Impotence, Dr. G, Manson, Mary Louise and Rush - Rush?

Monday, Monday.

Man, I'm getting so sick of the pharmaceutical industry wacking me up side the head with a wet sack of shit every night.

I don't remember "E.D" ads alongside Geritol and Sominex and Old Gold Smokes as a child. You just knew Ward Cleaver didn't need some little pill in order to satisfy June (or to satisfy Miss Landers, for that matter). Christ, even Floyd the Barber could buzz his clippers without turning to Wyeth or Pfizer and he lived in Mayberry where Otis the Drunk was often as good as it got.

After the bad soft porn music, sickly knowing glances, and dockers-commercial-grade male bonding sing-along, you have 10 minutes of hard Harry reciting disclaimers of the side effects: ruptured eyeballs, total loss of bowel control and irresistible compulsion to sing Elvis tunes. They could just shorten it all by saying, 'may cause you to morph into Elvis - symptoms include asking Nixon for a DEA commission, cravings for fried banana and horsemeat sandwiches and passing out for long periods on the shitter (where "long periods" are defined by the company as indefinite).'

When did everyone in the world suddenly become inflicted with impotence? Or was that always the case and the world used to deal with it the old fashioned way - violence and scientific discovery? Ironically, advances such as Viagra were likely only possible because the scientists were impotent and had to focus their energies elsewhere.

Click. Click. Click. Gotta escape these commercials.

Hey, Dr. G got a new one tonight - she is visiting the construction site of her new morgue. Looks like it'll be some sweet digs, perfect for crackin' open cadavers.

Click. Click. Click.

Look who's in the news - that ol' ratings grabber from way back, Charlie Manson!

Charlie is 74 and it was 40 years ago today that he sent his little tripped out, brainwashed demented hippie crew off to slaughter Sharon Tate. He is looked upon as, along with the Angels at Altamont later that year, the catalyst for the downfall of "the 60s", shitting on and helping ultimately kill all that was good and innocent and hopeful about that time. That bestows way too much on this punk. Manson was a two-bit little hustler and is hardly responsible for the whole disco-coke-me-me-me vibe of much of the 1970s much as I'd like to stick him with that tab.. He certainly should ante up for some of that mess but he doesn't deserve the notoriety that you just know he craves.

I've gotten some chuckles out of the "news" interviews shitheads like Geraldo attempted with Manson, thinly disguised ratings ploys that a freak show like that naturally brings on. But in the end, he was really just a cheap jailhouse con man who got handed the grifter's golden chocolate bar in the mix of disaffected youth, psychedelics, easily misinterpreted music, and isolation from 'normal' society that the late 60s in California presented. And I'm not knocking any of those things, only those that would exploit it. He was as much a part of the 60s as Vlad the Impaler. He just got 'luckier' with the timing.

Click. Click.

10pm. Time for Weeds. Mary Louise is Topless! But not in a good way! Wait a minute - isn't that an oxymoron? No, that's Rush Limbaugh, and he does not belong in this paragraph, can't-resist-similes are not an excuse.

Wow, enough for the evening. The paint once again is dry.