~1KW: Yellow Snowe

[R.A. Hettinga]

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~1KW
Robert Hettinga

Yellow Snowe
October 14, 2009; Anguilla, BWI

<http://blogs.abcnews.com/theworldnewser/2009/10/exclusive-charlie-gibsons-
interview-with-sen-olympia-snowe.html>

"Yellow Snowe" is what a caller called US Senator Olympia Snowe (R,  
Maine)
on yesterday's Howie Carr show <http://wrko.com/howie> yesterday after a
hindsight-expected defection on The US Senate's "healthcare" (Marxist
loan-word) "reform" (Billy Bulger's favorite punchline) bill (you can  
say
*that* again).

Like "Jumpin' Jim Jeffords", the sobrequet might actually stick.

Meanwhile, all I could hear was a Frank Zappa song:

<http://www.mp3lyrics.org/f/frank-zappa/dont-eat-the-yellow-snow/>

Dreamed I was an Eskimo
(Bop-bop ta-da-da bop-bop Ta-da-da)
Frozen wind began to blow
(Bop-bop ta-da-da bop-bop Ta-da-da)
And my momma cried:
Boo-a-hoo hoo-ooo
And my momma cried:
Nanook-a, no no (no no . . . )
Nanook-a, no no (no no . . . )
Don't be a naughty Eskimo-wo-oh
(Bop-bop ta-da-da bop-bop Ta-da-da)

WATCH OUT WHERE THE HUSKIES GO
AND DON'T YOU EAT THAT YELLOW SNOW
WATCH OUT WHERE THE HUSKIES GO
AND DON'T YOU EAT THAT YELLOW SNOW

Right about that time, people
A fur trapper, who was strictly from commercial
(Strictly commercial)
Had the unmitigated audacity to jump
up from behind my ig-a-loo
(Peek-a-boo -ooh -ooh oooh)
And he started in to whippin on my favorite baby seal
With a lead-filled snow shoe
That got me just about as evil as an eskimo boy can be
So I bent down and I reached down and I swooped down
And I gathered up a generous mitten full of the deadly
(Yellow Snow)
The deadly yellow snow, from right
there where the huskies go
Whereupon I proceeded to take that mitten full
of the deadly yellow snow crystals
and rub it all into his beady
little eyes
with a vigoruos circular motion
hitherto unknown to the people
of this area
But destined to take the place of the mudshark in your Mythology

Here it goes ... the circular motion
Rub it
And then, in a fit of anger, I pounced
And I pounced again
Great Googly Moogly
And he was very upset as you can understand
And rightly so because the deadly yellow snow crystals
had deprived him of his sight
And he stood up, and he looked around and he said:
Oh (oh oh oh) No - - I can't see ..
(echo)
He took a dog doo snow cone and
stuffed it in my right eye
He took a dog doo snow cone and
stuffed it in my other eye
And the husky wee-wee I mean the
doggy wee-wee has blinded me
And I can't see - temporarily


When I first heard this epic of scatology -- if not necessarily  
eminentized
escatology -- I lived in Anchorage, and I was thirteen or fourteen years
old.

As the proud owner of a St. Bernard-Malamute bitch (cleverly) named  
Brandy,
I knew exactly what yellow snow was, not to mention dog doo snowcones,  
and
this song immediately became, even more than Black Sabbath's "Iron Man",
or, better, "Black Sabbath" itself, but possibly excepting Led Zepplin's
"Black Dog", my Favorite Song In The Whole Universe.

The Work of A True Genius. (And, as everyone in the world knows  
nowadays,
if you didn't think that the late Frank Zappa Really Was A True  
Genius, all
you had to do was to go ask Frank, if he'd talk to you, and he'd tell  
you
his ownself.)

Anyway, being thirteen or something, I had No Idea, Back Then, Exactly  
Who
Frank Zappa Really Was.

[Or who, for that matter, a more famous sample of the 20-some-odd  
musicians
on "Yellow Snow" were, 'cause they weren't famous yet, really: John  
Guerin
(drums), soon to be Mr. Joni Mitchell; Aynsley Dunbar (drums), King
Crimson, Journey when they almost didn't suck, Jefferson Starship when  
they
actually did, and, um, Whitesnake, aka Where Jon Lord Went To Die; Jack
Bruce (bass) Jimi. 'nuff said; George Duke (keyboards, background  
vocals),
a guy who publically trashed a guy I knew's band named, appropriately,  
No
Commercial Potential, something which could frequently be said for Mr.  
Duke
himself, genius or not; or Jean-Luc Ponty (violin), not infrequently
confused with Jan *Hammer* (synthesizer), of Jeff Beck (guitar) in *his*
Fiddly-Diddly Fusion Phase, or more likely the very author of same --
Hammer, not Ponty, that is, much less Beck, neither of which were on
"Yellow Snow", Hammer or Beck, though it would have *really* been cool  
if
they had, when I was thirteen or something; among many other Artists of
Genius, Because Frank Freakin' Zappa Said They Were, Dammit.]

But, I thought, after hearing "Yellow Snow", and furtively listening to
most of "Apostrophe", the album where Yellow Snow resided -- during  
the odd
visit to the Montgomery Ward record-listening booth while my father, a
charter member of the El Paso John Birch Society whose kid damn well  
wasn't
gonna buy no commie filth from some maggot-encrusted piece of zircon  
named
"Zappa", was buying a drill-bit, or something -- Frank Zappa was a  
genius
on the order of Spike Jones.

If I had, at the time, known, you know, who, Spike Jones, um, actually
*was*...


Which brings us back to that miserable excrescence on the Maine  
snowscape
that is the Olympian RINO Named Snowe. No. Really. I'm getting there.  
Stick
with me here, and watch where you step.

Because, sooner or later, we all grow up. Except, apparently, in that  
High
Chamber of Infantilism that is the United States Senate.

Oly Snowe, if I may call her that -- in honor of another fine nickname  
from
my Anchorage days, with fond memories spent picking up cast-off
spit-remaindered but as yet-unbroken Olympia beer bottles on Fourth  
Avenue,
looking for the magical four dots on lable backs, which were said, among
the Junior-Hi cognescenti, to entitle one to the services of a  
prostitute,
gratis, in all the finer massage parlors which fairly upholstered  
Anchorage
at the time of the pipeline boom. Oly the beer, not the prostitute.

Except, now that I think of it, getting "healthcare" (marxist loan  
word) in
the United States soon *will* be not too much different from picking up
cast-off spit-remaindered but as yet-unbroken Olympia beer bottles on
Fourth Avenue in hopes of receiving freebies from a pipeline-era
prostitute.

Besides, I can't call someone a prostitute if they really aren't, even  
if
it's really redundant to call a Senator a prostitute. Much less to even
call a U.S. Senator um, beer. Or, I suppose, come to think of it, even
excrescence. British overseas territory libel laws, you see. Ask Don
Mitchell about that sometime.

Well, damn. I suppose I can't very well insult the United States Senate,
then, can I?

Can I even call Oly ("What *were* you drinking") Snowe a Republican in  
Name
Only? Her comments about "the party left me", notwithstanding?

Or even have opinions about dead rock-stars and their personnel,  
famous or
not, -- late or not?

How about opinions about my father? Or my dead father's opinions about a
dead rock-star? Can they sue each other? Are they anywhere, now, that  
they
can actually *sue* each other? Both were atheists, BTW, not to insult
Athiests, or the John Birch Society, or even Eskimos, which is not,
apparently, the politically correct name for them anymore. Except in
Alaska, apparently, Canada being much more progressive about these  
things,
you see. Or even the use of politically incorrect stereotypical humor  
about
igloos or Eskimos ("Eskimo" being my ninth-grade nickname upon  
returning to
"the Lower 48", as they call the contiguous US states, even now, in  
Alaska;
speaking of stereotypical humor about Alaskans, former, "Rogue", or
otherwise...)

Oh, well. At least the opinion about Oly ("Not the Beer, Certainly Not  
the
Prostitute") Snowe being "Yellow", wasn't mine.

So, I can say *that*, right?

This thing on?

Cheers,
RAH


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