As If Summoned From The Ether, Roy Head Is Back With Another Adventure

SOMEWHERE IN TEXAS, SOMEWHEN IN THE SEVENTIES

“Maybe you haven’t heard of Texas. Perhaps you’ve forgotten the Alamo, despite strict instructions to the contrary. Could be you’re in a coma, or sucking soma, or was educated in Oklahoma. There’s a chance that the open skies, plains, and roads are as foreign to you as Shrinky-Dinks to an Etruscan. Our legends are legion, but even this world’s nooks have crannies, and the day is full of the benighted.

“Ignorance got more fathers than the Vatican cafeteria on pizza night.

“My heart went out to these casualties of causality, and so I became an apostle for Abilene, a proselytizer for Plainview, a missionary for Midland. I considered  evangelizing for El Paso, but the only good thing about El Paso is not being there. Every stage I sang sweetly upon, every theater in which my thighs thundered: these were revival halls dedicated not to the Body of Christ, but to Corpus Christi. When I danced, my crazy, hazy, dazy, never-lazy legs were Dallas and Fort Worth, with Arlington dangling in between. The crowds came to a Roy Head show to hear the hits, but I was showing ’em the sights.

“Yes, that Roy Head. You should’ve heard of me.

“I was on the road when I heard the news that Pappy Dolarhyde had passed. He was the Congressman what served my hometown Cascabel and her surrounding surroundings and his passing got me a-going. Who better to shoulder the task? Who more appropriate to wear the title, which I assumed was ‘Your Fancifulness” or “The Man What Makes The Crops Flourish.” I will freely admit that neither the nitty nor the gritty of day-to-day governance was within my mind’s command at the time.

“But where I lacked facts, I had friends.

“Big Bucktoothed Pete’s grasp of civics was rivaled only by Skippy Joe’s political cunning! Combining these with my baby-pressing and flesh-kissing gifts made for a team from which the Oak Ridge Boys would cower, even the bearded fellow. My status as the naivest of naifs led Big Bucktoothed Pete to declare I needed to go back to school, but this is Texas, so we immediately hired Louie Grabass as our football coach. He installed the Spread offense and we were forced to let him go.

“You got a changa, the man will chimi it; beyond that, he’s useful as tits on a turtle.

“My mind swam like a swami: not well. I was made for showboating, not voting! There were numbers to remember, rules to memorize, and it turns out I would not be allowed to wear my shiny finery. I could not, according to Big Bucktoothed Pete’s polling, let loose with my trademark sexy-screaming at any point during my stump speech. Compounding my disinterest, I was forbidden from noting what word ‘stump’ rhymes with. No dancing! No prancing! No motel-maid romancing! I felt as dickless as Wonder Woman’s bicycle seat!

“I had become disillusioned before had a chance to get illusioned.

“But Roy Head is a patriot! And I wanted to be called wonderful names and be forgiven my trespasses, even when I trespass at the golf course and make my business in the holes. Instead of shouting, ‘Fore!’ I yell ‘Two!’and I saw my life stretch out in front of me. I was making my business in every hole in every golf course in the district, and no one could say ‘Boo.’ A few simple votes, and I would be unto a god. I resolved to buckle down, like a pilgrim’s hat that could sing real good. I considered the Constitution, and I devoured insatiably the Declaration of Independence, setting aside time to ramble through the Preamble. I studied Black’s Law until my eyes went white.

“Then Big Bucktoothed Pete told me that elections don’t have nothing to do with that stuff.

“We went on the road, as we’d done so often before. Out of habit, I brought along a full band with a horn section. The trumpet player was a Mexican fellow and he fulfilled roles other than the high voicing of the brass arrangement. In some towns, he translated my salutatory salutations to the crowd, and in others I would shout “Look! An Illegal!” at him, and begin chase. My message was as specifically tailored as a one-armed midget’s tuxedo. I do, however, take pride in the fact that I was only ever as racist as necessary, and not one iota more.

“Politicians lead, but campaigners read the room.

“My district was small by Texas standards, only seven hours across, and we crissed that cross a dozen times over and started back up again. This is where Skippy Joe’s savage savvy came into play. Armed with nothing but some bunting, a couple hundred bucks, and a washing machine he had stolen in Lubbock, he could turn any venue into a political parlor. Skippy Joe would hog-tie the local bigwigs, metaphorically or not, and turn out the press from the bars. No crowd has ever been more competently wrangled. On the occasion of debates, he coldcocked my rivals.

“Except for getting within sniffing distance of the donations, Skippy Joe did it all.

“Election Day drew nigh, and drew it real well, too. Gave nigh big sloppy garbanzos, and we took it as a good sign. Having returned to our campaign headquarters at Miss Rosa’s, we cast the line of our conversation into the river of legislative dreams, and pulled out bills that would make a bear salivate. Upon my inaugurationing, I could do something for the people of Cascabel and her surrounding surroundings. Find funds to hire a replacement for Spots, the basset hound that taught English at Cascabel High. Raise the speed limit to Get to it, Texan. Big Bucktoothed Pete had some fascinating ideas about developing downtown, or at least designating a section of Cascabel as ‘downtown.’ Skippy Joe requested that I legalize it, and refused to name his pronoun’s antecedent.

“Louis Grabass’ opinions were neither asked for nor accepted.

“The polls opened in mere hours! I had knocked on every door, and wriggled in through three windows. If a voter whistled, I stopped, and there was no more stomp to my stump. Nothing more could be done, so we did what we could do and drank wild and imaginative politically-themed cocktails. We had Abe Lincolns, which are shots that go straight to your head. We also had John Kennedys, which are the same concoction, but after you drink it you argue about what happened. We sipped Bella Abzugs, which are equal parts gin and chutzpah. We ordered Woodrow Wilsons, which is where your wife finishes your drink for you. Finally, we switched to Ted Kennedys.

“A Ted Kennedy is a bucket with nine or ten handles of booze in it.

“We came to in the ever-familiar drunk tank late the next day! Skippy Joe still had his washing machine, but the Mexican trumpet player was missing and presumed eaten! Furthermore, it came to our groggy attention that my name was not on the ballot! Big Bucktoothed Pete had neglected to sign me up with the proper authorities! It was a matter of principle with him, he said! He didn’t believe government should intrude into politics!

“Needless to say, I did not achieve the sought-after post!”

…

“Son, I’m only gonna ask you this one more time: do you have anything to confess or not?”

“MY DREAM OF UNFETTERED GOLF HOLE DOOKIES WAS NEVER TO BE!”

“Are you even Catholic?”