Tag: roy head (Page 4 of 4)

In the end, we’re all just angels with broken wings, Roy.

All jokes aside: you need to listen to this right now.

I am now officially intrigued why a man with those moves, and that voice, and that look, and that name was not a bigger star.

SOMEWHERE IN TEXAS, SOMEWHEN IN THE SEVENTIES

“I remember my first rodeo. What an exciting day: my daddy took me and I rode a little sheep and stayed on the whole time. I was 26 years old and 6’3”. Plus, I wrapped my mutant legs all the way ’round that sheep two or three times.

“I could still be on him today, if it was of my choosing.

“So, when Big Bucktoothed Pete and Skippy Joe came by and asked me to invest in a rodeo, well: my checkbook was open. And it’s one of those old-fashioned rich-guy checkbooks with the leather case and the real long checks, because I’m Roy Head. Yes, that Roy Head.

“You should have heard of me.

“Big Bucktoothed Pete rented the land and Skippy Joe built the stands and the gates and the chutes and then a small medical building next door. Skippy Joe took amphetamines and built stuff, man. Guy’s drug addiction was useful: bought him an eight-ball one weekend and by Monday morning, the Mrs. was soapin’ up real good in her new steam shower. He also built a treehouse for the kids.

“It should not surprise you that Skippy Joe is dead.

“Me? Well, I threw some bucking broncos in my robin’s egg blue Lincoln Continental and hit that open highway to the show. First of all, that says a lot about the roominess and comfort that one can only find in a Lincoln Continental: Roy Head only drives cars Presidents done died in. Second of all, I did crash that robin’s egg blue Lincoln Continental, killing all them broncos.

“Horses scream just the same way men do.

“Now, I will admit freely to carousing with these broncos before we got in the car to head down to the rodeo: Roy Head ain’t never told no lie, ‘specially when it comes to carousing. All’s I need is a strong drink and a dumb woman and I’m happy. So I will state before the Lord and y’all today that them horses and I were having a party and drinking Triple Crowns. That concoction is two parts whiskey, one part carrot juice, one part oats; then a midget jumps on your back and rides you around in a circle.

“I should have let one of the broncos drive.

“Their deaths are on my conscience! I hear their hoofbeats behind me, stalking me, running me down to Hell! They shall bear my soul down to the netherworld, I have seen it and plus a gypsy woman once agreed with me when I told her the story! The world shall remember my freakish flubber-legs, but the horses will remember a monster!”

…

“Sir, you’re going to have to leave the petting zoo.”

“DON’T MAKE ME LEAVE THE RODEO, DADDY HEAD!”

“You’re scaring the children and goats, sir.”

“Officer, I know why you’ve stopped me: it’s because I’m Roy Head. Yes, that Roy Head. You should have heard of me.

“You halt my vehicular momentum, Officer, and for what? The speeding? The collisions? The fact that you already stopped me ’bout ten minutes back and I stole your cop car, forcing you to give chase in my Canary Yellow Cadillac Coupe de Ville that I call Tweetybird?

“I personally imported the seat leather from Corinthia.

“Officer, if there’s two things this world knows about Joe Head, it’s that he’s a musical genius with legs that go wibble and wobble, and that he respects our policemen and our firemen, and once jacked it to a police lady, and there ain’t no such thing as fireladies in Texas in the 1970’s.

“If there were a firelady, I’d jack it to her, though. I ain’t prejudiced.

“Knowing that is to know that Joe Head could never lie to no policeman: I have had a beer or two this evening. Also, this afternoon.  I had no beers this morning, though. Mostly cuz me and Shipps and Big Fuzzy had mixed ourselves up a gallon or so of Santa Anas. A Santa Ana is a tequila and Dr. Pepper shot followed by a punch in the face by a Mexican fella.

“They’ll get on top of ya.

“Officer, I may be a sinner but I ain’t no criminal! Speed me on my way or I’ll exercise my rights, damn you! Gonna sic Slippy and Sloppy on ya! That’s what I call my freakish rubber-legs, Slippy and Sloppy, and you’re about to see ’em in action, lawman! Where’s Slippy? He’s behind you! Where’s Sloppy go? Sloppy in the dadgum backseat! Of a GOT-damn Cadillac Coupe de Ville!

“That’s a good five six yards, Officer.

“I need you to tell my magic legs and my purposeful mutton-chops to be on their way, and I’ll go with them. I will not relinquish my freedom to love and smoke and love to smoke to you! Lemme out your clutches!”

…

“Sir, this is the McDonald’s drive-through. Can I get you some food?”

“BRING ME SPAGHETTI AND MEATBALLS!”

“I’m gonna get the manager.”

Just in case you were wondering where the last piece of nonsense came from: Holy shit, look at Roy Head. Also: look at Roy’s head.

When the aliens get here, if their first question is, “What was Texas like in the 70’s?” then we can just give them this album cover and move on to the next issue. Sure, that will most likely not be the first–or even second, if we’re honest–question that the aliens ask, but how many times in life does a concrete solution present itself?

A ROADHOUSE IN TEXAS IN THE SEVENTIES

“Good evening, ma’am. I noticed you from across the room; I noticed you noticing me, and you were right to notice. My name is Roy Head and I intend on making love to you tonight, preferably in the parking lot, preferably in the butt.

“First things first: yes, my name really is Roy Head. There ain’t nothing wrong with those pretty little ears of yours. And, yes: I’m that Roy Head.

“You should have heard of me.

“Anyway, sweetmeat, I’m gonna flag down the bartender and get you a Bloody Maria. That’s a Bloody Mary with Sangria instead of tomato juice. I been drinkin’ them since noon and, shit: I’m Roy Head, so how bad could they be, how ’bout that?

“May I interest you in a Quaalude? Or a Tuinol? A Seconal? A Black Beauty? I have every Seventies drug that there is. Would you like a little tootski? Take a tootski. No one turns down tootski.”

FNARF

“OOOOhhh, that’s good tootski.

“Now, back to the situation that presents itself: I have crazy-bendy legs and a fine Cadillac outside. It is a Brougham, and has a Landau roof.

“It is not white. It’s eggshell.

“You would not believe the room this sucker has. You can get to just ’bout every position. There’s room for the Jetpack, and the Wheelbarrow, and the Dirt Devil, and the Funky Winkerbean, and the Shalom Aleichem, and the Sword in the Stone.

“The stone in that position is your butt, just so you know.

“Anyway, dumplin’: let’s get to humpin’. I’m gonna settle up this here bar tab and we’re gonna mosey on out to the parking lot – which, I have not mentioned, is pretty dang romantic as far as parking lots go. Let’s skedaddle.”

…

“Roy, I’m your wife and you’re in your kitchen. You gotta stop drinkin’ so goddamned much.”

“GET IN ROY HEAD’S CADILLAC!”

“Night, Roy.”