Darrell Vickers: Make Gloves Not War

darrell-vickersI’ll get to the music part of this blog in a few seconds, but first….

spamI checked my Radio Vickers spam folder the other day (by the way, you can be added to my Radio Vickers mailing list by just writing me at radiovickers1@gmail.com  – no obligation, nothing to buy and it never it needs batteries.  Just a suggestion.) and discovered this sincere entreaty from a gentleman named Zhaobing Zhang. (I’m not sure but his name sounds foreign.)

“Dear Sirs,”

(Right off the bat he has vastly overestimated the number of me there are.)

“How are you?”

(I must admit, I was deeply touched by his warmth and interest in my personal well-being.  I hoped it wasn’t just some sort of slick salesman come-on.)

vinyl glove with hand in it“I am so glad to know that you want to buy disposable vinyl glove,”

(This was the spot where Mr. Zhang’s recollection of salient events and my own began to differ considerably) “and we–SHANDONG ZIBO SHANCHUAN MEDICAL INSTRUMENT CO.,LTD. could supply such products to you, the detailed information about the glove you could give me your address then I send our catalogue to you.”

(Now, most people believe that they have a pretty comprehensive grasp of the vinyl glove industry and the varying lines of their vital product that are available to the general public.  I found to my shock and horror that we’re all living in some sort of self-deluded dream world! Keep reading!)

“Generally we produce 2 kinds of vinyl glove, powder free and with powder. We pack the products by box and carton. 100pcs/box, 10boxes/ctn. The printing of the box and carton we could make accord to your requirement. Our products key feature is meet or exceed ASTM and FDA standards for product performance and quality; 100% made of synthetic PVC material; DOP-free and only DINP plasticizer used; Latex-free and without any latex protein; Durable with superior properties; Comfortable fit and excellent tactile sensitivity; Powdered with absorbable cornstarch; Powder-free with PU coating; Available in 240mm or 300mm length; ambidextrous and disposable. Our shipment will be effected within 10 days after getting your remittance. We could accept T/T or L/C draft at sight payment terms. And our package is 100pcs/box, 10boxes/ctn.

I hope you are satisfied with our products, and I am looking forward to getting your earlier reply. I do hope we could establish the long-term business relation.

with best regards”

My first reaction upon reading the entire missive was, “What in the flaming fuck is this guy trying to accomplish?”  Okay – I can see that you’d want to purchase your prescriptions drugs at discount prices, I can see that you might want to meet strangely shaved Russian women, you might want a piece of a Nigerian fortune left dormant for years, after the owner’s tragic airplane mishap and who wouldn’t want a bigger schlong to whip out and impress people at parties with?  But who in this whole fucking anatomically-correct world is going to look at this piece of spam and say, “Holy shit!  This is my big opportunity to get entire crates of vinyl gloves without the wife finding out about it!”

vinyl gloves being modeledAm I missing some sort of new exotic trend is sexual perversion here?  While it is true that man, since the dawn of recorded time, has been tempted to stick his certified, Grade “A” lady-pleaser in almost anything that has been powdered with absorbable cornstarch – there are far more appealing “receptacles d’amore” than vinyl gloves.

Perhaps, like raising chinchillas for profit in your basement– people could to open up their own unlicensed proctology clinics in their living rooms – “ambidextrous” and especially “disposable” would come in extra-extra-handy under these exceedingly personal circumstances.

And speaking of “handy”, I’m just not sure how many people, with their pants down around their ankles, in front of a computer screen watching Tranny-Granny videos, are going to worry whether the gloves they’re wearing are DOP-free and only use DINP plasticizer.  (Call me old-fashioned…)

Which brings me to Ian Hunter.

el ray from outsideOn February 2nd, Steve B. and I dragged our old, tired (and un-penetrated by tactiley-sensitive vinyl gloves) asses over to the El Rey to bask in the musical glory of the legendary Ian Hunter.  Ian will be 74 this June.  In rock and roll terms, that officially qualifies him as a member of the undead.  Imagine…Ian Hunter was in rock and roll when Keith Richards was only using his nose for breathing!!!

And ours were not the only old tired asses in attendance.  Sadly, the people in that line were just as likely to buy hemorrhoid wipes of a larry_tatefurtive street vendor as blotter acid.  This group not only knew who Larry Tate was, most of them looked like him.  Apart from a few grandchildren, we were probably the youngest fellows in the entire audience.  At last, if a fight broke out at a concert, I might be tempted to impose my will by dint of fist and brawn.  I mean, how hard could it be to knock out a guy’s teeth when they’re only held in by Polygrip?

Fortunately, I was not called upon to break a light fixture over a “pensioner gone wilding’s” head.  The entire concert was exceedingly enjoyable, if you overlooked the depressing lack of good lagers on offer at the bar.

ian hunter in concertAll the cigarettes and screaming over the millennia had left Ian with just enough voice to pay commensurate homage to his own laudable canon.  He treated his adoring but creaky-boned fans to lively performances of “All the Young Dudes”, “All the Way to Memphis”, “Shunken Heads” and many more gems from his glorious catalogue.

But there were a few moments “dans la concert” when Mr. Hunter showed the wear and tear on his brain carpet caused by the relentless footsteps of time.

For instance, he forgot some of the lyrics in the first two songs…and one of them was Once Bitten Twice Shy!  How the fuck does that slip your mind?

That’s like Russell Crowe forgetting how to brain a hotel clerk with a convenience phone.

It’s like Paris Hilton forgetting not to wear underwear.

lindsay lohan driving drunkIt’s like Lindsay Lohan forgetting to drive home after downing her 15th Pimm’s Cup.

It’s like Lou Gehrig forgetting what disease he had.

It would be like Zsa Zsa Gabor forgetting the tune to the Wedding March

Anyway, you get the point.

Through the miracle of people holding up their I-Phones, there is even video of the very concert I attended.

Ian Hunter – All the Young Dudes

The only mega-groove destroying moments of the entire evening were provided by a couple of sophisticates in the crowd.  (Isn’t that always the way?) There was this one individual in front of us who was as wide as a busload of assholes (and the resemblance didn’t stop there).  He seemed insistent on constantly moving back and forth and blocking our view.

Consideration Tip:

fat guy at concertIf you’re going to plump up your girth to a point where you affect the tides, at least stay in one spot so people can crane their necks to see around you.  If you move, then I have to move, which means the person behind me has to move and so on and so on.  Excessive neck-craning by the elderly can be uber-nettlesome and possibly fatal.

So, before some old guy’s head fell off from over-swiveling, Steve decided to go over and inquire (very politely) if Rotund-o could just move 3 or 4 inches to the side so that the other half of the audience might be able to see the stage.  Immediately, two of his urbane compadres descended upon him.  It became abundantly clear that they were attempting to ward off a club-ejecting altercation between someone asking a reasonable and polite question and a fat dickless troglodyte just sporting for a fight.  Alas, this was not a “Hen’s Teeth” moment at a musical event.  While tickets clearly state that you must be wearing a shirt before entering certain venues, they do not legally preclude you from being a violent, aggressive fuck-tard.

This got me to thinking about My Top Five Rock Concert-Audience Pet Peeves.  (Or MTFRC-APP for short)

guy singing1: The Sing-Along-Guy

Oh rapturous day!  How could you possibly intuit, oh sonorous warbler, that I spent my hard-earned 65 bones just on the wisp of  a hope that you would be standing beside me and screaming off-key for two hours so I wouldn’t have to listen to single fucking note that Jon Anderson was singing?   And how wizard-like of you to know all the lyrics to songs that only sold three and a half trillion copies.

2: The Whistler-Guy

guy whistlingYes, how orgasmically impressed am I with you, Mr. Two-Finger Whistler?  I was afraid that I was only going to hear Emerson, Lake and Palmer when I purchased these ultra-costly second row seats.  But now, thanks to you and those two delightful digits that you’ve probably had stuck up your ass all afternoon, I can duplicate the sensation of having a Black and Decker drill driven into my ear canal between each and every song!  Who says there is no God!?

loony guy3: The Fucking-Weird Guy

Limited of tooth but generous of smell.  No one is friendlier at a concert than the music fan who has his torn, filthy pants tucked up underneath his chin.  It’s like having to spend 3 hours sitting next to Gollum’s “funny uncle.”  In addition to his alarmingly eccentric chit-chat, he will invariably offer you something out of a crumpled bag that looks like he’s already eaten once.  “How?’ you wonder, “Did this batshit crazy and tongue-eating-nutso loonbucket ever afford the 48 dollars for his ticket plus the 200 dollar Ticketmaster surcharge?”  I don’t want to get all stereotypey here, but it’s girl with nice breasts to rub against mehard enough for people who don’t have vicious arguments with a mole on their arm to come up with that kind of Jack.

4: The Rub-Your-Breasts-Against-Me-So-You-Can-Squeeze-In-Front-Of-Me-In-The-Crowd-Girl:

It’s very rude but I forgive you everything.  Continue on.

5: The Talk-Through-The-Whole-Show-Guy

Man Talking Through BullhornWhy even come to the concert, you ignorant over-flowing pus toilet?  You seem to believe that whatever you’ve got dribbling out of that syphilitic sore of a mouth of yours is inestimably more interesting that what Randy Newman has spent a lifetime crafting into verse.  Wrong!  I know you think you’re Noel Coward but you’re not even as bright as Noel Fucking Gallagher.  Listening to you ramble on incessantly is about as much fun as licking ice-cream off a dead clown.

Say, here’s an alternative idea, so the naughty musicians on stage don’t interrupt your oratory splendor.  Why not just turn the radio up to full blast in your goddamn car and jerk-off verbally there?  In fact, why not jerk-off physically there, because the chances of a loud, obnoxious douche-bag like you getting laid are about the same as Pavarotti coming back from the grave for one last creamy dessert.

vinyl gloves being modeledAnd if you do decide to coat the inside of your Gremlin in autoerotic spew…I know this very nice man named Zhaobing Zhang who can sell you all the lovingly cornstarched vinyl gloves you need.

Phew!  Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest – here are two great songs that I’ve featured in my Radio Vickers mailer recently.

The Stone Foxes – Mr. Hangman

The Stone Foxes – Everybody Knows


Darrell Vickers appears here every 4th Friday 

Contact us at dbawis@rogers.co

DBAWIS ButtonDarrell Vickers started out as one half of Toronto area band, Nobby Clegg.  CFNY fans may remember the cheery song “Me Dad” which still gets airplay.  From there, he valiantly ventured to L.A. and eventually became head writer for The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.  Since then, he’s created numerous sitcoms and animation shows in Canada and the U.S.  He still writes music and has an internet band called Death of the Author Brigade (members in Croatia, Canada and the U.S.)   Mr. Vickers also had a private music mailing-list where he features new and pre-loved music.  Anyone who would like to be added to his daily mailing list, just write him at Radiovickers1@gmail.com .

3 Responses to “Darrell Vickers: Make Gloves Not War”

  1. Jeesuz, Mr. Vickers…I spewed Corn Pops through my nose reading this during breakfast. Now I gotta up my game for my own Bob Blog on Saturday. You’re a bastard for making me hafta work harder.

  2. Actually, Bullseye, he’s just a bastard. No explanation needed.

  3. Now I know I’m past it. I didn’t have to look up Larry Tate to know who he was! Gee, thanks Mr. Vickers!

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