26 July 2016, No. 174, Silver Convention, ‘No, No, Joe’

Several times I recommended No. 174 to a guy named Samoan Joe who wasn’t really Samoan. The fat of his upper arms folded over and pooled around his elbows like a sumo wrestler’s. He claimed the two-tone tiger-stripe tattoo that trailed off at that same juncture was one he gave himself while high on LSD-25. Or, rather, he dropped acid having already started self-administering the tattoo, and the black ink lines’ wobbliness as they snuck under his sleeve attested he told the truth. I don’t think he ever listened to “No, No, Joe” from Silver Convention, even though I told him it was all platform shoes, lamé, and tolerable strings. Maybe I should have mentioned the cameo from Consuela, the housekeeper from Family Guy, saying, “No, no,” in the background. Anyway, the party’s over and I got to go. Don’t turn those lights down low. Mama don’t like it.