The Dick Summer Connection – June 24, 2007

Last week’s Toy Boy PodCast struck home. Lots of E-mails about favorite toys. Proud PodCast Participant “R.J.S.” said, “I had a push pedal toy airplane. All the other kids had push pedal cars, but I had a push pedal airplane with wings and a propeller that went around when I peddled.” Good for you “R.J.S.”. If I ever get the wings put back on it, I’ll have a real airplane again, and I hope to hell the propeller still goes around on it like it did before that idiot in the SUV hit it.

“Harry The Hat” said, “I just got a box of flat top golf tees. They’re for friends who are always mooching tees from you. The tops are flat and angled so you can’t tee up the ball.” Harry, that’s pretty good, but if I were a golfer, I’d have some fake golf balls made of compressed talc to lend to the other guys. When they hit it, it would explode. That’s the Toy Boy Touch.

“PodCast Pete” said, “I had the coolest electric train set in the world. It was HO Gauge, so it had only two rails, and I had ten switches and two bridges, and a train station built into a hill. Ha…Pete. I had the BMT Subway in Brooklyn. A zillion switches, fifty bridges, and seven hundred stations, complete with winos, blind accordion players and guys with shifty eyes selling knock-off watches. Thank you for your E-mails, but regardless of your feeble attempts to unseat me…. I AM STILL TOY BOY.And Toy Boy lives in the suburbs of Louie-Louie Heaven. I don’t live right downtown, because the only one allowed to live in the actual downtown part of heaven is Big Louie His Own Bad Self. But these suburbs are good too…not perfect…but really good.

Here’s what I mean. My sexy Lady Wonder Wench came home this evening….now if this were downtown heaven, that would be the end of the sentence because I wouldn’t show you the rest. But this is just the imperfect suburbs, so here’s the rest of the sentence: My sexy Lady Wonder Wench came home this evening…and she said, “I’ve really had it all the way up to here with all the idiots out there…I’m so glad to be home…LEAVE ME ALONE.”

It is at times like these when grown up, sophisticated, Louie-Louie Generation guys fall back on the wisdom and trickery for which we are so well known. The wisdom part was easy in this case. Wonder Wench is a very sexy lady and could at any moment take off and marry Donald Trump or Clint Eastwood if she wanted to. So I was very glad she was glad to be home.

The trickery part was a little harder…but I think I got it worked out pretty well by developing “Summer’s Semi Sleazies.” (Details in the current PodCast.) Young guys can’t come up with coping mechanisms like the good ol’ “Sleazies” simply because they haven’t had time to develop enough sleaze. Louie-Louie guys are living proof that getting older is not all good, but it’s not all bad either.

It’s true that time is flying past, but it’s also true that I can cope with time flying because I’m a pilot. Literally…with a license and a little plane…assuming we get her put back together. We live in a nice house in a friendly neighborhood, except for Steve up the block who is a dedicated pain in the ass. We have great kids. Wonder Wench has a horse. I have a day job that I really love…and on the side, I produce my story CDs and even sell a few. I had a career in radio that I’m proud of, and another as a Hypnotherapist in which I also did ok…so no complaints to Big Louie are due .

Of course, time flies and it takes your body with it…but with me at least, it has been one piece at a time…and so far it’s saving the important stuff for last. I think lots of how your body works depends on where your head is at.

However…as I said… this is the OUTSKIRTS of heaven…the suburbs… so little imperfections do exist. When Wonder Wench came home, she said…”leave me alone.” I think she was giving me some kind of hint. I am not good at hints. No guys are good at hints…even grown up, sophisticated, Louie-Louie Generation guys.

My buddy Al missed a hint a number of years ago, and that developed into a full fledged lovers quarrel, because he didn’t understand the hint. The hint was that she said nothing…for about a week. Why do women say nothing? Why don’t they say things like let’s go to bed and have sex? They don’t. They say nothing. Sometimes for a week. Al, of course, had no idea she was upset until all of a sudden he noticed that she was hurling all his possessions out the window and screaming something in Peruvian. One of his golf clubs and a couple of plates hit a passing pedestrian, sending him to a hospital…which is why to this day Al says it’s a good thing when you’re living with a young Peruvian woman to get a ground floor apartment furnished with light weight, easy to hurl plastic plates and bean bag couches.

You live and learn. I have become better than Al at taking hints. I realize, for example, that the words “leave me alone” mean it is probably not the time to suggest that my Lady Wonder Wench try on the little stringy black see-through thing I just bought her from the Victoria’s Secret catalogue. I did that once, and the conversation turned quite quickly to the possibility of a do-it-yourself removal of organs to which I have become quite accustomed. As I said, this is only the outskirts of Big Louie’s heaven.

By the way, have you ever noticed that none of the girls in the Victoria’s Secret catalogue seem to be saying “leave me alone”?..but I’ll bet that one of Victoria’s best kept secrets is that they all have done so…probably on more than one occasion.

Without reducing this to the level of Hustler Magazine…it has always seemed to me that one of natures’ jokes on guys is that ladies’ private parts are so well…hidden. It’s like nature has given us this life long giant game of hide and seek. Their private parts are all inside…which seems to me is where private parts belong. Women don’t even say “private parts.” All they say is, “down there.” Our private parts are all hanging out…and they are totally out of control. The only time we say “down there” is when the Viagra kicks in and she’s still in the bathroom fixing her hair. And under those circumstances, “down there” has a whole different meaning.

And science is absolutely no help with this problem. Scientists say that sex is all about passing along our genes…that’s why we have sex. They say women look for guys who will protect them and their children, and we look for women who will have fine, healthy kids.

BS. In my experience, women look for rich rock stars, and men look for nymphomaniacs who are on the pill. But we usually settle for the best we can get. And pretty often…that’s pretty good.

As I said…Big Louie isn’t going to hear any complaints from me.

Dick’s Details Quiz – All answers are available in the current PodCast at www.DickSummer.com

1- What happens when you lift the seat on a toilet equipped with the new WC Ghost ?

2- Why is it probably better not to bring your jumentous with you on a date ?

3- What good is banging your head against a wall ?

Scoring:

3 right – Louie-Louie Heavenly Suburb.

2 right – New York City.

1 right – Santa Barbara, California.

0 right – Jersey City, N.J.

Thank you for jumping in on the Dick Summer Connection. Hope you’ll also click on the Good Night PodCast. Would love to hear from you… unless you are Donald Trump or Clint Eastwood. Both of you guys… just keep your hands off Wonder Wench. My E-mail address is dick@dicksummer.com  

 

 

 

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