The Regulars

Strikeout King,,

Hey Prez, put some records on while I pour! First of all, maybe you haven't been pouring your lady friends enough choice cocktails. If you keep the Tom Collins, Manhattans, Rusty Nails and Zombies coming, usually it doesn't matter what's on the hi-fi. It's amazing what wonders a little liquid panty-remover can do to loosen up the mid-western morals of a well-intentioned young co-ed.

If you can't convince your lady friend to dip her bill beyond the point of no return, then Mathis is always an excellent choice. For a change of pace play "Misty", "The 12th of Never", "It's Not For Me To Say" or "When Sunny Gets Blue". Mathis is most definitely a moisturizer. The other artists mentioned in your collection all have their time and place, but for this particular scenario, aside from Mathis, they are all a little too thin, including Frank. Save Elvis and Sam Cooke for the sock-hop. If you're going to cross that line, you're better off spinning Etta James' "At Last", Little Anthony's "Goin' Out Of My Head", The Flamingos' "I Only Have Eyes For You" or even Buddy Holly's "True Love Ways". Do yourself a huge favor and pick up a copy of Herb Alpert's "This Guy's In Love With You". Set the mood lights down low, loosen up your ascot and toss that swingin' platter on the hi-fi; if Bacharach's best doesn't give your lady friend a wide-on the size of the Grand Canyon then nothing will. If that's the case, then I recommend you stick to playing grab-ass around the water-cooler with the secretaries at the office.

- The Lounge Lizard

#1 Fack

You again! Why I oughtta...! Academy award?! You must be eyebrow deep in Singapore Slings or drinkin' your own bath water. The only thing I nominate Ocean's 11 for is "lamest picture of all time". Rare gem?! The only thing rare about this waste of time and film is how unbelievably bad it is. Most Rat Pack fans couldn't even stomach Ocean's 11! How can "the coolest film ever made" feature Norman Fell as one of the 11? There's absolutely nothing "cool" about Mr. Roper. Which gets me to thinking, if Norman Fell was unavailable would they have tried to get Don Knotts instead? All and all I'd have to say that Ocean's 11 is about as "cool" as Mayberry nightlife. As this is your second letter with Rat Pack references, I now nominate you for "biggest loser to ever write to the Lounge Lizard". Never mention the Rat Pack to me again. That goes for all you Sinatra & Co. ass-kissing bastards out there! All the Rat Pack ever really did was give us real Swingers a bad name. Give your pumpkin a shake, forget about the Rat Pack and get yourself a life.

- The Lounge Lizard

Listen here Jimmy Blue-balls,

First of all, you're probably being too damn choosy. Slip on them two-tones, button up that smoking jacket and wet that whistle! Adjust them Martini-goggles, straighten up and fly right! Dip that pan deep in the river and get yourself a couple o' nuggets! Jim, it's time your stick had some swizzle again. There are plenty of fish in the sea, olives in the jar and debutantes on the dance floor! "One night stands" and "blind dates" have their time and place, but I certainly wouldn't list them as the best ways to meet that special someone. Psychics? Psychics?! Psychics?!!!! How much better would a psychic have made your life had you consulted one a year and a half ago and asked, "What's in store for me on the dating circuit over the next year and a half?" You already know you're a loser! Psychic, Shmychic! Most of them are phony blow-hards lookin' for desperate suckers like you with a couple of spare nickels jingling in your dungarees. I'm not saying that I don't believe that there are other powers out there controlling our destinies. In fact, I know there are, how else would you explain Vegas?

Myself, I was involved in a supernatural experience not so long ago. It was 1979. I was in Niagara Falls attending the Annual Celebrity Long Sideburns Convention at the Holiday Inn, a fundraiser for chronic flatulence research in honor and in memory of Elvis. I was seated in the main hall at the head table with Jack Lord, Conway Twitty and Wayne Newton. Nancy Sinatra was the main attraction and believe me, her boots certainly were a' walkin'! Va-va-VOOM! Nancy was definitely sending some serious eye-sex my way throughout her performance, but Wayne begged to differ. He thought Nancy was sending him the big signal. I was diggin' on Nancy, big-time, so I was 'bout ready to shed my cummerbund and drop my gloves on Mr. Danke Shoen for trying to mow my lawn. Jack 5-0 must of overheard our little disagreement and not wanting to see the evening ruined with fisticuffs, said he had a more spiritual way to settle our little disagreement without soiling Wayne's sequined vest. So with visions of Nancy's C.F.M. boots dangling from my bedpost, Wayne and I followed Jack over to the Canadian side of the Falls to visit a Psychic friend of his.

"Welcome, I am Madame Mulva", said this freaky chic leading us into a candlelit room where a table with a Ouji board awaited us. We joined hands around the table while this crazy bird spewed out an assortment of nonsense. Then we patiently waited while Madame Mulva continued searching unable to locate the misplaced centerpiece for the Ouji board. Being a typical Canadian household, she finally returned with a hockey puck, stating the equipment does not matter so much as the spirits. We then got down to business. Madame Mulva had us place our fingertips upon the puck as she asked the question, "Great and wise spirits please tell us which man is truly the apple of Nancy Sinatra's eye?" Slowly the puck began to tremble; the candlelight flickered, dimmed then brightened to new heights on it's own. It was really far out! Then guided by the spirits the puck began to move. The puck slowly moved from letter to letter spelling something out. Something important. Something deep. Finally it came to rest after spelling out: EVER TRY THE MAPLE FROSTED?

Zzzoiks!!!! Jeez, Louise!!!! I put two and three together. Hockey puck...Donuts... I'll be damned if it wasn't the ghost of Tim Horton! To add to the ensuing mayhem Wayne really freaked out and started screaming like a terrified schoolgirl. Without hesitation we all made an abrupt Scooby-Doo/Three Stooges-type exit hopped in our cars and got the hell outta Dodge. I rocketed back across the boarder to the Holiday Inn, back to Nancy and as far away as possible from Madame Mulva and Tim Horton. Wayne's shrieking seemed to be following me somewhere in the distance or perhaps just in my imagination. When I got back to the hotel I stepped out of my sky blue 1960 Rambler to find beside my car what looked like a freshly cut side of beef wearing a sequined vest. It was then that I realized why Wayne's shrieking seemed to be following me. In my haste I must have accidentally slammed my car door shut on one of Wayne's sideburns, dragging him at 85 mph. through some serious traffic. Wayne was carted off the scene in an ambulance. I was in like Flynn with Nancy and her boots thanks to Jack Lord, Madame Mulva and Tim Horton. Never underestimate the power of the sprits! But, enough about me, as far as meeting the girl of your dreams goes, "If you build it, they will come". So get building and stop moping around the house, pissing and moaning to the Lounge Lizard about your sorry-ass woes. The answer to you problems is obvious: Quit being such a Shlombie and get out there and Be Somebody!

- The Lounge Lizard