ST. LOUIS SUNDAYS

YELLOW SLICKERS

Rain. 
Yes, that’s what it was. Wet, liquid, watery H20 from
the dark, gray, cumulonimbus clouds above.

God’s way of telling South St. Louis, hey, you are filthy!

Angel’s tears, falling on the heads of wretched, tormented
souls of south St. Louisians. Bathing the skyscrapers and
ghettos. The limousines and the V.W’s. The statue of ex—
Cardinal great, ”Stan the Man” and the ex-cons. Baptizing
the dust covered city with no hope of salvation for the
wicked town. 

Hydrating the dehydrated flora and fauna that
took it all for granted. Dripping on rose petals and running
down to the roots. 

Sprinkling turtle’s shells and running in to
silver ponds. 

Splashing on top of everything, and running,
running, running down to where gravity demanded. Fading and
blurring the print and pictures of old newspapers and
magazines left and forgotten in the city dump.

Refreshing, regenerating, life-giving rain. Penetrating
every crack and crevice. Giving a soggy eviction notice to the
ants, spiders and other bugs that lived like tiny apartment
dwellers under the streets and sidewalks.

Copious showers, drowning the woes, heartaches and
sorrows of the pathetic misfits of old decrepid, south St. Louis.
Rain, rain, go away? Is that the poem we want to say? O,
nay, nay I pray, that the virgin waters stay and stay, and
never flow away.

The Mississippi river drank like a sailor on leave, in Guam, on
a Saturday night, after eating two bowls of real salty pretzels.

As the deluge continued and the raindrops shimmered
on spider webs, and on illuminated windshields, and on
ancient Glirkazoid warship portholes, the young, innocent,
shrimp-like school children departed from their comfy
homes and sloshed on to the first day of school.

For little ole me, it was the first day of kindergarten.
(I actually thought this would be a flower garden where
everyone was kind.) (I was wrong.)

Mommy deserted me with no survival equipment!
My shoes were untied, my butt-hole itched, (that is the
supreme itch), my nose was bleeding from picking it.
(Remember the time when you were picking your nose in class,
and it started bleeding, and the teacher asked you what
happened, and you said, I don’t know, it just started bleeding
on it’s own.) Oh, yeah, right. You don’t remember. Right.

Anyway, to top it off; It was pouring down rain and we were
all standing in a huge building that had a shiny wooden floor.
Someone called it a “jim”. (I thought it looked more like a “Wilt”.)

But all of this was nothing. The very first and terrible
and awful thing was about to happen that would permanently
warp my sweet little unadulterated brain.

Picture this in your mind.

Every single child was wearing a perfect, little, bright,
yellow slicker with a hood, except for me.
I was wearing a brown, soaking wet, cloth jacket.

How did this happen? Did I somehow miss the great yellow
slicker giveaway? Was this a cruel joke concocted by someone in the administration to humiliate me before I had the opportunity to display my superior intelligence in front of my peers?

I don’t know. If I knew the answer, this hideous
nightmare wouldn’t still haunt me to this day.
So, please, shut up about it! It’s over. Please, leave me alone.
Let’s just yellow, I mean, mellow out. The slicker, I mean
the quicker we forget about it, we will feel hood, I mean,
good, about the whole thing.

SURREAL SATURDAYS SURREAL SATURDAYS SURREAL SATURDAYS SURREAL SATURDAYSDAYSsurreal saturdays

SURREAL SATsurreal saturdaysURDAYS DAYS SURREAL DAYSSATURDAYS surreal saturdayssurreal saturdays

Yeah, that Miracle Grow stuff REALLY works!

Why am I at this laundromat? Shhh! Don't tell anyone, but our "genius" designers forgot to include a washer and dryer on the "ship!"

Okay, like, Kris is the family matriarch. Her and her ex, Robert Kardashian, have daughters...Kourtney, Kim, and Khloe and a son Rob. Like, her and her current husband Bruce Jenner have daughters Kendall...

3 fish talking: Look, dudes, swine on a line! Yeah, pooled pork! I think it's more like, dope on a rope!

Those guys are just jealous because I have a chin.

What do you think of my new "tat?" I told the guy to keep it simple.

Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water!

I rolled a 7! What do I obliterate next?

Martian Moonshiners

I don't get it! He shot at me with that AK 47 over and over, and missed every time!

Hey, Alien dude, You're starting to drip acid on the chessboard, man!

As we gaze upon this earth we have conquered, wouldn't it be cool to get some new duds!

Next stop, Rodeo Drive, to get some new duds!  These cloaks make me itch!!

Cloaked creatures think they can take my duds, huh?! Take THAT, you filthy beasts!

Ha Ha! No it's just a weather balloon, son!

Hi, mom! Living on this planet is really not much different than living in our trailer park.

Welcome! Welcome, to Fantasy Planet! Stop saying, "the saucer, the saucer," tattoo!!

New Nazca lines found! Discovered by creator of photoshop!

Man, it's cold here on earth! Yeah, especially being naked! We need to get some warm duds!

FAN FRIDAYS

I am a big fan of the wonderful woman who made my life happy, warm, interesting, fun, and unique...

 Mom in the middle, with sisters Mel and Margie.

An excerpt from my book,

Chickens' Butts and Coconuts.

MY MOM, PETE.

I know I told you I wasn't going to write very much about my mom in this book, but I got to thinking. (That’s when I'm dangerous).

What if the dreaded "swine flu" starts bumping off

millions of people in the near future.

All of those unfortunate souls would miss out on my

mom's inspirational life story.

Imagine, if you will, me, getting hit by a "Segway",

suffering brain damage, and rendered unable to write that book about my mom, Pete. (Oh, very funny. I already have brain damage, huh? Ha, ha, I almost forgot to laugh.)

So, yes! I need to write down her story before a

gargoyle, way up on some tower, comes to life, swoops down, and bites my head clean off (I saw that in a movie on the Syfy channel).

Mom's real name was Pauline but my dad nicknamed her, Pete. (No, I don't know why)

My favorite story about my mom, Pete, was the time she had to pee. Real bad!

We were cruising along in the 53 Ford, just a few blocks from home, in the bustling St. Louis metropolis. (I think it was around Grand and Olive streets).

First, mom said it soft-like. "Paul, I gotta pee."

Dad ignored her. He hated stopping the car.

"Paaaul, I gotta pee!" Mom said it louder this time.

Dad said, "PETE, we’re almost home!” “ Can't you hold it?”

Mom called out even louder, "Oh, Paul," "I’m gonna pee the car!".

That did it. My dad would not allow eating, drinking, drawing pictures on the fogged up windows and especially no peeing! (Remember, this was a pristine, pre-owned, 53 Ford.)

So, under these extreme circumstances, dad gives in

and pulls off the road at the busy intersection of Grand and Olive.

Mom gets out of the car to pee. Thank God it was

nighttime.

She is between the car and the curb, near the back

bumper.

Cars are going by at a pretty good clip in a steady

stream.

Mom then proceeds to take the back of her dress and throw it up over her head.

That's when dad freaks out.

“Pete, what are you doing?” “ Don't you know people can see you?”

I will never forget the words my mom said from under her dress.

She said," Paul, don't worry." “They might recognize my face but they would never recognize my a_s!” 

My mom’s favorite saying was, “kiss my a_s on Grand and Olive. I suppose this was the origin of the phrase.( She substituted “foot” if she knew kids were around)

Mom was born in the Missouri Ozark mountains. Stronger than most men, but small and thin.

Perpetually happy and laughing and singing all the time. (Unless you pissed her off) 

Hated wearing shoes. Intelligent, witty, loved to read. Smoked Pall Malls but didn't drink.

(Maybe a wee bit on New Year’s Eve, but that don’t count).

Her dad walked out on the family when

she was a little girl.

He left his wife, my mom's brothers, Roy and Clifford (who was mentally and physically challenged), mom’s sisters, Margie Mel, Opal and mom. All to fend for themselves, during the Depression.

What always amazed me about mom is that she wasn't bitter towards her dad. She still loved him later on in life.

She still visited him and hugged him. She didn’t let his horrific behavior spoil her beautiful view of life.

One Halloween, when I was still a little "munchkin," mom dressed up like a Mexican bandito with a big sombrero and a mustache.

She even darkened her skin to look very, very authentic.

We were still living in the projects at the time, so she just walked a few steps over to the next apartment to visit the neighbor lady.

The next thing I remember was my mom chasing the

poor woman around the block and saying (in a perfect Mexican accent)," geve Pedro beeg kees!” (translation- “give Pedro big kiss”).

Mom scared "the living daylights" out of the sweet

innocent neighbor lady.

It wasn't until mom removed the "stache" and started talking in her normal voice that the woman stopped screaming “bloody murder!” (She couldn't eat taco's for 10 months after that! (I'm allowed to say that because I'm 25% Latino in my imagination.)

There were quite a few homeless people that would

ask for handouts when we lived in the "jects".

My mom always helped them. Even when we, ourselves, didn't have a "pot to piss in!” (As mom would have put it.)

No, she never gave them money. But, they all knew they could get a hot meal and coffee from my mom.

Mom never let them in, but would put everything on a tray so they could eat outside on the curb.

I remember asking mom why she treated these

strangers so kindly. She said, the Bible had a story where angels materialized into men, as a test, to see if the angels would be treated hospitably.

"Maybe the "hobos" (that's what we called them back then) were really angels sent down to test us, she explained.

Woe, mama! I never thought of that!

That reminds me. If we ever made a stupid racial

comment, my mom would say," You better be careful," " How do you know that God is not black or brown or whatever color fit the circumstances.

Woe, mama! I never thought of that either;

What is the meaning of lice?

Well, in my old neighborhood it meant you were a dirty, filthy, scummy person that did not wash.

Now, my mom was immaculately clean but Dave and Dick got head lice, anyway.

Without hesitation, mom walked down to the Rexall to get lice medication.

Upon arriving at the drugstore, mom noticed about a dozen women just standing around the store and acting like they were shopping.

Mom figured out what was going on. Nobody wanted to admit their kids had lice because they thought it was like admitting they were filthy dirt bags.

Boldly, mom walked up to the pharmacist's counter and said, in a very loud voice, “Hey, medicine man.” “ My boys have lice!”

"I don't know where they came from, but I need

something to get rid of the little suckers!"

At that, the women who were standing around started coming up to the counter and telling my mom how their kids had lice too, and how they didn't know where they came from either. So then, everyone got lice medicine, thanks to my mom.

That was my mom. Courageous, caring, funny, beautiful and...my how I miss her!

THOUGHTFUL THURSDAYS

Tales of Colorado...Somewhere around Boulder...

Walking and climbing and trekking up, up, 

up higher, and higher and getting “buzzed.”

No, not that kind of “buzzed.”
Buzzed by big flying insects. I hate that!
I especially hate those huge, black and yellow bumblebees.

You know what I mean, don’t you? 
I’m not talking about the little, skinny, yellow-jackets. These are BUMBLEBEES as big as small birds, and their buzz is as loud as a string trimmer! 

Now, puzzle me this. Why do they get so ticked off?
Here I was, minding my own business; transmigrating myself up the mountain to “Neverland”, and this, cockadoodie bumblebee won’t leave me alone!
He kept buzzing me and dive bombing me, and I’m scared sh__less, because I was stung by one of those big suckers in my innocent youth, and it felt like someone stuck a dull dagger into my arm! It swelled up bigger than an extra large, Grade A, Farm Fresh egg!!

So, my survival instincts took over and I came up with a brilliant plan. ( At least, I thought so at the time.)

Genius that I am, I dove into the stream where the enormous bee couldn’t sting me under water. Ha!

Unfortunately, the water was only about 10 inches deep at this part of the stream, and my butt was prominently protruding above the sparkling water.

To add insult to injury, my pants had slipped down to “plumbers crack” proportions, providing an irresistible target for the evil, merciless bee!

Now, I’m going to try to describe indescribable pain.

Lets say you're lying in an ice cold Colorado stream with your bare butt sticking out of the water.
Hulk Hogan comes walking up the stream with a BIG hammer (Like Thor’s hammer) in his hand, and a rusty, 16 penny nail!













He positions the nail at the top portion of your right butt cheek, and with one whack of the hammer, drives the nail all the way in!
That’s  what it felt like when that “demon bee” stung me!!!

That’s not all, folks.
I’m allergic to bee stings.
I crawled out of that stream, dizzy, puking, swollen, and basically out of my freakin’ mind!

I wandered, stumbled and meandered for hours or maybe days ( I’m not really sure), but, miraculously, I ended up on the east bank of the “Bob Barker Reservoir.”

I think I fell into a “comma” for a brief period of tom, but how would I know?
After what seemed to be 4 hours and 17 minutes, I woke up amidst really “good grass” and “awesome weeds," lying on my back on the eastern shore of the “Bob Barker Reservoir.”( I was still a bit “high” from the bee sting so I needed to “come on down!"

Since I was on my back anyway, I watched the beauteous, white, puffy, billowy clouds against the “baby blue” sky as they formed images of animals, faces, and other things as they gently floated across “God’s canvass.” ( Whew! That wasn’t bad! I wonder where I stole that?)

One cloud looked like my childhood pup, Fluffy, rolling on his back and wanting his cute little soft fluffy belly rubbed. (Sniff) Then the cloud morphed into a two headed turtle with his mouth (or mouths) open, that changed into a long dragon eating another cloud that seemed to be a bunny with one ear, and those two clouds mixed together with another cloud, and made a full figured portrait of Elvis sitting on a hill, amidst “good grass and “awesome weed" ( I mean, weeds), playing the guitar.

What! What did I just see?
The mysterious, cumulonimbus cloud formation disappeared in a couple of minutes, but it was the coolest “cloud art” I’d ever seen in my entire life; or since!

Maybe I didn’t really see it at all. Maybe the devastating, mind altering bee venom was still in my highly allergic brain receptacles.

No matter. Real or imagined, that glorious cloud formation inspired me to write one of my most beautiful and tear jerking songs. ( WOW-WEE! I sure went a long round about way to slip my song in this blog.)

Here are the heartwarming lyrics that are sure to send chills up your spine. 

Tupelo Mississippi Man 
By Danny Maness

A lonely man was walking through the forest in the morning,
He stopped and took a drink out of a stream,
He saw the tiny ripples as he leaned down by the water,
And he thought back to the time when he was “King.”

The sun was rising swiftly as he sat and rested gently,
On a grassy spot that grew upon a hill,
He thought of all the beauty he had seen in all his travels,
But he knew that he would have to travel still.

He’s a Tupelo Mississippi Man,
And he travels all across this land,
By night or by day when the coast is clear.

He’s a Tupelo Mississippi Man.
‘cross a mountain range through the desert sand,
And he don’t know where he’s going, 
But it’s a long, long way from fear.

He walked down through a valley and he came upon some children,
Playing games and singing songs by a shaded wood,
He thought about his daughter who grew up without her father,
He would touch her lovely face if he only could.

Through tears of joy he sang to them “new” songs they’d never heard,
‘bout a hound dog, a teddy bear and a heart of wood,
Then he had to laugh when a little boy stood up and said to him.
For an old man you sing those songs real good.

He’s a Tupelo Mississippi Man,
And he travels all across this land,
By night or by day when the coast is clear.

He’s a Tupelo Mississippi Man,
‘cross a mountain range through the desert sand,
And he don’t know where he’s going,
But it’s a long, long way from fear.

Notice how prophetic this song was. This was 1971 and Elvis didn’t fake his death and start wandering around America until 1977!

STOP THE PRESSES!

WE HAVE CANCELLED OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING FOR AN IMPORTANT VIDEO FROM MY SUPER COOL AND LOVELY FRIEND, CHERYL!!
MY YELLOW ROSE OF TEXAS!!!

After I'm dead, I'll walk right on through dem pearly gates to God's Golden Temple, and knock on his door!

When he comes to the door, I'm going to tell him about all of the times my Yellow Rose encouraged me, lifted me up from being down, made me laugh, and let me know that I'm loved!

Then God will say, "Yes, I know all about Cheryl, I've received so many wonderful comments about her sweet kindness to others, but I'd like to see some I.D. from you, buddy! How'd you get in here?!!"

Seriously, I cannot think of anyone who doesn't love my cute, funny Yellow Rose, who brings love, joy, kindness, and goodness to many, many people on YouTube, and to her personal family.

Yellow Rose, once again you've made my day so happy and bright!

Love you,

Danny

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?)