Run On Fear:

“Oh God, Please Don’t Let Me Fuck UP!”

That kind of fear.

Well, as I was lying on my back in my middle rack right before Taps with my little blue ‘privacy’ curtain drawn back when someone jerked that sucker back.

Along with my reverie.

Yep.

Master Chief Anderson!

MY MASTER CHIEF

“Son, tell me where you found those brand new gun covers.”

Trying to lie on my side and find an elbow to lean to, I half-coughed out, feigning sleepy-eyed ignorance,

“Master Chief, I had them made while we were in Mombasa.”

(There are people one may lie to in life, but, A Master Chief Petty Officer in the US Navy is not one found amongst those people. Not if one wishes life beyond that moment of sweet deception)

“I see”, was all he said, as he yanked my curtain back shut, thus leaving me alone with my various and sundry.

I did not sleep that night. For you see, I knew I had broken Naval Regs by doing something not-in-the Naval-Seaman’s-Bible–The Blue Book–The book, inches thick as a brick,  “The Book” I had been made to almost memorize while at Recruit Training Command, i.e. boot camp.

41XgCzuhSdL._AC_UL320_SR214,320_

I had broken the rule.

In the Nav, there is a sea sailor preamble, most requisite when one wants to recount a story of ‘when ships were made of wood and men were made of iron’… “Back when Moses was a pup, and this is a no-shitter” This validates and is a ritual never broken. In other words, one never breaks the rule.

Sometime mid-morning the next day, I was summoned to the berth/office of  The Department Head of my Division, Lt. Commander ‘Kennedy’.

‘Shitting bricks’ is too trite.

I was nervous.

I gave a hearty rap on the bulkhead door as I was trained to do in boot camp…

“Enter!”

“Petty Officer 3rd Class Marcom Sir!”

“I know who you are Lance; sit down.”

(What??? Lance??? Sit Down???)

Mouth agape I sat down, speechless

“Son, Master Chief Anderson tells me you went out on your own, designed, commissioned, smuggled off a prototype, and paid for, with your own money, those .50 Cal Gun Covers. Is this true?”

“Yes, uh, yessir,” I stammered.

“Well, that shows some fine initiative. How much did you pay Son?”

“Un Sir. Doesn’t matter…. I just, well, the .50 Cals, you know SIR,  cost ten-thousand dollars each, and I thought…rust….an…”

“How much did you pay?!”

“250 Dollars Sir.”

Without saying a word he opened a little three-lock-box (OK; I made that up. It was only a one-lock-box) that he had in a drawer, carefully opened it, and proceeded to hand me two-hundred and fifty bucks.

American

I sat there, dumb founded,  a moment too long, still in shock, looking at the bills in my hand…

“Petty Officer Marcom! “

“Huh…Uh, Huh… Sir?”

“You’re dismissed!”

Jumping up, knocking my chair over,  some tears welling in my eyes,

“Yessir!”

As I saluted him and abruptly left his quarters, quite in haste.

And thus I had survived yet another day in MY  Beloved Navy.

And Just As a Reminder Kids:

Don’t Rain on my Parade: I have enuff Rain for All

 

*And this just once more a rough draft, full of error, so be kind. Trust me: there is no harsher critic of me than me. I sweat commas. 

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Forget It: I Need To Die Soon–I tried to make a ‘SHORT LIST’ of all the Women I Love, Respect, and Admire (& Desire!) Such Folly! Who Was I Kidding?! This ‘List’ Just goes on and on and on and on….

Below is just a ‘Short’ Collection of a Few of My Favorite ‘Things

My Humble Tribute to All The Girls

******

I Really Do LOVE You Stevie! You’re the Best of All the Rest.

I Adore You Stevie Nicks! (In Spite of my Recent (playful) Bashings of you)


“Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’
‘Cause I’ve built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I’m getting older too
Oh! I’m getting older too”

*****

Let’s Get On With it. Shall we?

“I Regret Nothing”

—Edith

“They put in a Nickle and they want a Dollar Song.”

Beautiful, Beautiful Joni

“When the men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go…”

Sexy Grace

I tried to make a ‘short’ list of all the women whom I love and admire:

“Yeah! Good Luck With That!”

(The ‘Short’ Part)

  1. Joni
  2. Linda
  3. Barbra
  4. Catherine
  5. Sheryl
  6. Carly
  7. Cher
  8. Ex-wives (all four)
  9. Melanie
  10. Janis
  11. Mom
  12. Christine
  13. Grace
  14. Julie
  15. Madonna
  16. Lanie
  17. Edith
  18. K.D.
  19. Jill
  20. Dolly
  21. Holly
  22. Tanya (Native Texan!)
  23. Judy
  24. Liza (With a ‘Z’ “Not ‘Lisa’ With an ‘S'”)
  25. Dorothy
  26. Camila
  27. Shakira
  28. Stevie (Honorable Mention)
  29. And of Course, My “Lisa With an S” My Third Wife:

Then I ran out of virtual ink

Stray Tuned!

I shall expand!

But I’m in over my head!

Most people who write about ‘Fleetwood Mac’ Write about Stevie.

I write about Christine.

“Christine has such a rich, deep down dark chocolate voice . I love her”

–Lance Marcom, Circa 2021

(Stevie is such a condescending little bitch during this video—Watch it closely. Then you will see what I see)

Song-Bird! No Shit!

Cher! She’s All There:
The Whole Perfection Package.

Carly!

Bat-Shit Crazy & Wild Tanya.
I Love Her Like Cash Money!

Bella Madonna!

Babs!

Joni!!

Grace!

I have not the words to describe how I love this woman.

Catherine! Zeta-Jones!

Love YOU Girl! Lanie!

Linda Baby!

K.D. Yes!

Jill Clayburgh!

First time I saw The movie (Silver Streak) at the Grove Theatre, I thought Jill Clayburgh one of the Most Beautiful and Charming Women in the Entire World.
(And I still Do)

Dolly, A Natural, National Charmer Treasure:

Holly!

“Judy Judy JUDY!”

(SORRY, Cary Grant, And Rock Hudson)

********

Liza!

Dorothy: Epitome of The Perfect American Woman

Vid Creation Cred: Wat Bradford

Camila Darling!

Sexy Shakira!

*****

And This Beat Goes On…

********

I ‘Construct’ My Posts to Entertain.

No other hidden desire resides within me.

If you have come this far, I hope you enjoyed this post at least half as much as I enjoyed constructing it.

‘Twas a “Labour of Love