TRAVELIN' TUESDAYS

AS MOST OF YOU ALREADY KNOW, I HIKEHITCHED ACROSS THE GOOD OLE U.S. OF A. ABOUT 40 SOME ODD YEARS AGO. HERE ARE A FEW HITCHIN' TIPS FROM MY BOOK!

I promised to let you in on some of the ULTRA SECRET techniques of hitchin’, soooo, here goes.
Now, pay close attention, because this is one of the most important parts of the book.

Get off your “cockadoodie” cell phone, BOZO!

O.K. First, you do NOT want short rides.
I repeat. 
You do NOT want short rides!

Why?

They waste too much tom. ( You don’t want to stop a MILLION TIMES as you go from L.A. to San Francisco.)

So how do you prevent short rides? (Oh! You are so naïve.)

You employ what every expert hitcher has utilized since the days of the Holy Roman Umpire. ( You see, there was this Pope who had formerly been an Umpire. Well, he had no transportation to get him around Rome...nevermind.

The SIGN!
The coveted, HIKE HITCHIN’ SIGN!
When you are hitchin’ on a global scale, like I did, you are not interested in going from 5th Street to 9th Street.
If you don’t have a sign, the driver doesn’t know that you are hitchin’ for the LONG HAUL.
A sign gets you the long rides and helps to eliminate the time wasting “shorties.”

Now, let me take you through this step by step.
Remember, I am not encouraging hitchin’ in this murderizing, kid grabbin’, Grandma stabbin’, 21st century.

I may be crazy but I ain’t SIGH-COTTIC!
SIGH-COTTiC, I am not!
( Hey, didn't that sound a little like Yoda? “Continue with the book, I must.”)

Yeah, I know.
I have to admit, some of the time I hitched without a sign because I was too lazy to follow the time tested rules of the “True Hitchers United Motorless Bums Society.” T.H.U.M.B.S.

Here are some of the Sacred directions for hitchin’ from the T.H.U.M.B.S. rulebook.

1. Go to a grocery store or any type of business.
2. Politely ask for a piece of cardboard. (White, is the preferred color, if white is a color.)
2.a. The cardboard needs to be large enough to accommodate 6 inch letters that could be seen by “wigged out” drivers on “Acid”, going 110 miles an hour.

3. Borrow a black marker from a stock boy, (or girl) an office person, or senior shopper.
4. Now this part is crucial!
If you are in L.A., print San Francisco on your sign (Not Frisco. They HATE that!) in big letters, unless you’re going to Mexico.

Listen up!
Printing San Francisco on your sign doesn’t really mean you want to go to San Francisco. ( Are you keeping up?) Your destination is decided by the “Master of Travel”, PETER FONDA!
Just kiddin’ wit ya!

What I mean to say, is, you can always decide to hop out of the car at any of the beautific spots on the way to San Francisco. “Big Surf” was real nice. Yes, I know it’s Big Sur. Don’t you get my Jabberwocky by now?

Anyway, no matter what destination you arrive at, just turn your sign over and write Denver or St. Louis or “WHATEVER” with the marker you inadvertently stuck in your pocket.

NO! No, no, no! 
You don’t HAVE to go to St.Louis or Denver!
You can have your driver drop you off at any of the diverse and exotic destinations along the way.
For example, I was hitchin’ in Berkley, California.(Right across the bay from San Francisco, if you’re in to geology.)
My sign read, St.Louis.
A V.W. van stopped and this authentic, real and true hippy and his “friends” axed me if I wanted to go to “Tahoe” with them.
I said, “groovy, dude!”( I really knew the hippy lingo.)

Actually, I had no idea what “Tahoe” was, but it sounded like fun.
“Maybe it was a nightclub, a hamburger joint, or even a kind of “Nirvana” sort of thing“, I thought to mineself.

Alrighty, now. 
Are you beginning to see how this works?
The  SIGN was just a little “ploy” that would carry me to a multitude of exciting , mind blowing destinations!
(By the way; Tahoe is a real big lake.)

Here’s an example of what can happen when you don’t have a sign.
A dude driving a parking lot sweeper truck, picked me up.

Sooooo, it was drive 2 blocks, sweep a parking lot, drive 3 blocks, sweep a parking lot, and on and on and so forth.
However, at that particular Tom, I really didn’t mind.
I was tired and just wanted to lean back in the seat and go to……………WHAT WAS THAT?

Coming from “sweeper dude’s” radio was a sound unlike anything I’d ever heard!
The music ( Or was it music?) washed through me like a million tiny butterflies penetrating my youthful chubby body!

The magical words said:
See the curtains hangin’ in the window,
In the evening’ on a Friday nigh-i- ite,
A little light a-shinin’ in the window,
Let me know everything is al-righ-ite.
Summer Breeze, makes me feel fine,
Blowing through the jasmine of my mi-iah-ind.

WOW! 
“Blowin’ through the jasmine of my mind?”
“Blowin’ through the jasmine of my mind?”
What wonderfully descriptive words!
O.K, here we have a warm soft summer breeze that is not simply on your face, but it penetrates deep within your mind; as if God was blowing the sweet scent of jasmine directly into the deepest recesses of your cerebral cortex.
( Of course, I’m talking exclusively about the Seals and Crofts “virgin” of the song.)

Arguably, the best example of a song that puts me “THERE”.
You know what I mean.
Songs that create; almost, an “out of body” experience.
Songs that block out every thing going on around you and give   you this warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of your gut and transport you to a whole ‘nuther world.
Songs that send chills from the base of your spine (Right above your butt crack) all the way up to the top of your head!

I love ALL kinds of songs and music, but there are only a few “works” that REALLY put me “THERE”.
Here is a list of a few of the songs that put me “THERE”:

( I’m sure you will laugh at some of my choices, but if they put me “THERE” they put me “THERE”)

“Summer Breeze” by Seals and Crofts.

The theme from the movie “Exodus” by Pat Boone. (Pat Boone?)

“Stairway To Heaven” by Led Zepplin. ( Are you laughing yet?)

“Follow” by Richie Havens. ( When I say BY it often means as performed by, and not necessarily written by.)

EVERYTHING  by, Joni Mitchell! ( I love you Joni! Call me!)

“Love Is Real” by John Lennon.

“Layla” by Derek And The Dominos.(Are you laughing again?)

“Oh Holy Night” by, Celine Dion. (WOW!)

“Young At Heart” by, Frank Sinatra. (Go figure.)

And; “Were You There” by, Tennessee Ernie Ford.

Now, I suggest all of you guys make your own personal list and send it to me.
I will make a master list out of all the songs you send me and release it to the whole wide worm! 
(You really didn’t believe that, did ya?)

MADNESS MUSIC MONDAYS

By the way, I was born on Mother's Day!

With Mother's Day swiftly approaching, I'm going to share with you my most misunderstood song, that is entitled, "How Deep Is A Mother's Love."

My mom, and my sister Susan.

Here are some of the words that have been used to describe this song: Gruesome, ghastly, frightening, horrific, morbid, sick, and psychotic! (Can a song be psychotic?)

However, it can't be any of those things, because I wrote this song from a story my mother used to tell us children to teach us about a mother's unconditional love for her children.

Sure, it has moments of jealousy, hatred, envy, insanity, murder, a heart being cut out of a woman, and a talking body part, but other than that, it's a very moving, profound lesson about a mother's deep, deep, unconditional love for her children!

My mom again on left, next to Aunt Ollie, brothers Dave and Dick, and Susan in front.

I picture the characters in the story to be native Americans, who had sharp knives, and were used to scalping people, and cutting up buffalo and such, which makes the story much more believable.

What do you mean, you don't want to listen to the song?!

Trust me, it's okay! 

If you listen real, real closely, you'll see it is kind of heartwarming, in a totally gory kind of way!

Anyway, my mom made us listen to the story about a thousand times, so you can hear it once, can't ya?!

Now, we are gonna stick to the same program of other Madness Music Mondays.

You click on the song first, and then read the words as it's playing. 

Kapeesh?

Excellante!!

Son, you're in trouble again,
Runnin' 'round to who knows where,
Before you break my heart,
Sit down here on this chair,
Listen to this story, 
my mama used to share,
And maybe you will understand,
How much I really care...



How deep is a mother's love,
My mama let me know,
In a story 'bout a mother,
And her son, so long ago.

A poor widowed mother raised up a loving son,
There's never been a happier home,
In time the son got married to a wicked hearted wife,and left his mama all alone.

But each day he would visit her 'cause he loved his mama so,
His hateful wife was filled with jealousy,
She came up with an evil plan to end his mother's life,
Her envy turned to pure insanity!

How deep is a mother's love,
My mama let me know,
In a story 'bout a mother,
And her son, so long ago.

You promised you'd do anything for me, she said to him,
Now listen, while I tell you what to do,
Bring your mother's heart to me, and you will prove your love,
Then I'll know for sure your love is true!

In tears he reached his mother's home in the middle of the night,
He took her heart, and then he took to flight,
He stumbled, fell, and heard a voice that came out of the heart...
Son, are you alright?


How deep is a mother's love,
My mama let me know,
In a story 'bout a mother,
And her son, so long ago.


How deep is a mother's love,
My mama let me know,
In a story 'bout a mother,
And her son, so long ago.


How deep is a mother's love,
My mama let me know,
In a story 'bout...

My mom, with my dog fluffy peeking his head in at bottom left.

ST. LOUIS SUNDAYS

I saw the Moody Blues play here at the old St. Louis Arena, 3 times! However, that has nothing to do with the frightening story I will tell you today!!

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.

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) “Closeyour 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. 

Hey, but that was my Mom, a laugh a minute, and that was growing up in the Maness household in the 50's, in St. Louis! 

Have a great Sunday, and watch for flying chicken butts, and Flying Burrito Brothers!!

This story was retrieved from my least selling book.

SURREAL SATURDAYS 

SURREAL SATURDAYS 

SURREAL SATURDAYS 

SURREAL SATURDAYS 

SURREAL SATURDAYS 

Hurry up and draw my legs you idiot..this hurts like hell!!

An example of how the Lilliputians make use of 

the high heeled shoes from a girl they've just eaten. 

Someone said, "Catch a wave," so I did!!

Yawn...I wonder how long I've been sleeping  under this tree?!

Note to self: Find new Chiropractor!

No...I think you DO have a drinking problem, Charlie!!

Well..no...It wasn't your ordinary, saucer shaped ufo.

Yeah, this works so much better, Crater Face!

You said it, Wart Woman!

Woody struggles to create self image.

...and this bubble is telling you to french kiss me now.

How a stunt man puts his kids to bed.

HAVE A SUPER SURREAL SATURDAY!!