Tag Archives: kenny rogers

Kenny Rogers, the Dog

29 May

We found a dog in the park.  Me and Nikol, and this other girl.  Walking in the middle of Elysian Park on this long dirt road, we saw in the distance what looked like a gigantic coyote or a small bear stumbling drunkenly around, digging up shit, and eating sticks.  Getting closer it was just a huge German shepherd. Little beat up but a handsome beast, and with a collar on, so we figured some jerkoff would come jogging up the road behind his Gestapo enforcement dog that he’d let roam free in a public space frequented by small children.

But no.  No one came.  And getting a closer look at the dog he’d been fucked up by something.  Patches of fur falling off, walking funny, and the top half of both ears were missing.  Like he’d tangled with something that had bitten them off; they were just lumpy black skin scabbed over. Continue reading

Further Discussion of Kenny Rogers

20 May

Today I’m afraid we must venture into the darker corners of Kenny.

A devoted Kenny fan such as yourself will know that in the last decade Kenny has undergone a series of cosmetic surgeries, turning into a hideous, shiny shell of Kenny.  Worse, he has disconnected the goatee portion of his beard from his iconic mane by removing his lustrous Civil War-era muttonchops.

Kenny as a young man never looked quite right.  His face was chubby and oafish, and his tawny, sloppily feathered hair made him look like a drunken St. Bernard.  No matter how high he climbed on the charts, his unconventional appearance must have haunted him.  Yes, Kenny is the closest thing we have to a god.  But also a man, with human insecurities. Continue reading

In My Dreams, I Am Kenny Rogers, 1972

15 May

Just popped a couple ‘ludes and took down a shot of Wild Turkey; tore off a piece of fresh backwoods poon like only Kenny Rogers knows how.  Stepping onstage with the First Edition behind me, about to level the place when I tell ’em “don’t take your love to town.”

Another Reason Why I Love Kenny Rogers

30 Apr

In the 90’s, Kenny got busted for having phone sex with his three mistresses, when his marriage was falling apart.  The way it worked was KENNY SET UP A FUCKING 800 NUMBER FOR THEM and when they called, they would hear a recording of Kenny describing sex fantasies.  Stuff like: “He’s a big guy, six foot three maybe, but a great body. . . . He’s been in the sun, you can tell. . . . He’s so gentle with you and he takes his pants off and he’s got on these underwear that are kind of silk underwear … and you feel his skin all over you. . .”

This is shit straight out of a romance novel. Kenny considerately put some thought into what women might want and tried laying it down in the soothing road-worn voice of Kenny Rogers.  Any other dude would have been like “and then I fuck your face till you choke on my cock and pull out and jizz on your sister’s tits,” etc. Kenny’s sex fantasies are completely unselfish.

And when busted, here’s what he said: “It’s not like I took fourteen-year-old girls and tied them up and fed them drugs, I mean, these were conversations. These were words.” FUCK YEAH I DID IT AND IT WAS NO BIG FUCKING DEAL- GET OFF MY BACK.  Kenny has balls.

This, by the Way:

6 Apr

is the only sad picture of Kenny Rogers in existence. Every other photograph of him he is smiling his ass off, like he just stacked Dolly Parton and Linda Ronstadt on top of each other and grew a second dick.

Which he did, in 1978.

Diary: I Need a Girl

8 Feb

I canceled my drinks with (REDACTED). Even though I like (REDACTED) and would totally enjoy hanging out with her.  She is–  she took me to a museum once.  She is really smart.  She knows a lot about art and literature and stuff.  And I think she kind of had the hots for me.  See, why couldn’t I date someone like that?  A chick who went to Harvard and has her shit together and knows who fucking Albrecht Dürer is and can distinguish between different phases of his career.  Who knows who Lucas Cranach the Elder is.  Someone who has a finely tuned taste for the works of various Northern Renaissance engravers, is what I need.  Someone who can tell apart multiple different interpretations of works by Claude Debussy.  Who can hear the orchestral version of some Claude Debussy shit and know that it was orchestrated by Maurice Ravel, or whoeverthefuck. Who legitimately enjoys these things. Someone who knows about plants and animals. Hummingbirds. Insects. Continue reading