I perceived a Class 5, no, a Class 7, Glirkazoid warship in
the X-mas sky.
I smiled when I discerned a string of blinking Christmas
lights wrapped around the qwaatz tower.
The multi-colored lights illuminated a Rudolf the
Reindeer stuffed animal, hanging from the cull shield.
(I will do my best to provide you with a diagram of a
Glirkazoid spaceship, so you can better visualize these technical
references.)
The Glirkazoids love Christmas because they actually
met Jesus and believe he is,quote: "The genesis and eternal
fountain of all knowledge, wisdom and compassion.”
Another reason they love Christmas is because they love candy canes. (unfortunately, for some unknown reason, candy canes get them high.)
After just a couple of licks they all get into their
spaceships and fly over Arizona in triangular formations.
Go figure. (I think it's the equivalent of mooning someone
from your car).

Let me share something that totally amazed me.
My dad was a good man. Really!
However, Christmas made him angry, upset, frustrated,
foul mouthed, and belligerent.
O.K., now, here is what amazed me.
When dad visited his mother around Christmas, he was a
perfect angel.
No cursing, no smoking, no drinking., Why, he was even in
a good mood! (at least, he pretended to be).
How did he turn it on and off like that? He never
slipped up, either!
Listen to how dad sounded when he stubbed his toe at
home - "G.D. son-of-a-bleep and bleepers!)
Now listen: to how he sounded if he stubbed his toe at
his mommies house, - Oh, shucks, Excuse me for such harsh
language.
Dad, at home- Hey, you! Bring me my cigarettes and a
beer and then pull my finger.
Dad, at his mommies place - Oh, how I deplore those
wicked, wicked souls who partake of "demon" beer and
cancer sticks, mommie dearest. (the Academy award goes to
Dad for the best performance in a Christmas setting.)

Christmas was fast approaching and we knew dad's
brothers would be coming to visit. Silas and Elzie and
families.
Dad frequently mocked their "holier than thou"
attitude. (whether they had one or not).
Sooooo, we decided to give dad an early Christmas
present.
Nancy, Dee-Dee and me wrote a song that we were sure
dad would love.
Silas and Elzie dropped in right before Christmas and
brought their families along.
After everyone got "hunkered down" (a little Ozarkian
verbal acrobatics for ya) we asked dad if we could sing a
song.
"Is it a Christmas song,”he asked, in a mildly
threatening way.
“Oh, no!” Nancy explained. " It's a song we wrote about
Silas and Elzie.”
Well, everyone agreed that this was appropriate and
timely, so dad gave us his personal o.k.
Soooooooo, we started singing (to the tune of the Ballad of
Jed Clampett).

Uncle Si and Uncle Elzie,
always go to church,
but guess which people,
are the worst,
We may not go to church,
or Sunday school,
but we know the "golden rule".
Hallelujah, brothers,
Hallelujah!
Save you sinners, brothers,
Save you sinners!
On the hallelujah part we started dancing, jumping up
and down, waving our arms in the air and rolling our eyes
back, like typical "holy rollers".
Well, remember how I said that we thought dad would
like the song?
Do you remember the movie, "Billy Jack"? The part
where the "rednecks” poured flour on the little girl's head
and Billy Jack went berserk?
My dad got that mad!( In fact, nobody thought the song
was funny except mom who ran to the bathroom and laughed
her "you know what" off.)
Fortunately, dad got into the eggnog (spiked with Jack
Daniels) when the 'bible thumpers" left, and forgot the

whole incident.

We always got a real Christmas tree. It wasn't really
Christmas without a real evergreen tree like Jesus had.
It was purchased around Dec. 1 every year. (dad would
say he stole it off the lot). It was taken down on New
Years day.
Needless to say, when we took it outside and put a
match to the sucker, it simply exploded like raw gasoline.
I looked forward to that each year.
It is nothing short of a miracle that we didn't have a
major fire in our home with mom and dad smoking their Pall
Malls, candles, and me, loving the whole concept of beautiful
fire.

The heartwarming Christmas carols we used to sing
were the highlight of the festivities.
Some of my favorites were, "We three kings of are we
in tar?” 
Also, "see the snow bunch, hear the kids crunch", and “Deck the house with kitty vomit". 
The mandatory,” 0 Tannenbomb.”
Mom loved to dress us in lederhosen when we
sang that song.
"Grandma got run over by a reindeer" was a must, and
we would traditionally end the concert by barking out "Doggy
Jingle Bells.”
The melodious and serendipitous harmonies coming
from our uvulated, virgin throats, produced a sweet angelic
sound that touched the hearts of people standing around,
as well as any wild beasts that may have been lurking
nearby.
Oh, my yes! These were the wonderful, traditional,
ancient and contemporary Christmas songs so fondly
adored by the Glirkazoids. (they said, “Doggy Jingle
Bells”can blow your mind after snorting crushed candy
cane, TOTALLY!)
My dad, of course, despised every "golden" note
coming from our precious wittle mouths. (I don’t know why
you keep saying my dad was bad! He was just Christmasly
challenged.)

More Christmas Stuff From "Chickens' Butts And Coconuts.

I perceived a Class 5, no, a Class 7, Glirkazoid warship in

the X-mas sky.

I smiled when I discerned a string of blinking Christmas

lights wrapped around the qwaatz tower.

The multi-colored lights illuminated a Rudolf the

Reindeer stuffed animal, hanging from the "cull shield".

(I will do my best to provide you with a diagram of a

Glirkazoid spaceship, so you can better visualize these technical

references.)

The Glirkazoids love Christmas because they actually met Jesus and believe he is, quote: "The genesis and eternal

fountain of all knowledge, wisdom and compassion.”

Christmas Hollerdays,,,from my book Chickens'Butts and Coconuts

I can't remember mom ever buying a decoration for the tree. They were all heirlooms or something made by the kids in school.

(I made the world's ugliest ornament by putting paper

mache on a potato, painting it white, and dabbing red spots

on it. ( My mom cherished it.)

The ornaments were old, faded and chipped. They

ranged from big round ones, the size of a grapefruit, `to

very small, like a cherry. Then, there were the long, slender

ones-that, I think, were supposed to look like the Christmas

star. They had real fragile centers that would disintegrate

at the slightest touch. (whoops, there goes another one,

Sorry!)

We had some paper chains, popcorn strings, tinsel, and a

well worn silver star on top.

We believed with all our heart, that we had the most

beautiful tree in town.

When brother Dick got married and moved out, he got

an aluminum tree that had a color wheel that reflected

three different colors in succession.

We viewed it as a sacrilege,

A real Christmas required a real Christmas tree!

Christmas Eve. St. Louis. Circa 1960.

Outside the frosted kitchen window (by the way, the

frost looked like little white pine trees or tiny little

ferns that God painted around the edges of the pane of

glass).

I saw the misty hoar frost upon the lawn (not to be confused

with "hooker" frost), and suddenly, huge snowflakes

(about the size of pit-bull puppies), started falling down, oh,

so gently.

Down, down, down, then up a little and down again and; a

little to the left, then right a wee bit, rocking to and fro in

the sacred Christmas wind that once cooled the manger

where Jesus slept so adorably.

Pure, white, pristine, unadulterated snow. (about three

feet deep, according to the bicycle handlebars).

The porch light revealed hidden "diamonds" in the

frozen white "angel's dandruff", while a bunny had to hop

way up and down, way up and down, to transmigrate himself

(or herself) through the deep cold pile of a billion unique and

completely individual, snowflakes.

CHAPTER 10
Christmas - “Holler" days
Harken to the joyous sounds, sights and smells of the
Christmas of yesteryear. Yuletide carols, sleigh bells
tinkling profusely in the crisp, crystalline air that crackles
ever so gently on your lips and eyelashes.
"Doggy Jingle Bells" playing on a distant unseen radio.
The snapping and popping of an old Ozark stone
fireplace as hickory logs send their sweet Christmas
perfume through the halls and doorways of an antique log
cabin home filled with everlasting Christmas spirit.
This, my good and faithful friends, was not what Christmas
was like in my childhood.
My dad hated Chris----------------------

So, here I am in the middle of the living room floor.
Minding my own business. (I think, if I remember correctly,
I was writing thank-you notes to all my family members. Just
because I wanted to. 

Example: Dear Mama, thanks for being
you.) 

Unbeknownst to me, my brothers had put hideous faces
on two coconuts Mom had bought at the A&P. 

They used Mom’s eyebrow pencil. 

(Mom’s joke used to be, “someone’s in
the bathroom, so I’m going to the A and P”. 

When you make jokes like that, urine trouble.)

All of a sudden, the lights went out except for the
ghostly light coming from the Winky Dink show. 

I began to hear drums. As if someone was beating on a Quaker Oats box.

Those drums, those dang drums still beat in my head!
Then I heard a long low ssssssssss. A few seconds later
I heard shhhhhhhhhh. Now, a little louder, it became
shruuuuuuuunk. Finally, all my deepest fears rose to the top
when I heard shruuuuuunken heads! 

All of a sudden, my two
brothers ran in from the kitchen, each with a shrunken head.
(Psycho music again.) What’s happening? Is this a nightmare?
Did my brothers chop off people’s heads? 

They say I was
found 14 blocks away at the garbage dump, talking to rats
and liking it.

CHICKENS' BUTTS

                      AND COCONUTS

by Danny Maness

So, anyway, Mom said, (very slowly) “Come Danny, hold

out your hand.” Expecting the nicest surprise ever, I did

what I was told. 

Mom said, (very slowly and eerily) “Close

your eyes.” I did so in my youthful innocence. I felt her put

something in my hand. A kitty? A puppy? 

In a sweet, singsong way, Mom said, “Open your eyes.” I opened my eyes.

I did not find the wonderful, beautiful surprise my childish

heart yearned for so eagerly. Instead, I saw in my tiny,

virgin palm, an ugly, awful, slime covered, raw chicken’s butt!

(Psycho music again). I am told I was found in an alley ten

blocks away muttering something about the Little Red Hen,

Donner Pass and proctology. (Funny thing, my Mom pulled

that chicken’s butt thing on me about two dozen times after

that, and I started to enjoy it. Kind of like the way we

enjoyed terrifying movies as kids. Did you ever want to turn

off a horror flick on T.V. when you were a tot, but were

afraid to get close to the set? I know, I know. We didn’t

have a remote in those days. Thanks for reminding me of my

advanced years.)

ReAd ChicKens' Butts aND cOcONUtS bEFOrE IT'S TOO LATE!!!!!

I’m just breezin’ along with the breeze, breezin’ along

with the breeze. Hey, Hi, everyone. It’s me again! Hasn’t the

book been egg-citing so far? Did you think I’d be too chicken

to write a second chapter? I guess I’m coming out of my

shell. That’s no yoke! Some people say I’m cracked and

others think I’m just a dumb cluck. But someday, I’ll be at

the beak of my career. So, please, don’t cry fowl and start

and international hen-cident.

Have you noticed a chicken theme in Chapter 2? Have

you also noticed the author of this book being an eensy bit

paranoid? (Just a side note: Is it the teeny weenie, itsy

bitsy, inky dinky or eensy weensie spider that went up the

water spout?) My red-haired sinister is not the main reason

I’m paranoid. Actually, the root cause is------(dum dum dum

dum – dramatic music) chickens’ butts and coconuts.

Let me take you back to my childhood. (harp music and

fog from a machine) back, baaack, baaaack, (echo)

baaaaaaaaaack, baaaaaaaaaack. (We spare no expense on the

special effects.)

There I was in my Buster Browns and my corduroy. Cute

as a bug. Innocent. Unsuspecting. Minding my own business.

(Let’s face it, I was precious.) My world was peaceful, secure

and satisfying. Until the “day!” I remember it ever so clearly.

It was a Sunday morning and the golden sunbeams were

streaming through the lace curtains like gentle laser beams

from an alien warship. Everything seemed so normal. Dad was

reading the Post Dispatch, Mom was in the kitchen, my

brothers and sisters were watching Kukla, Fran and Ollie.

How was I to know that this would be the most—no wait,

let’s try again. How was I to know that this would be the

darkest, most terrifying day of my life! (Psycho music)

(Yeah, that’s good.)

I’ll never forget my Mom’s words. They seemed so sweet

and loving. Daaaany, come to the kitchen. I have a surprise

for you.

A surprise? Oh, joy! Cake? Candy? A pony? Not exactly.

She had something a bit more unusual, shall we say, in mind.

(More psycho music).

Mama was standing in front of the kitchen sink with her

favorite, razor-sharp butcher’s knife in her hand. The

mirror-like blade of the knife reflected her face as a

distorted, scrunched up image of a surreal, uh, let’s see,

Lucille Ball. Yeah! That’s it! Kind of like a psychotic,

demented, Lucille Ball.

At the time, I thought nothing of it. Why would I be

suspicious of Mom? Wasn’t she the one who woke up at all

hours to feed me and change my dirty diapers? Didn’t she

clean up my baby puke and bathe me when I rolled in tar?

Sure, sure she did, uh huh, yep, she did all right. So why,

then, did it happen? Why, why didn’t I recognize the signs.

The hoot owl hooting outside my window and the dead

albatross in my sandbox.

Me, Nancy, and Dee-Dee, my MLRHS.

Chickens' Butts And Coconuts...Excerpts from my first book!

Since I was the youngest and most persecuted child in the

family, I always slept on the floor. 

One morning my vicious,

red-haired sister came and rolled me out of the floor. She had the best of news! She was soooo excited! 

Looking out the window, she said, “come, see, Mom and Dad bought you a pony!”

She continued, “it’s brown with a white mane, a black leather saddle with silver decorations, and it’s just your size!”.

Having no reason to doubt my own flesh and blood; I rushed to the window. (I almost broke my neck from slipping on roller skates that had inexplicably been left in my path).

“Where’s the pony? Did it run away? Am I looking in the right place?” 

Then a chill went up my spine, when I heard my

fiendish, red-haired sister’s devilish laugh.

“You Dufus! Did you really believe that pony story? A pony in the projects?

Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Hee, Hee, Hee. Whoa! You’re not gullible!

CHICKENS' BUTTS AND COCONUTS

By Danny Maness

Wow! I almost forgot about the food vendors! The

pretzel guy, watermelon guy, tamale guy! It wasn’t the food that was special. It was the songs! Every food vendor had a song. For instance:

Waaaa-teeee-mmmel-oooooo! (Translation – watermelon) Or:

Toooooo-mollllll-eeeeee! (Translation – tamale)

I think my favorite was the pretzel guy who always sang

(to the tune of “Puff the Magic Dragon”)

Eat the stinking pretzels,

Eat all you want

‘cause death and destruction,

Will come anyway,

Zits on you face will swell

And ooze and pop,

And how you gonna ever

Get a date with that mug,

Love is a sickness, and laughter is phony,

But life as we know it will only get worse,

Here’s you lousy pretzel

I hope you choke on it.

(No need of translation)

Now that guy was creative, but his pretzels were

 disgusting.

 

CHICKENS' BUTTS AND COCONUTS by Danny Maness

Me, Dee-Dee (mean little red haired sister), and sister Nancy.

Me in front, and my mean little red haired sister right behind me in bibs.

My earliest recollection is of my wicked, red-haired sister
trying to kill me. In her twisted little mind she came up with a
devious plan to starve me to death. She would grab my baby
bottle, run and smash it! I guess I should really thank her,
because I always suspected Mom of poisoning my milk.
This playground incident will be etched in my brain
forever. Remember the movie Rebecca? Remember Miss
Danvers and that strange look in her eyes. (If you haven’t
seen the movie, go and rent it now, We will wait). O.K. Now
we all know about that strange look in Miss Danver's eyes.
My evil red-haired sister had that look when she said, “the
swings, the swings, you must walk in front of the swings”.
Well, back then, swings were lethal weapons. The seats
were made of two-inch thick,, oak boards with sharp pointed
corners. I, in my innocent youth, trusted the red-haired
demon and walked in front of that instrument of death. Last
thing I remember, they were putting fourteen stitches in my
head. But, ha! I survived! The ruthless, red-head’s plan didn’t
work. More important, my brain still functions nominally.
The “projects”. Yeah, that’s what we called ‘em. Sometimes
just the “jects” when were short on time. The “projects” were
early communes. We usually had, at any given time, 2000 people
in our apartment alone. On holidays it was worse. On one New
Year’s Eve we had to order 27,000 White Castle hamburgers.
Then we couldn’t get to the bathroom because of the boxes. Of
course, that meant we – well, let’s not go there.
When we moved to the suburbs I was surprised our
family only had eight people.

From My Book, Chickens' Butts And Coconuts.

CHAPTER 1

THE ‘JECTS’

Why are you reading this book? Check box.

a) It was a gift.

b) The title was intriguing.

c) God told you to read it.

What do you expect to get from this book?

a) The meaning of life.

b) Wisdom beyond your years.

c) Paper cuts.

Who was the greatest actor?

a) James Dean

b) Dean Jones

c) Shirley Jones

d) Dean Stockwell

e) Jimmy Dean

f) Farkle the Wonder Rat

Whoops! Sorry. I got away from the point of the

book. What do you mean, what is the point of the book?

How dare you ask that question after all we’ve been

through!

Now, where was I?

How many books do you think you will order?

a) 100

b) 150

c) Keep sending me books till I’m dead.

d) Send books even after I’m dead.

e) Send books to future generations of my family.

Amazing Excerpts From My Book...Chickens' Butts And Coconuts
Chickens’ Butts and Coconuts may sound like a bizarre title,
but try singing it to the tune of the “William Tell Overture”.
Doesn’t it grow on you? If your answer is no, try “Ebony and
Ivory”. Does that work for you? No matter. Because, when
you find out the deep, dark story behind chickens’ butts and
coconuts and the sad, frightening tale that only I can tell,
you will say, hmmmm.
In this book you will occasionally find primitive-style
cartoons. Leave them alone! Do not try to touch them, pick
them up or play with them. If you leave them alone, they
will leave you alone.
By now you must be wondering why would an
intelligent, sensitive young man write a book like this?
That’s where I’ve got you! An intelligent, sensitive young
man didn’t write this book. I did!
Man, when you’re raised in the filth and squalor of the
Clinton-Peabody Housing Projects; in the suffocating heat
of South St. Louis, you end up in the State Penn, dead, or
a writer, or maybe a carpenter, truck driver or a
proctologist.
Hunger? Ha, I know hunger like I know the bottom of
a pool table.
Roaches? Roaches were my playmates. (Although, I
have to admit it took them a while to learn Yahtzee).
Crime and Violence? Crime and violence were my
school teachers. (Mr. Crime and Miss Violence).
So why am I writing this book after all these years?
It is not for the money. It is not for the fame. No.

My only wish is that one day after I’m long dead, someone picks up this book and says, “This is the weirdest stuff I have ever read! That! Yes, that is my goal!

FAMILY, FRIENDS, PRECIOUS TIME.

I woke up this morning and remembered I'm 62! 62?

Why, yesterday I was only 13!

How did that happen?

Life passes in the blink of an eye, but you don't realize it until you're old, like me.

Here is what I have learned from my fast moving, TOO fast moving, life.

Money, possessions, awards...these are not what satisfies our deepest needs.

Real peace, happiness, and satisfaction comes from spending our precious time with family and friends.

We never had much in the way of material things when I was a kid, but, boy did we have family and friends!

That is what I remember, that is what's in my heart. The laughter, jokes, long conversations, the warm feeling when a friend put his arm around me and picked me up from being down and depressed.

Precious time should not be wasted on things that we won't even remember in our later years.

Precious time should be reserved for our family, and close friends.

Toasted Cheerios (a cheap snack), talking, teasing each other, making up our own silly songs, and feeling part of something real and cozy is what I hold in my memory, and in my heart.