Archive for September, 2007

The Dick Summer Connection – September 30, 2007

Saturday, September 29th, 2007

Here’s my report on our Vegas trip: Vegas is a shining example of the fact that guys cannot look at a half naked woman…and think at the same time. That doesn’t mean we’re stupid. It just means that because of that pesky testosterone, we tend to ACT stupid…even highly sophisticated guys such as Bill Clinton and myself.By the way, let me make an important point here…I always talk about Louie-Louie Generation Guys and Girls…I don’t use the term men and women. People have complained about that. Lemme explain: I don’t think of myself as a MAN. I’m a guy…and the song Louie-Louie has been an important part of the sound track of my life. Therefore, I am proud to be a Louie-Louie Generation guy. And I don’t call my Lady Wonder Wench a WOMAN. She’s my GIRLFRIEND. People who always insist on being called Men or Women need to relax. As “Big Louie, His Own Bad Self” always says…”You people have gotta grab a grin.”

We are hurtling down the path to holier than thou-ness. Think… “The Big Don Imus Scandal.” It’s like grown up, dignified, stuffy MEN and WOMEN have this haunting fear that somewhere, someone may actually be LAUGHING !

Look at it this way…it was a group of grown up and totally dignified MEN who got us to the moon. What did they do when they got there? They hit golf balls. Ten zillion dollars for one round of golf. On the other hand, it was probably some guy who just got fired who invented moon-ing. Let me ask you, which is the cheaper, and far more practical, activity in our everyday lives?

I do like the word I saw on the men’s room door at the Houston Airport, though…”Hombre.” That sounds like a guy with a serious Western wardrobe who knows how to mosey his way around the square dance floor with the ladies. Hombre is a good word for a guy.

But the word “woman” always reminds me of my Aunt Eva, who was a good woman in the absolutely worst sense of the word. She would always pick- pick- pick. “Don’t let the dog lick your face.” “Put that BB gun away, you’ll put somebody’s eye out.” “Don’t spit in your soup.” (I wasn’t spitting in my soup. I was just blowing on it to cool it off. But I seriously considered spitting in HER soup.)

And to further confound the Forces For Good In The Community, I have always really liked the word “girl.” Expensive, professional people who know things…psychologists and talk show hosts for example… would probably tell you that it’s an association that I must have made back in kindergarten when…at one wonderful recess…I discovered that people like Jeannie Campbell weren’t just soft boys. They were called GIRLS.

Just this past week in Vegas, I was sitting by the pool and a James Bond-type GIRL wriggled past…with high heels, sunglasses, and her little poodle. She had on a tiny black thong bikini under a transparent black lace blouse…her long blonde hair was swept up and held in place by a fancy comb. It was just like the GIRL from Ipanema…every guy she passed said ahhhhhh. (By the way, if they had called that song the Woman From Ipanema, it wouldn’t have been a hit. Hell, it wouldn’t have even fit the rhythm of the rhyme.) My Lady Wonder Wench was right there, and she didn’t mind that gurgling sound I must have been making…in fact, she giggled…and that is such a lovely sound. And she knows I wouldn’t swap her giggle for any girl’s wriggle.

But the “Vegas Girl” that made the biggest impression on me was Bettina, the Hoover Dam tour bus driver. She’s about five feet tall and probably weighs in at around 99 pounds…and she could sling that big bus around like it was a tricycle. She was a funny, professional, single mom with five kids. I remember she was pointing out a big house belonging to Celine Dion…and Bettina was saying Ms. Dion is starring in one of the shows in town…and I was thinking…girl…if you want to see a real star, tilt your rear view mirror down and take a look at yourself. At the end of the tour, two people stiffed her…didn’t give her a tip…she smiled at them anyway. W.Wench and I double tipped her.

We saw the Celine Dion show. It was weird. Ms. Dion is a modestly talented singer with a somewhat screechy voice, a bit of a French accent…which has obviously made her a huge star with people from Montreal… and a high powered merchandising campaign. Right inside the entrance to the theater was a life size statue of Ms. Dion, and for a significant financial consideration, a photographer would take your picture with the statue…and you could tell the folks back home in Iowa that you and Celine were just hanging out one evening. What happens in Vegas…isn’t what you think happens in Vegas.

But the highlight of the trip for me was a little two-year-old kid by the name of Trey. Trey’s dad and mom are friends of ours who live in L.A. They came out to visit while we were in town. Trey’s real name is Robert. Robert Anthony. But he is the third generation Robert in the family, so everybody calls him Trey. He looks exactly like his dad… right down to the expressions on his face and the way he walks…kind of a strut that leans from one side to the other every time he takes a step. Being two, Trey understands that the entire world was made just so he’d have someplace to explore…and like any healthy two-year-old boy, he sometimes explores pretty fast in some very un-predictable directions. One of the cocktail waitresses caught his eye…as I said, he’s a lot like his dad. Anyway…he peeled off in one of those high speed scoots right in the casino…and I caught him…and hoisted him up on my shoulder…and he did it. He did that two-year-old laugh. A big, loud, combination squeal, wiggle, and giggle. It was just an instant that Trey won’t remember. But I will. It was the highlight of my trip. I liked being a dad…all those Louie-Louie years ago.

Dick’s Details Quiz – All answers are in the current PodCast at

1- What do you apply to somebody else’s arm pits in Vegas?

2- What’s a good word to describe somebody who no longer has a pig snout nose?

3- If the idiots who “run with the bulls” in Spain each year had any guts, what would they do instead?

Scoring :

3 right – You star in the next “Oceans” movie with George Clooney.

2- right – They call you Poker Pappa at Caesar’s.

1- right – “Bingo” at Our Lady of Perpetual Agony’s Thursday game.

0- right – “Slapjack” in a game with Trey.

Thanks to everybody who sent “Las Vegas” bits when I mentioned I was going on this trip. I used some in the PodCast. If you’ve got a comment or suggestion…or a good bit you’d like to send, my e-mail is  .

I’d love to hear from you.

The Dick Summer Connection – September 16, 2007

Saturday, September 15th, 2007

When you have an immature mind in a Louie-Louie Generation body…as would appear to be the case with me, it seems that just when you’re beginning to get your head together, your fanny falls off. The doctors tell us that we’re supposed to get our blood pressure and our heart rate down. And how are we supposed to do that? By exercising regularly, which gets your heart rate and blood pressure up.

What am I missing here ?A few months ago, my doctor felt that one of the things I was missing was a stress test. He said, “It could save your life.” I said, “Okay, you’re the doctor.” So he said, “Here, sign this paper first.” I said, “What does it say?” He said, “Oh…nothing much…really.” That put my Brooklyn upbringing on high alert. When you’re from N.Y.C., you tend to look behind people’s pleasant smiles to see if all their teeth are filed to a point. For example, there is a theory in Brooklyn that doctors are always telling us to get thin, so they can save on X rays, by just holding us up to a strong light. But…I whipped out my reading specs, and I saw that the paper basically said that this potentially life saving stress test could have a rare but significant side effect. It could kill you. And if that happens, by signing that paper I was agreeing to hold everyone in the room harmless. I figured, if I die, what the hell do I care about everybody in the room. And besides I am actually semi-proud of what’s left of this only slightly decaying former life guard body of mine…so I said… “Okay-let’s do it.”

They put you on a treadmill, and every five minutes they speed the thing up and increase the angle to make it harder. Pretty soon I started sweating, but I was doing okay. I said “What’s the record for this?” The doctor said, 27 minutes for this one. I was up to around 17 minutes by that time, so I put my head down and started trucking… and…they STOPPED THE MACHINE! I said, “What are you doing?” He said, “That’s all we need to see.” I said, “THAT’S NOT ALL I NEED TO SEE. I was a Coney Island ocean life guard. I had a six and a half pack of abs in those days. In fact, just the other night after my shower, I distinctly saw an ab peek through the Twinkie section right behind my navel. It was there for a good five seconds before it ducked back in. And I WANT TO SET A NEW RECORD HERE !”

He gave one of those wise Doctor chuckles…and then he said it… those words every Louie-Louie Generation guy dreads. He said… “You’re in great shape…for a man your age”…and he looked at me sadly…this fifteen year old doctor who probably recently had his braces removed…but whose zits hadn’t yet entirely healed…and I realized that he couldn’t tell the difference between me and one of those guys who grow a tuft of hair behind one ear till it’s several feet long, wraps it around his head like a turban, and hair sprays it into something like a football helmet.

But I am not one of those guys. I have plenty of hair…except for a little place on the back of my head that my Lady Wonder Wench calls my “adorable bald spot.” I didn’t even see it until that terrorist barber held a mirror up to show me his work a few years ago. To me, it just looks like the solar panel for a heavy duty love machine. Lots of guys who have plenty of juice left have adorable little bald spots in the same place. Arnold Schwartzenegger has one. So does Bill Clinton. Rabbis and bishops all have one, but they wear those little caps over them. But they’re there. Nothing wrong with a little bald spot. Bald and silver are the new blonde.

And while we’re at it, there’s no reason for a Louie-Louie Generation guy or girl to go nuts with that treadmill stuff either. As long as that little dimple on your knee isn’t your belly button, you’re all right. Relax. Kick your shoes off…who cares if you’re not wearing socks. At our age, we don’t have to wear socks if we don’t feel like it…loosen your belt (if you can still find it) because that’s what Louie-Louie Generation ladies like…a confident, relaxed guy…maybe with a little money. You don’t need to look like George Clooney…although my Lady Wonder Wench says that would be nice. But SMART women understand that us Louie-Louie Generation guys know more about loving than all those Hollywood hunks. Of course, the most important thing we know is that we don’t really know very much.

Dick’s Details Quiz – All the answers are in the current podcast at

1- What service do the three people annually who die from testing a battery with their tongues do for their country?

2- Why do coconuts give sharks an inferiority complex in Florida?

3- What does Big Louie, his own bad self, say is as powerful as God?


3 – right – Good blood pressure and good heart rate.

2 – right – High blood pressure and high heart rate.

1 – right – THAR SHE BLOWS !

0 – right – Zero blood pressure and zero heart rate.

We have enough copies of the new “Spend The Night With Dick Summer” mp3 PodCast disc out now to do a reasonably good beta test. I’ll post the comments when they come in.

Any comments…drop me an E-mail -  







The Dick Summer Connection – September 9, 2007

Sunday, September 9th, 2007

Big Louie, his own bad self, has just released a new video to his colleagues in the Louie-Louie Generation. His message is: “The more seriously you take yourself, the funnier you look.” I’ve never had a problem with that. I don’t mind being considered immature. That’s what I am.

When I see a lot of geese flying, I can’t help thinking that means down is up. When I see my Lady Wonder Wench dressed… “comfortably,” I lose control of my eyebrows and my fingers. I cannot help these things. I’m only a testosterone soaked Louie-Louie Generation guy.

Life is like licking honey off a thorn. Gotta be careful, but it can be fun. For example, the other day I couldn’t find a matching sock. So I just took the sock in my hand to my neighbor Randy’s house, and while he and his wife Bernadette were talking to my Lady Wonder Wench, I excused myself and went to his bathroom, and slipped my remaining sock into his laundry basket. I figured, let him go nuts looking for the other one. Serves him right for letting his kid disable my intercontinental plastic potato launcher with super glue. I have a small aquarium. The other night we had a party, and before the guests arrived, I tossed some very thin carrot slices into the water. When my buddy Al rang the doorbell, I opened the door and grabbed a couple of carrot slices out of the water, swallowed one and asked him if he’d like to eat the other one. He said, “Very funny…but suppose you grabbed one of the real fish by mistake?” So I just said I’d have thrown it back in, grabbed one of the carrot slices, and claimed the first fish was too small.

My friend Doug down the block has a joke going with his boss. The boss always dresses well. He even wears a stylish and expensive hat. So Doug bought two hats just like it, but different sizes. Every day Doug replaces the boss’s hat with one of the hats he bought. The next day he puts the boss’s real hat back. He’s literally messing up the boss’s head.

Another friend of mine, Jerry, is going to be the best man at his brother Kurt’s wedding. He’s planning on taking a felt pen the night before the ceremony, and he’s going to print the word “HELP” on the sole of Kurt’s shoes, the part just in front of the heel that doesn’t touch the ground…so when Kurt kneels down at the ceremony, the people in the first few rows will have something to read.

You don’t even have to figure out ways to entertain yourself…just keep your eyes open. In the sports page of yesterday’s local paper, a headline read, “St. John the Baptist Wins Girl’s Title, 6-2.” Don’t you have to wonder if the guys at the Vatican know about this development? My idiot neighbor Steve has been trying to convince me that the bigger a woman’s breasts are, the less intelligence she has. IDIOT ! The fact is, I have noticed that the bigger a woman’s breasts are the less intelligence Steve has. Steve comes from a broken family…I think he’s probably the one who broke it.

My Dad taught me everything I know. Unfortunately, he didn’t teach me everything he knew. But one lesson he always taught did manage to sink in. Hypocrites are hilarious. Recently, certain Forces For Good In The Community (F.F.G.I.T.C.) decided that Proctor and Gamble and Warner Lambert were promoting indecency by sponsoring certain tv shows. They were basically saying that Crest was retarding cavities, but promoting moral decay. So I guess we’ll have to watch for some changes to their products. For example, Folger’s coffee will be completely decaffeinated to avoid even a hint of stimulation. And Crest will have a new notice on the tube saying, “If the Lord wants your teeth to rot, we’re not going to interfere.” Alka-Seltzer will market a new version that will offer absolutely no relief to a sinner who has eaten, boozed, and debauched himself into an upset stomach and headache. And Don Imus will be allowed back on the air…with his new co-host Al Sharpton.

My best buddy Fred writes a political blog. Fred is in favor of the death penalty for littering. He has a plastic statue of Ann Coulter on the dashboard of his car. His solution to the situations in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, North Korea, China, The Philippines, Venezuela, Mexico and Canada is, “Nuke ‘em.” We have been friends for decades, but we were getting to the point where I was actually avoiding his calls with that crap. Then I remembered Big Louie’s statement…”The more seriously you take yourself, the sillier you look.” And I realized that was exactly what I was doing. Taking myself too seriously.

I’ll be voting in the next election. But beyond that, what difference does it make that I think all wars are simply self destructive?…I think they don’t accomplish a single thing in the long run. I don’t think it would have made much of a difference to us today if we had even lost the Revolutionary War…except maybe we’d be speaking better English. I don’t think anybody won the two World Wars. And whatever you call it, what’s going on in Iraq right now is simply stupid. And…it doesn’t matter in the least. My viewpoints aren’t going to change anything… any more than the people who scream at you on talk radio are going to change anything…or the people who write the oh-so- serious editorials in the papers, the magazines and the blogs. And you know what’s really silly? Taking myself so seriously almost cost me a real friend over stuff that has absolutely no practical and personal meaning at all. Chalk it up to a testosterone attack. If you have one of those that lasts more than just a few minutes, go rent a Monte Python movie.

Dick’s Details Quiz – All answers are available in the current PodCast at 

1- What’s the new cure for hiccups?

2- What did Henry Ford say was his reason for growing marijuana?

3- Why do all grown up guys’ laughs sound pretty much the same?


3 – right – a year’s supply of thin carrot slices for your fish tank.

2 – right – a six pack of felt pens for writing on your friend’s soles.

1 – right – one spare sock.

0 – right – a lifetime subscription to “Let’s Get Serious Digest.”

“Seriously…” thank you to quite a few of you who said you’d help me with my new project…”Spend The Night With Dick Summer.” It’s almost seven hours of the most downloaded “Good Night” PodCasts on one MP3 disk. The deal is, I’ll send you a free copy if you’ll promise to fill out a one page survey about what you honestly like or don’t like about it. The offer is still good. Just drop me an Email at -   That’s also the Email address to which you can address all your feelings about my leftist leaning liberal comments…or anything else you feel like spouting off about. I look forward to seeing from you.









The Dick Summer Connection – September 1, 2007

Saturday, September 1st, 2007

My Lady Wonder Wench is the kind of woman who causes “The Weatherby Effect” in guys. Here’s the story: Dr. Karen Weatherby just published an article in the New England Journal of Medicine that said “10 minutes of staring at the charms of a well endowed female is good for men’s health and makes men live longer.” This was a five year study of 200 men who volunteered…strictly in the interests of science, of course… to check out a series of busty beauties every day…and doing that gave those guys lower blood pressure, less heart disease, and slower pulse rates… compared to a no doubt deeply resentful test group of other guys who didn’t even get to take a peek.What could be better than this? We now have scientific proof that dedicated drooling over a beautiful woman for just ten minutes every day… cuts a guy’s risk of a stroke and heart attack in half… and that could add four to five years to the average guy’s life. And think of what a wonderful FOUR TO FIVE YEARS those will be. This is going to change the world as we know it.

Dr. Weatherby says just 10 minutes of staring at a nicely curved woman is roughly equivalent to 30 minutes of aerobic exercise….That brings a whole new meaning to the idea of a “stare master workout,” doesn’t it. The good…no, the magnificent Doctor Weatherby says that’s because sexual excitement gets the heart pumping and improves blood circulation, and THAT LOWERS BLOOD PRESSURE.

Imagine the wonderful changes this will make to the way lady personal trainers will dress for work? Gym memberships will soar. I wonder how this will impact the kind of prescriptions doctors write… “go to Hooters twice every day and come back next week and tell me all about it…in complete detail…take pictures if you can. After all, I’ve got to be careful to keep my blood pressure down too.” I bet this research will even affect the personal life of gynecologists…They’re supposed to be professionally immune to the splendor of sexy women, but since this report, I wouldn’t be surprised if when a gynecologist gets home after a hard day’s work, his wife will take his blood pressure just to be sure it’s still dangerously high.

The only problem I see with this research is that, as I said, my lady Wonder Wench is exactly the kind of woman who has this kind of an effect on guys. Since kindergarten, I have developed a legendary ability to play well with others…but I never really got to be awfully good at sharing…especially when we’re talking about Wonder Wench.

Ms. Wench stays in excellent shape because she’s very athletic. She rides her horse these days. But when I met her she was a skier. That’s a sport I could never understand. You strap a pair of slippery sticks on your feet, climb on an icy chair dangling from a clothesline, which hurls you over 3,000 foot cliffs, and up a mountain so steep the mountain goats are wearing parachutes. Then you slide back down the same mountain at 60 mph, using two sticks to steer between the trees and boulders and other skiers who are stuck in the snow… screaming because they can’t move… having broken their legs and arms and medically expensive internal organs. And if you don’t die zooming over one of those cliffs, you arrive at the bottom of the mountain…and that’s where… for women who look like W. Wench…the real danger lurks…in the form of ski instructors, red corvette convertible drivers, vacationing tennis pros, and jazz piano players. I was always especially suspicious of jazz piano players around Wonder Wench. Think about what they do for a living. 88 keys, with only ten fingers. I don’t want W. Wench getting too close to one of those guys.

I have never understood why, if just looking at a woman can and does get a man all sweaty, just looking at a man doesn’t have the same effect on a woman. Wonder Wench says she just looks at a guy’s face, and listens to his voice. And I believe her. On the other hand… even after all these years together, when I look at her, it sometimes takes me a while to get all the way up to her face. I know…that’s sexist. You know what…I think if you belong to one sex or another, everything you think is sexist. Because your sex shapes your entire life. It does for me, anyway. It’s not politically correct, but it works for me.

Look…if Mary, Jane, Alice, and Joan go out for lunch, they will call each other Mary, Jane, Alice and Joan. If Mike, Bob, Joe and Al go out for lunch, they will call each other Fat Boy, Godzilla, Peanut Head and Useless. Women’s magazines are full of advice. Not men’s magazines. Women want to learn. We figure we know what we need to know…just show me somebody naked. Guys don’t wear tight underwear because that would cut off the circulation to our brains.

Dick’s Details Quiz – All answers are in the current PodCast at 

1- Why would women rather undress in front of a man rather than in front of another woman?

2- How do we know that Polar bears are left handed?

3- What’s the nicest thing a guy can give to a beautiful, busty babe?


3 – Right – Doctor Weatherby is your personal physician.

2 – Right – Doctor Westheimer is your personal physician.

1 – Right – Doctor Boat is your personal physician.

0 – Right – Doctor Kevorkian is your personal physician.

HELP, HELP, HELP WANTED – I’m looking for some volunteers to try a new mp3 adventure. I’ve just recorded a single mp3 disc with 27 of the most downloaded “Goodnight” PodCasts. It’s a project I’m calling “Spend The Night With Dick Summer”…because it’s almost seven hours long. I’d like to send you a free copy, with one string attached… I’ll ask you to fill out a short report to let me know what you liked and what you didn’t like about it. If you’re interested, send me an E-mail …