Flashback: Escape!

The Juice admits it, I don’t know much about music. In fact, unless Lawrence Welk (god rest his soul!) is involved, it might as well be that high pitched, annoyin’ Indian shit. But, the Juice can tell you that “Escape” by Rupert Murdock (or Holmes, whatever) is the worst fuckin’ song, EVER! I know, I know. I know what you thinkin'. You’re thinkin’: “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that song, the Juice.” Well, I’m here to tell you, you have. It’s that stupid Pina Colada song.

Not only does the song bite Hyena wang (real hyena wang, by the way. not that pseudo phallus the female spotted hyena has. which is really her clitoris. now, don’t you feel more complete knowin’ that??), it has got to be one of the most far-fetched songs ever. Don’t believe the Juice? See for yourself (and here’s hopin’ this tune will be pingin’ your brain for the next day and a half):

I was tired of my lady, we'd been together too long.Like a worn-out recording, of a favorite song.So while she lay there sleeping, I read the paper in bed.And in the personals column, there was this letter I read:

"If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.If you're not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain.If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.I'm the lady you've looked for, write to me, and escape."

I didn't think about my lady, I know that sounds kind of mean.But me and my old lady, had fallen into the same old dull routine.So I wrote to the paper, took out a personal ad.And though I'm nobody's poet, I thought it wasn't half-bad.

"Yes, I like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.I'm not much into health food, I am into champagne.I've got to meet you by tomorrow noon, and cut through all this red tape.At a bar called O'Malley's, where we'll plan our escape."

So I waited with high hopes, then she walked in the place.I knew her smile in an instant, I knew the curve of her face.It was my own lovely lady, and she said, "Oh, it's you."And we laughed for a moment, and I said, "I never knew"..

"That you liked Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.And the feel of the ocean, and the taste of champagne.If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.You're the love that I've looked for, come with me, and escape."

"If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.And the feel of the ocean, and the taste of champagne.If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.You're the love that I've looked for, come with me, and escape."

Now you tell the Juice, is there somethin' seriously wrong with this song, or what? The Juice don’t know where to begin, really. But, ya gotta start somewhere, so…

The dude and his ol’ lady can’t stand each other. And the dude’s singin’ a fuckin’ song about it? I mean, really. I don’t know who’s to blame more here, him or her. I’ll tell ya, if I’m at O’Malley's and my ol’ lady walks in, you best believe there’s gonna be some hell to pay.

Here's the part the Juice don't get. If she’s tired of him, why the fuck is she sneakin' around on him? Can’t she be upfront with him? And the Juice finds it hard to believe that this was the first personal ad this broad took out. C’mon! What are the odds of that? And, really, what are the odds of the dude findin', readin', and respondin' to his ol’ lady’s personal ad that she took out in secret? I mean we’re talkin' gettin' eaten by piranhas odds. The Juice is a bettin' man. There ain't a bet I've never taken. But, believe you me, even the Juice ain't taken the bet on any of it!

And what’s with Pina Coladas anyway? I know the song was written in the seventies. Back when they did all those fruity things like wife swappin', had pet rocks and, apparently, drank Pina Coladas. Have you ever had one? Probably not. Cause they suck. If I’m a dude (which, I am. Don’t make me pull out the ol’ rig to prove it to you) I ain’t ever gonna admit I like Pina Coladas, even if I did. Which I don’t. I’m just supposin' here. That’s the kinda thing you do when no one, NO FUCKIN’ ONE, is around. Or, at least, gonna be around for a couple of hours, maybe even days. Admittin’ you drink Pina Coladas is the kinda thing that you do hidden in your closet. You pull out your Peggy Lee records, drink Pina Coladas and read cheap romance novels. Not that the Juice’s ever done that. No sir! All man, here. All man! I’ll pull it out to prove it!

But I digress…

And I can guaren-damn-tee that this moment would NEVER happen:

It was my own lovely lady, and she said, "Oh, it's you."And we laughed for a moment,

Believe you me, If I’m at O’Malley’s and the ol’ lady walks in, I ain’t sayin’ “Oh, it’s you...” It’d probably go down somethin' more like this:

“What da fuck you doin’ here? I thought you were crochetin' with Martha down at the rec center.” I’d say putting down my 8th beer.

“Me? What are you doin' here?” she’ll ask accusingly.

I’ll look around blankly. “Ummmm…nothin'. Just havin’ a beer”

“Yea, right.” She'll say sarcastically picking at her teeth.

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“It means ‘yea, right’. Are you stupid or somethin'?” she’ll lovingly respond.

“Are you callin’ me stupid?” I’ll say trying to grit my teeth. But, I’ve probably drank so much damn beer that I have to piss more than anythin' at this point.

“If the boot fits…”

“What? Was that?” I’ll say getting up from my chair. Of course, I’ll be stumble while getting up. Knocking the bowl of beef jerky off the table.

“I said, ‘if the boot fits’”

I’ll try to push the chair aside menacingly. But, it’ll just end up getting under my feet, practically knocking me onto my face. After I regain my composure I would say. “You’re havin' an affair, aren’t you?”

“I am not!” the ol’ lady will respond, acting all innocent.

“Is it Billy Joe?”

“Absolutely not”

“Bobby John?”

“No!”

“Billy bob?”

“No!”

“Bobby Joe?”

“No!”

“Johnnie Joe?”

“He’s five years old, for Pete’s sake Bruce!”

“Hmmmm….whatever. I know you wrote that personal ad.” I'll slur.

“What?” she’ll take a step back, caught her off guard. “What personal ad?”

“This one!” I'll say as I dig around in my pocket. I'll pull out an old Wal-Mar receipt. “No. this one!!” I'll say triumphantly again. This time it’ll be a K-Mart receipt for the live bait the Juice bought the day prior. “Shit.” I’ll rummage around in the my pockets for another minute or two. Then I’ll find it. “This one!”

The ol’ lady would take another step back in shock. “How…how do you know?”

I’ll point to the ad below. “Cause I wrote this one. Ya stupid bitch.” Uh-oh. I don’t know which is gonna get me in more trouble. Admittin' I responded or the bitch comment. My ol’ lady would hate it when you call her a bitch.

She'll stand there speechless for awhile. I’ll mutter some “nothin’s”. Cause I'm drunk and about to piss myself. Finally she’ll speak up. “Brewster Ian Brockman (that ain’t my middle name. so don’t even try to think about fckin' with me about it, ya here?) how dare you!” At this point she’ll probably pick up a glass and toss it at my head. And dependin' how drunk I really was, I would either duck or just stand there like an idiot. And blah, blah, blah. You get the point.

See? No “I never knew you like Pina Coladas…” bullshit. Although, I have to admit my version would be pretty dang hard to sing.