ON MANOR'S MIND   

Many many moons ago, while living in Hell On Earth--otherwise known as a major Eastern football factory disguised as a "State University"--I came up with one of my brainstorms:  Since the school year was nearing its end and my acquaintances were about to scatter all over, we should spread the same rumor and see if it filtered out to points in between.

Knowing the gullibility of rock music fans, particularly the stoners, and how the rumors most likely to be spread always contain a sizable chunk of stupidity at the heart of 'em, I came up with some nonsense dumb enough to elicit an "Oh, wow" out of the bongbrains:  "The real reason (then-living) Jerry Garcia is missing one finger digit is because (band mate) Phil Lesh cut it off in a knife fight."

The mental image of two uberhippies pulling shanks on each other was so preposterous, I couldn't help but think it matched the inanity factor of other classic rocker rumors that circulated far and wide...such as "Alice Cooper is the guy who played Eddie Haskell on Leave It To Beaver."  Besides, anything that would "bum out" the dreaded Deadheads was aces with me.

True to form, my "friends" went their separate ways at term break--and didn't utter a word of the planted rumor to a single soul.  But now that I'm an international celebrity with a massive worldwide following, I don't need no stinkin' collegians.  I've got the greatest source of misinformation and irresponsible reporting in the galaxy--the Internet!!!

Here's the deal.  I'll supply a bunch of stoopit synthesized rumors, and you not only work them into casual conversations, but also bombard any bulletin board or chat room you consider susceptible.   Got it?  Great.

 Lawsuit happy celebs, take note:  We're just conducting a funsy little experiment here, no malice involved.  The following are strictly satirical and ARE NOT alleged to be true.  Besides, those likely to be reading this are also just as likely to be just as lazy as my campus cronies, i.e. odds are nobody's going to spread this stuff anyway.

*That little girl in Airplane who said she preferred her coffee black like her men actually did marry a black man later in life.

*There are subliminal messages--nicknamed "pro-mos" for their promotion of homosexual culture--in Queer Eye episodes.

*The true reason the Beatles broke up is because Paul wanted Yoko for himself.

*Britney Spears' ever changing breast size is the result of a pneumatic pump she's had implanted.

*Area 51 operates primarily to distract the public.  The real captured UFOs etc are at Area 52 in Antarctica.

*They actually know who's buried in Arlington Cemetery's Tomb Of The Unknown Soldier.

*Bill Gates has 100 packets of his cells frozen so he can be cloned in the future when his fortune will be worth a trillion dollars.

*Most "Canadian bacon" is made in Wyoming.

*You know who's website is on the Top Twenty most-visited list?  Charles Manson.

*The value of the nickel in a nickel is worth more than five cents.  That's why there are so few in circulation.

*DNA cleared the man they accused of being the Boston Strangler all those years.

*Post-tsunami activity formed a tiny landmass in the Sea Of Japan, and they named it Godzilla Island.

*Ron Jeremy's real name is Jerry Lewis, but obviously he had to change it.

*J. Edgar Hoover even had files on Don Knotts and Dave from Wendy's.

*There were only a few copies sold before the record company recalled the CD, but there's a Tupac cut where you can clearly hear him go "9-1-1 was f---ed up, son"...even though the terrorist attacks didn't happen until after he supposedly "got killed."

*There are more crop circles within a five-mile radius of Stonehenge than any other place in the entire world.

*The Federal government spent four million dollars on a study to determine if chewed bubble gum would suffice as an effective sealant for submarine leaks.

*Over 200 dry cleaners in the U.S. are owned by America's largest prison gang.

*The Mafia is trying to take over stock car racing.  Who do you think was behind Dale Senior's so-called "accident"?


Crock 'n' Roll  Though it's an immeasurable tragedy you never got to hear me perform, there are times I am absolutely DELIGHTED I never became the rock icon I had every right to be.

First off, I'm filled with glee every time I see an update on one of "my peers" who got the record deal, tour, notoriety and underage girls that should have been mine.  Invariably, these characters look like they've been dragged around the Coliseum face-down off the back of a chariot for several dozen laps, and are working on a "new project" that has about as much chance of reanimating their corpse of a career as the probability of ham sandwiches being served at a bar mitzvah.

Yet here I am, all beautiful and brilliant, debt-free and still captivating audiences.

Most important, I find myself more thoroughly repulsed by the current star system every day.  The signing of the cookie-cutter acts, the label-encouraged arrested development of musicians, backstage backstabbing and the like are merely annoying and hardly a recent phenomenon.  But what really irks me is how unabashed the phoniness is today.  From what I've seen, there are more people doing "the rock star act" than there are actual rock stars.

Case in point, the ridiculous overselling of every single note in concert.  Take, for example, the practice of bowing at the waist with each downbeat, like an autistic whose meds are wearing off.  Half the time these clowns approach a mic, I expect them to sing "Uh-oh, five minutes to Wopner."

Hunched over, hair whipping, mid-orgasm facial expressions--all ludicrous and fraudulent, especially when accompanying something as simplistic as a power chord and straight drum beat.  And how about those bassists who put some much into dramatizing a particular note, you'd think they learned their instrument at the Pacino School Of Music?

Pay close attention, hambone:  YOU ARE PLUCKING ONE STINKING STRING.  THAT'S ALL.  YOU KNOW IT.  WE KNOW IT.  THE CHEAP THEATRICS ARE FOOLING NO ONE.

Virtuoso Manor's Rule Of Music:  If you're moving your head more than your forearm, you're a jiveass poseur.  Don't give me that crap about being "so caught up in the groove."  This is strictly learned behavior, chimps doing what they believe they're expected to do as Official Rock Stars, and about as "spontaneous" as the popular (and preposterous) synchronized-leaps routine.  

If this gross gesticulation is a natural offshoot of getting swept away by the music, then perhaps you can explain why this nonsense isn't common amongst ALL instrumentalists, regardless of genre or era.  Naaah, the reason rock performances evolved into one long electric Mummer's Parade is its marketers love affair with the video camera.  Please, concertgoers, don't let anyone con you into believing otherwise.

In a similar vein, that "holding hands in a silent prayer before going onstage" bit is so beyond pretentious, I audibly gag whenever seeing it.  Look, fraud squad, you're going out there to perform standard 4/4-time songs, not heading into the O.R. to separate conjoined twins during an earthquake.  If you need divine inspiration to get through a verse of "I did that bitch then beat her," frankly, you suck.  

And as for the rockers who line up arm-in-arm to do a poorly syncopated mutual bow after the last number...putting one's arms around another sweaty man then bending forward may be an excellent warm up for a stay in Attica, but otherwise, this "Kodak Moment" merits a colossal "Cut the crap!!!"


Super extra bonus brilliance: It s common knowledge Jay-Z dates Beyonce.  The former also had a monster hit with a song featuring the hook "I've got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one.'  As such, I guess neither would have a beef if you met up with them and went, "Yo, Jay, would you mind me taking a picture of you and the bitch?," right?...If huffing glue gets one high, shouldn't one get ten times as wrecked sniffing Superglue?...If success breeds jealousy, then what does failure breed?...A new law worth enacting--Any "protester-type" toting a megaphone or similar voice amplifier to a rally shall also carry a clearly visible sign stating "Obnoxious bigmouth who thinks his opinion is more worthy than these other fools."...Being referred to as "the dude" means you're hanging with the wrong crowd; referring to yourself as "the dude" means you should be hanging from the nearest sycamore...Memo to males:  No guy in the entire history of the universe ever looked good with one of those leather band or white "puca shell" necklaces.  Delusional about his coolness, sure; but good?  Nope....Will someone please inform Madison Avenue and the Clich  Club that "(Adjective A) is the new (Adjective B)"--you know, as in "Plaid is the new teal"--reached its stale date on about, oh, five minutes after it was introduced?  Incidentally, I've got a proposition for any member of said Club: you feel free to continue using "sexy" to describe something that's not even remotely erotic ("Action News got sexy new graphics.")--and we'll feel free to keep thinking you're a jackass....You know what's fun?  Going through a pharmacy's eyewash counter and Wite-Outing the "M" on each Murine logo....Terrifying The Neighbors, Trick #57--Knock on the door with a petition for just your block to secede from the Union; as they warily eye the document, closely examine the door frame, then purr, "No alarms.  Perfect!"

 
Hubba Hubba Honeys:  As tediously mainstream as porn has become, there are still very few smutstresses who have been able to successfully make the transition from hardcore flesh flicks to films in other sections of the vid store.  To my knowledge, only ONE woman not only built up a sizable filmography in adult and mainstream, but also made bona fide cult favorites in both categories.  She's this issue's Hubba Hubba Honey, Michelle Bauer.  

[Sidebar:  Lest you ask, "Doesn't Traci Lords also fit the same description?", I won't argue an assertion that Cry-Baby falls under the "cult hit" umbrella.  However, no matter what sort of claims are made about her blue movie output, we may as well consider it "expunged from the record"--only one Lords tape escaped being banned in the mid-Eighties...and it's certainly no "cult favorite."  Now, back to the bountiful Ms. Bauer.]

Following a July 1981 Penthouse photo spread, Michelle burst onto the XXX scene, sometimes billed as Pia Snow, Pia Sands or Michelle McClellen.  Before long, she was cast in leading roles, including one in 1982's Cafe Flesh, a post-apocalyptic tale artsy enough to get "Midnight Movie" screenings in theaters that otherwise wouldn't dream of offering adult fare.

Magnificent Michelle also brought a lot of energy to another unique role.  Through the first half of the Eighties, hippie-turned-capitalist thesp Jane Fonda mass-marketed a seemingly endless line of instructional fitness videos (forgetting to mention how having servants and a boob job helped sculpt her own figure.)  Well, leave it to those kooky cats in adultdom to cast Michelle in Jane Bonda's Bizarre Workout (1984), perhaps the world's only satirical S&M release.

With her enthusiasm, looks and willingness to bare that beautiful 35-24-36 bod, it's no surprise the buxom brunette easily made the transition to indie film "Scream Queen" as the VCR grew to become a standard household appliance.  Whether supporting old-school Hollywood legends such as John Carradine and Cameron Mitchell, or heading up a youthful-yummies cast, Michelle was always a delight--even when she had her clothes on.

Though Evil Toons (1992), Phantom Empire (1986) and Sorority Babes In The Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama are all a blast, my top (and her topless) recommendation is the heartwarming Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers (1988).  And surely anyone who has witnessed Michelle, Linnea Quigley and Brinke Stevens in the Assault Of The Party Nerds (1989) rub-a-dub-dub-three-dolls-in-a-tub group bath will agree this scene rates right up there with Clark Gable uttering, "Frankly, Scarlett, I don't give a rat's ass" as a classic moment of 20th-century cinema!

The half-Mex/half-Czech/all-woman Bauer has appeared in over 100 movies, yet I'm willing to bet that, with the exception of internetters drawn here by Googling her name, the vast majority of those reading this wouldn't know Michelle Bauer from Milton Bradley.

This woman should be WORSHIPPED, yet you just sit there idly instead of idolizing?  That does it--I'm placing you people on triple-secret probation!!!  Now go out there and view One Million Heels BC, Night Of The Living Babes, Puppet Master III or any other MB marvels you can get your filthy talons on, then compose a lengthy apology to Michelle for your shameful ign'ance.  

Get movin', Rubin and Robin.  Failure to follow these orders will be notated on your Permanent Record and your FBI file!  Right next to Dave from Wendy's.