I’ll Always Have Rio
Even on the darkest night when empty promise means empty hand
And soldiers coming home like shadows turning red
When the lights of hope are fading quickly then look to me
I’ll be your homing angel, I’ll be in your head
Because you’re lonely in your nightmare let me in
And there’s heat beneath your winter let me in
I see the delta traces living lonely out on a limb
And a passing glimmer warm beneath your skin
Please tread gently on the ground when all around you earth turns to fire
Only get a second chance when danger’s on the wind
Because you’re lonely in your nightmare let me in
Because there’s heat beneath your winter let me in
Because there’s barren in your garden let me in
“Lonely In Your Nightmare”
Wait… what? He’s quoting Duran Duran? Uh oh. Something’s wrong.
A change has occurred.
Not a big one, but
Not a good one.
Just simply a strong intake of air, a long slow exhale, and…
July 2nd, 2011: the living tiki finds himself sitting in front of his duplex, selling a substantial portion of what he owns at at yard sale in order to pay off bills and stabilize his finances for awhile. The proceeds will be enough to satisfy everyone for, um… a month? Two?
Yeah, in a NUTshell, that’s how it’s been going.
No worries. I’m serious.
I’ve been in worse situations before. That’s the purpose of this post. I think the universe is telling me I need a change. Now. So I guess stay tuned, interesting things might happen. Or maybe just more crappy things. But I’m sure they’ll be interesting.
At least you can understand why it takes me so long to get out a post.
And, at least you know it’s not bad enough to where I had to sell my computer. 🙂
And, and at least you know it’s not bad enough to where (if I had a family) I decided to shoot my family, set my house on fire, and then shoot myself. No, I’m not making a joke with that last statement: In my area, it’s happened three times in the past two months. I’m not the only one affected by the economic downturn. Thankfully, I’ve just been able to retain my sanity a little bit more than most.
Welcome to the age of volcanoes
OK, now I’m slipping back into my “sarcastic” humor mode. Like I said previously, humor seems to be my only defense against the reality unfolding around me. But with all the crap going on, I forgot what a powerful weapon I possess, which can serve as both a shield or a sword.
Fire in the hole!
What… nothing? Not even a chuckle from the girl’s expression?
OK, you’re asking for it…
OK, if this picture didn’t work, let me point out the guy in the background is taking his pants off.
We’re miles away from nowhere
And the wind doesn’t have a name
So call it what you want to call it
Still blows down the lane
People tell me I haven’t changed at all
But I don’t feel the same
And I bet you’ve had that feeling too
You can’t laugh all the time
And if the fires burn out there’s only fire to blame
No time for worry ’cause we’re on the roam again
The clouds all scatter and we ride the outside lane
Not on your own so help me please hold back the rain
“Hold Back The Rain”
Regardless, all y’all are in for a treat. The living tiki has finally hit his breaking point. I do want a change in my life and I’m choosing the worst time to do it: When I’m poor.
Not too sure what I’m going to do, or how I’m going to do it, but it’s going to be a change, I can tell you that (and I will). Half this blog is a journal of my own mental liberation from this carnival called reality.
But what’s the treat? That’s the other half: Conspiracy Bustin’! You see, in-between working myself to an early grave and deciding if I really need that coffee table, I’ve not only been able to eliminate some negative habits (like renting movies), I’ve also been working on a number of “research” posts. So, for the next couple of months, I’m going to try and use my valuable free time to finish them up so as to have almost weekly postings about the reality unfolding around us all.
I feel I have made two life errors to cause me to wind up in my current situation:
The first was becoming complacent.
Don’t stop climbing.
This is “their” reality; an artificial one created by some pretty evil people, and they’ve designed it to pick off the stragglers. They’ve also designed it to make you give up halfway and think that halfway is good enough as you’re relaxing back home watching reruns of Three’s Company.
In other words, they don’t want you to say: “Hey wait a minute. I am consciousness existing in a wonderful physical realm with beaches, boobs and (sometimes nice) birds! I CAN DO ANYTHING WITH THIS LIFE. MY LIFE. MY ONLY LIFE. And man, am I a pussy when it comes to seagulls.”
My second life error was letting loss get to me.
July has never been a good month for me. Especially around the 4th:
July 3, 1997 northern Arizona 11:45pm : the living tiki finds himself on the 12th hour of a 15 hour Greyhound bus ride returning home from a early morning traffic accident where his ’74 Dodge Colt had been totaled by a huge truck which ran a red light.
The truck just clipped the tail-end of my car, but the physics was enough to make it roll onto it’s roof. My head and arm slammed against broken glass and pavement when it rolled on the driver’s side. I was originally taking a road trip to the 50th anniversary celebration of the UFO crash in Roswell, New Mexico. Never even made it past the New Mexico state line.
Instead, I was now sitting in the front of a bus, hair still matted with blood covering fresh stitches, next to a concerned looking woman:
Woman: (whispering) I don’t trust our bus driver.
Me: Um… what?
Woman: Our bus driver… he keeps falling asleep! He was doing it before you sat here, and now he’s doing it again. See? He just nodded off slightly!
Me: Don’t tell me that. Why are you telling me that?
Woman: Aren’t you concerned? I think we should say something.
Me: You’re the angel of death, aren’t you?
Me: Look, I know you’re only teasing me because you blew your chance this morning, but if you’re going to take me, you better hurry up. There’s only about 12 minutes left in today.
Woman: What’s wrong with you?
Me: Well, first I lost a fight with a monster truck this morning. Then I learned getting back home would take 15 hours, part of which includes long waits in non-air conditioned bus stations in Arizona in July. I moved seats to the middle of the bus to get away from the blind guy sitting next to me who wouldn’t stop talking, and badgered me endlessly about getting his elaborate KFC order correct when we stopped for dinner. Then I moved up here to get away from the runaway teen couple having sex across the aisle from my seat. And now, right in the middle of me having a wonderful waking dream about all the UFO nerd girls I could’ve hit on tomorrow….
Oh wait, hang on, I’ll be right back….
I mean that….
….you decide to let me know I’ve chosen a front row seat for my final demise. Thank you. My day is now complete.
Woman: You’re weird. Don’t talk to me.
Eleven days later my mother would die from complications after having a second stroke. She passed away just minutes after I randomly dropped by the recovery ward as part of my daily visits to see how she was doing. In other words, I was there the exact moment she gave up the ghost.
A year and a half later, after months of my father battling colon cancer, I would be a witness to his passing as well. Moments before for some reason, he was whispering endlessly. Nonsense words, barely audible, spoken to no one.
What was it, Dad?
What were you trying to tell me?
Selling a lot of one’s stuff sure creates a sense of loss. I think I will miss my scooter the most, because it always seemed to transport me to fun.
Yet while I owned it, did I randomly have hot models come up to me with their photographer and ask if they could use my scooter in a photoshoot?
Oh hell no. That happened to my friend. The bastard.
Instead, coincidentally crappy-July enough, I had a scooter traffic accident almost a year ago. Someone cut me off, causing me to run into his driver’s side and do a Super Dave stuntman maneuver on his hood. Now you’re probably thinking, “Wow, you must have had a not-at-fault insurance payday!” Hmm… not really. When your injuries are painful but not permanent, and your truck’s transmission completely breaks two days later, an insurance compensation windfall turns into an insurance what the hell was that all about.
Selling a lot of one’s stuff also creates a sense of emptiness.
Yet oddly enough, it’s a comforting emptiness. It makes you realize they were just “things”, little more than clutter. What matters is what you do with this life of yours. And “things” can only weigh you down. [Except for chick-magnet scooters which, *ahem*, elevate you up.]
It is in this emptiness that I found the comfort knowing I will be able to handle a couple more very challenging months. And after my life reboots, the world awaits, and that which does not kill me only makes me stronger.
It is also in this comfort that I was able to remember July 4th hasn’t always been a nightmare for me. Actually, the memory was triggered by a comment made about one of the CDs I had out for my yard sale:
“Duran Duran? Wow, I haven’t seen this since the eighties.”
Yes, I own “Rio” by Duran Duran. I even forgot I owned it. Really. You can stop snickering now. No, covering up your mouth while snickering is still snickering. I said stop!
Hey, if this band was huge during your high school years, you’d own it too, simply for the nostalgia. But my nostalgia comes with a bonus:
July 4, 1983, southern California: a 16 year old living tiki finds himself standing on a toilet, looking out his upstairs bathroom window. His gaze is directed through a first floor window of the neighboring house at a bathroom mirror, and subsequently the reflection of the first real naked girl he had ever seen. A girl who loved Duran Duran.
Carrie (maybe her real name) was 15 years old. I was getting ready to take a shower but the window was stuck. I needed to step on something to reach it better because it was built higher to obstruct the view of inside, the same as Carrie’s window. As I attempted to force it open, my sequence of internal thoughts went as follows:
C’mon window…. please and thank you!
[shoooooosh, click!] Finally!
Hey a light just went on next door.
[shoooooosh, click!] Of course it was easy for them.
It’s a bathroom. Wow, I can see almost the whole room from the mirror.
Whoa, it’s Carrie. Oh my god she looks hot….
Oh my god she’s naked!
Whoa, whoa, [crash] dammit, ow! OW!
Stupid fucking toilet seat cover. Ow my arm hurts.
Oh crap, that’s right… she’s naked and I’m missing it!
Carrie was the girl next door. But she was only there for about four years and went to a different school. Despite the proximity, I barely even knew her. But I knew she liked Duran Duran, and that I wasn’t her type. She just didn’t look at me the same way with other guys.
Now, if you’re thinking a 16 year old boy displayed a modicum of gentlemanly decorum and turned away, you may be on the wrong planet. I already wasted valuable time turning off my light so she wouldn’t see me. I was completely mesmerized by how her boobs jiggled slightly from side to side. She could have led me off a cliff with those….
Ladies, you have no idea.
living tiki personal fun fact: If you happen to go to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, you might actually have beads tossed to you from a parade float by the living tiki himself! I and some of my family are members of a New Orleans Krewe, which creates parades and floats every year for Mardi Gras. There are dozens of Krewes with thousands of members. Since I don’t live there, I don’t do it every year (and have only been on the float twice), but I think I’ll try to make it next year. You won’t even have to show me your breasts. Just your smile. (But also your breasts.)
living tiki personal note: Does everything have to be about breasts? Yes, yes it does. I’m pretty certain Thoreau was very breast-centric during his Walden period, so don’t hassle me! Yes, I’m serious. Well then maybe you should read it again.
Even though I highly doubt Carrie was aware I saw her, this amazing event never happened for me again, despite the fact that for the rest of July I was
Pavlov’s Carrie’s dog….
Mom: Hey, what’s the rush? I thought you liked this TV show.
Me: Um, uh, I… just really need to go to the bathroom.
Mom: Why don’t you use the downstairs one?
Me: Uh… I can climb the stairs faster.
Mom: I hope it wasn’t my dinner.
Me: No, no… it’s just I, um, I… I gotta go.
Mom: What a weird kid.
A year later, another “Rio” connection would lock that memory even further by nearly “recreating” it….
age of volcanoes post note: That means that I’ll be recreating it for you using stills from a movie, and that means there’s gonna be some pretty awesome nudity coming up. Jus’ sayin’. Ironically, I normally try not to show nudity for the same reason I’m going to show some now.
living tiki personal note: Part of the reason I don’t show nudity (unless necessary or hilarious) is because it’s kinda freaking me out that Episode II of my Star Wars posts is getting so many hits, it’s taking on a life of it’s own. C’mon guys, it’s only women in bikinis. Well, OK, dozens of women in bikinis. Oh, whoops, that’s right; there were all those half-naked Japanese girls. Not to mention the ones holding penis lollipops. And Bai Ling’s nipple. And, oh Jesus I need to take that post down.
If you’re kinda wondering what Carrie looked like, she was remarkably similar to the actress Michelle Johnson.
And with Blame it on Rio, I can now recreate my memory for you, because it’s kinda like what happened in the film, and it’s the only reason to watch it:
Oh look, there’s
Michelle Johnson Carrie. Oh my god she looks….
OK, wankers, get it out of your system. I understand. I’m lucky I made it the two feet to the shower after seeing Carrie. Lather, rinse, repeat.
the naked you just saw with the image above wasn’t exactly the naked I saw that night. What I saw (or more appropriately, what my non-16 year old consciousness saw) was a girl in a mirror looking at her body like she had just put on a new dress and couldn’t decide if she liked it or not. Looking back, I don’t think she did. I couldn’t understand how a girl with a body that could make guys drop to their knees consider it a burden. (Maybe I was too busy lathering, rinsing, and repeating.)
But I do now, because I wrote a little something called Emancipating Myself From STAR WARS Mental Slavery EPISODE II: Attack Of The Slave Girls. When a girl has a body that makes guys drop to their knees, but
one third of the guys (boys, nerds) won’t hit on her,
one third will hit on her with the screwed up relationship programming they’ve learned from the homosexual pedophile priest-class of Holy Wood,
and the last third is EXACTLY her type (i.e. pays attention to her), but is um….
she’s going to look at her body as a curse.
And sometimes I’m caught in a landslide
My beat’s so in time, can you look at me?
I’m out of reach, I’ll talk if it feels right
So nervous to say, tell me you can’t see me
If you want I’ll fall out forever
I can’t say no more, baby dance with me
And please don’t say leave it to later
I’ve had my last chance on the stairway
“Last Chance On The Stairway”
What did the girls of the 80’s do when confronted with such depressing options? They got fat. What do the girls of today do? They turn into whores. They still crave that attention and warm fuzzy feeling, but they’ve been raised on junk food and know that cookie dough ice cream is a poor substitute for a penis.
Take a look at that topless picture of
Carrie Michelle Johnson again. In the movie, that is actually a “private” moment where Michelle is taking a Polaroid of herself for the man she’s fallen in love with. (In other words, that’s the eighties version of sexting). I don’t remember 1980’s girls, especially high school girls, giving their boyfriends a nude photo of themselves. (I do remember the girlfriends of my fellow recruits in Navy boot camp giving their boyfriends nude photos of themselves, and let that be a lesson to you ladies…. how do you think I know that?)
Yet here we have the young women of 2011….
One doesn’t need an adjacent window and sturdy toilet seat cover to see them naked, just simply access to their facebook page:
(C’mon, don’t be shy… all the girls are doing it!)
(FYI: Jesus pictures not added by me, I just found this pic during a random search. But I’m thankful for them – I think I would actually feel creepy looking at the naked breasts of this girl.)
Kinda like this picture, which I was reluctant to show as well, but it is a perfect example of how our modern (artificially created) culture is destroying the most beautiful thing this planet has produced – the naked female body:
This is how you photographically make a very attractive body look as unattractive as possible.
How is it even possible that nude photos like this exist? What happened to all the girls I used to know who would look over their stack of recently developed film photos, pull out one or two and actually tear them up because they didn’t like how they looked in that particular photo. And these were photos of them wearing clothing!
And yet, the above girl apparently looked at the photo she just took of herself, saw that it looks about as sexy as getting ready for a gynecological exam, and decided she was cool with that.
Now ladies, if you think the above girl is empowering herself by not being afraid to show her naked body to um, the universe, do you think Congressman Anthony Wiener was empowering himself by sexting pictures of his penis to various women? And why aren’t you frantically Googling “Wiener’s penis” to check out his sexy, sexy package?
Ladies, what the evil shapers of our reality are doing is “stripping away” layer by layer the most awesome power you all possess: Your body. Take a look at this “sext”:
This girl didn’t pose naked (but probably will). Why? Because she’s had the advantage of having a very attractive body (so no really bad self-esteem issues) and knows that she doesn’t have to show it naked: Her healthy and youthful body is designed by the Creator to make men have involuntary reactions by just standing there in front of them:
Displaying your naked body is your ultimate super secret power. You see, just wearing bikinis will ensure that the two lovely ladies above will have the guy in blue shorts follow them around like a puppy and ask stupid questions like, “Hey, um, so like, what’s your major?”
However, if one of the lovely ladies were to remove her top in front of him, his whole body would go flush and he wouldn’t be able to even remember his own name. But only temporarily: Ladies, your power is only really effective when it’s private. That’s why you foolishly believe you can get your man to promise to finally clean out the garage when you are standing there naked in front of him. Yes, he is promising under the influence of your awesome naked mind control, but he is still a guy and everything he does and says is only to get to what is in front of him.
“What’s that, honey? You want me to win the Nobel Peace Prize? Sure, anything for you, vagina… I mean sweetie.”
Ladies, this power should never be used as mind-control, influence, nor a “moneymaker”. It is a gift from the Creator to both you and him: He will be overwhelmed with the awesome wonderfulness of your womanly nakedness, and you will most assuredly get the undivided attention, appreciation, (and possibly love) you are craving. Oh, by the way ladies, I find it kind of funny that women use their nakedness for everything except what they probably really want…. in bed. Remember, he’s under your awesome naked mind control. If he’s not doing something right, just (sexily) tell him to do what you want. It’s that easy.
“Anything for you vagina, I mean nipples, I mean yes ma’am.”
Nonetheless, there are some smart young women today out there who do know that their naked body is the most awesome beautiful thing on this planet, and that it is a private shared gift.
This reality HATES those women.
And it will wait for the one moment they slip up and really love their boyfriend enough to give him this private shared gift which he will then (because of his programming) forward to the entire universe:
What a horrible world we live in when it makes a girl with a smile as beautiful as this commit suicide.
And what type of girl does this “culling” leave?
Survey says: A whore! Ding! Ding! Ding!
Nonetheless, in my humble opinion, the greatest gift women can give the man they love is their attention. If this sounds odd (especially from a guy), I can illustrate it with this picture:
I happened across this photo while looking for images of women’s shoes for my Star Wars posts (Episode II again!). It’s an Italian ad for makeup, I think (Oh, I hope it’s not tampons. Please don’t let it be tampons.) It instantly made me say, “Wow, that is a freight train of happiness, bearing right at you!”
This isn’t because she has a unbelievably hot body. She does. It’s because she has an unbelievably hot body with eyes that are looking directly at you, and a smile that says she is so happy upon seeing you, she is almost giddy and wants to instantly display her unbelievably hot body. A woman this happy upon seeing a man tells me that man will barely be able to remember his own name the next morning. It’s the same look women will give their husbands returning from a Naval deployment. And if you noticed, it’s the same exact look and pose Michelle Johnson was giving in her “photo”.
Ironically, even flamboyant Simon Le Bon Bon [actually song composer Andy Taylor] knew what it took to make a woman look that happy by including in the song “Rio” the sound of a woman playfully laughing, as well as the calls of exotic birds evoking tranquil tropicalness. To put it simply:
If you make a woman laugh like the girl in Rio,
if you make her feel as tranquil and relaxed as if she’s on the beaches of Rio,
and if you make her feel as appreciated as the lyrics do about the girl in Rio,
she will not only do her breast to make you forget your own name, she’ll make you forget the names of every female on the planet other than her.
She might even make you breakfast:
July, 2000 southern California: the living tiki finds himself at a part-time job, delivering pizzas. This delivery was a free one, where the customer had a “Welcome to the neighborhood free pizza” coupon the restaurant mailed out to new residences to generate business. At best, he expected a typical $2 tip. Instead he was greeted by a stunningly beautiful girl, wearing absolutely nothing.
I can’t remember her face. She was….. blond. Yep, blond. That’s it. That’s all you’re getting. As for her body…. scroll back up to the Italian girl. Remarkably similar. Trust me. And despite the fact that I was living the plot to 35% of all porn films, when it happens to you as a guy in real life, I can tell you that you have absolutely no fucking clue what to do next. (Keep in mind I was also carrying money, and anything that seems like a set-up for a robbery puts a delivery driver on edge.)
I can’t even remember what was said as this transaction transpired. I can only remember a girl that seemed downright delighted to meet me, with beaming eyes, a wonderful smile, an arousing aroma, and jiggling, jiggling boobs. And oh my god she’s not even wearing panties don’t look down don’t look down don’t look down just be cool just be cool just be cool but I have to say something I mean it’s all out there she knows it I know it god knows it and I’ve got less than five seconds to say or do something something something anything or else
“Wow, you guys are so sweet! Thank you for the free pizza! Here’s a tip for you. Bye!”
Me: Oh man, you would NOT believe the delivery I just had.
Manager: Did you get the coupon?
Me: The what?
Manager: You know, the coupon that allows her to get a free pizza, but only one. That is, unless she somehow manages to find a way to STILL KEEP THE FUCKING COUPON!
Me: Oh. That coupon. Crap.
Manager: Dammit, I wish I remembered that address sooner. I need to hire some female drivers or that woman is single-handedly going to put me out of business!
I wasn’t the first driver to deliver a free pizza. There would be three:
ROUND ONE: The incredible naked girl vs. Brian – FAIL!
ROUND TWO: The incredible naked girl vs. the living tiki – FAIL!
ROUND THREE: The incredible naked girl vs. “Bitch aint gettin’ no pizza without no coupon” Alex….
Manager (and everyone): Did you get the coupon? Did you get the coupon?
Alex: (Holding the coupon high in the air like Perseus displaying Medusa’s head.)
Alex: I almost didn’t get it. She’s pretty fucking incredible! I totally forgot and had to put my foot out to prevent her from closing the door. And then she says, “Oh yeah, I forgot…. let me go get it” and then turns around, goes to this table by the door, and bends over to pick up the coupon!
Everyone: Awww, dude! (Spoken like Alex had just been waterboarded).
Alex: It was glorious, man!
Hmm… I began this post with a girl in a window, and that’s how I will conclude it:
July 2, 2011: the living tiki is starting to close up his yard sale when he sees the loudest and ugliest clunker of a car turn onto his street and park directly in front of his duplex.
This battleship of a car (which was unidentifiable due to it’s state of decomposition) was actively offensive, like a bum with B.O. sitting next to you on the bus. Thick smoke out the tailpipe and a rattling engine to match. If you glanced inside, you would see the vinyl covering of the dashboard splitting open and exposing the piss-yellow foam insulation underneath baking in the hot sun and turning into dust which gives everyone a headache. But this vehicle was nowhere near as offensive as the driver:
Picture a man in his late fifties, balding, with a belly like he swallowed a bean bag chair which was hanging over his belt and protruding out beyond his shirt to give an ample view of his hairy, blinding white, lint-filled naval. He looked like he hadn’t bathed in a week (or combed his hair), and wore a stained undershirt with ugly polyester tan shorts exposing what looked to be bed sores on his legs. He had the ugliest knees I’ve ever seen. To put simply: a man with absolutely no self respect whatsoever.
He already annoyed me by not acknowledging me in the slightest and using his feet to kick over items to see. Or just dropping them if picked up:
Me: Excuse me, unless you intend to buy it, please treat my stuff with respect.
Captain Assclown: (dropping the item he picked up moments before and mumbling) There’s nothing I need here anyway.
Me: Hey jackass, what did I just say?
He was already walking to his car. I decided to follow him and thought that by the time I got there I would hurl the worst, most degrading, most humiliating insult I could possibly think of at him, but I was actually having trouble coming up with one because I forgot I was dealing with a man who had absolutely no self respect whatsoever. And then I noticed for the first time he had a passenger.
Picture a Filipina girl, no younger than 18, but no older than 25, with the look of complete and utter hopelessness on her face. I stopped walking when my gaze met hers. She looked right through me, but continued directing her gaze towards me as the car pulled away and she could see me no longer.
I thought she was either his desperately impoverished foreign bride, or the daughter of one. There is no other way this human male could have a human female be his wife (much less even get in his fucking car).
If it was his daughter, you know her life sucks (and she’s probably being molested). But I assumed it was his wife, and it supremely pissed me off that this assclown had a woman willing to do anything for him, even go to yard sales on a beautiful Saturday morning in his smoking mobile trashpile, just so she can one day hear the words he will never say:
“Hey honey, how about instead of yard sales, you put on this beautiful new sun dress I bought for you (from a real store) and we go have some brunch by the ocean and maybe take a walk along the beach. Today is your day. I want you to feel special.”
I couldn’t insult this loser because he is already showing what the ultimate fool he is: He keeps looking for some fulfillment in his life at stinking yard sales when the greatest treasure, the greatest gift he will ever find, is already sitting in his front seat.
Out on the tar plains, the glides are moving
Oh looking for a new place to drive
You sit beside me, so newly charming
Sweating dewdrops glisten and freshen your side
And the sun drips down bedding heavy behind
The front of your dress is all shadowy lined
And the droning engine throbs in time
With your beating heart
Wait! One more “Rio” reference:
UFO girl from a previous posting?
While Googling “Rio”, I randomly happened across this image:
Yep, she’s Brazilian. And probably sitting on the beaches of Rio right now. If you weren’t distracted by the UFO, she’s waiting for you to ask her out.
And guess what… Brazilian girls, yes Brazilian girls, actually frown at revealing nudity at the beach. They know it’s a private gift as well, and on a beach filled with unbelievably hot women wearing unbelievably skimpy bikinis, they need to make it as special as possible.
Carrie, I’m sorry for looking at your naked body without your permission. And, if you think I’ve in some way stolen or diminished your super awesome naked power, let me point out to you
IT’S STILL WORKING.
Hey now, whew! Look at that!
Very nearly run you down.
At that the end of the drive, the lawmen arrive
You make me feel alive, alive, alive!
I’ll take my chance, because luck is on my side or something
I know what you’re thinking
I’ll tell you something
I know what you’re thinking
Her name is Rio, and she dances on the sand
Just like that river twists across a dusty land
And when she shines, she really shows you all she can
Oh Rio, Rio dance across the Rio Grande
In the mean time, stay tuned for PLANET OF THE LOST (6): Beware of Sleestak.
And, oh hey… do you have like five bucks I can borrow?