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November 7, 2005
ALERT! ALERT! ALERT!
This is a SPECIAL announcement.
Please be advised that the following mandatory instructions MUST be
obeyed to the very letter. Oh yea, verily. World without end, amen.
1. ALL women, childrens, old folks and drunkards are to be kept
indoors (preferably in a dank basement or musty closet) until this
crisis this passed.
2. YOU MUST cover all roses and
rhododendrons with burlap and mulch. Come to think of it, cover all
de childrens with the same or similar. Aw hell, put that shit on
everything!
3. SAY prayers hourly to whichwhatwhomever Gods you fear...er...prefer.
(bended knee optional)
4. On November 15th, high noon, ALL the populous will scream, weep,
moan, gnash their teeth and bend over and kiss their collective
asses goodbye, because.........
The JUKES are HERE! or THERE! or
whatever.
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Never since that evil dawn when the Vikings landed on
Foulmouth-Mary-by-the-Lindesfarnecastle-on-the-Portzebie-on-Tyre-on-Tuesday-Last
has such sheer ennui gripped the British population such as it is.
Not since the wolf-skin clad Eric the Rank kicked the blue-genital
painted Celts, or kelts, ur...um...kilties? Oh the hell with it. I
mean, how seriously can you take a culture that paints their
privates a nice shade of aquamarine, I ask you.
Anyway, back to the business at hand. Yes, we Jukes will be playing
our little songs and joking and laughing and carrying on
disgustingly on your fair shores just as if everything was peachy
and all was right with the world. Well, IT ISN'T, CHUM!
All right, just for starters, there's
that little business of your "Prince of Wails" and his, oh please
"consort"...nudge, nudge, wink, wink, comin' over here and eatin'
all the good grub and tying up traffic while us peasants starve in
the streets. It's just not on. Can't you keep that "heir apparent"
on a short leash. I mean, I know your sick of him, but why fob him
AND her off on us? After all, if it weren't for my father and uncle
in WWII, you'd all be eating spetzle and sauerkraut, which is what
his family was raised on, as you well know. Oh, Di, wither hast thou
gone????
Ahem.
We will be toting in our kitsacks a
brandy new CD jes' chock fulla NEW Jukes excrescence and drivel. And
you, my mushy-pea eating friends will have it BEFORE THE BLOODY
YANKS!!! Ah..hahahahahahahhahaha!!!! At last, you limeys will be
able to lord it over the overfed, under-brained Ahmurkans whom (Oh,
John, stop) have had it all their way for farrrr to long. Vote for
Bush and see what ya get. So there.
We will also be bringing a coupla new cats to abuse and defile.
Bobby and Jeff, also known as "The Traitors" will be on tour with
Wayne Newton, and can't seem to remember any of our names or phone
numbers. One can only hope that they meet up with Zeigfried and
Roy's tiger when they play Las Vegas. Snarrrlll. The effervescent
Ricki Byrd (not his real name) will be on guitar and vocals and
shine, and the incredibly young Bobby Lynch will bring his keyboard
skills, his great voice and his huge peni...well, it's all a-gonna
be awright. Trust me on this. Have I ever lied to you? Don't answer
that, Mike. Bastard druids. They never forget anything. Since
Stonehenge. And after all that beer, too. Go figure.
The usual cast of idiots and malcontents will be along. Eddie
"Kingfish" Manion, our stalwart navy man. Back, girls, back. Must be
the uniform. Chris Andersen, who, once again, did yeoman's work on
the horn charts on the new CD. Joey "the Healer" Stann, on tenor and
crystal. No black raiment, though. Another relatively new dude, Neil
Pauley, on trombone, who just had a babychildkid. And, boy, are his
arms tired! True Juke that he is, he leaves when the brat is only 6
days old. My man! Bass will be booted by Muddy. He has a kid, too,
but the ugliest child you have ever seen! I hate her. Awwwwwwww.
Just kidding, Bailey.
Joe Bellia will be behind the drum kit...watching the new drummer...nononononono,
also just kidding, Joe. (Never insult the guy who sits behind you.)
The unstoppable Hood will bring enough peanut butter and white bread
for everyone. Just help him occasionally with the GRASS on his lawn
and he'll still yell at ya if ya screw up. He does with me. Lots.
Joe Prinzo. The Jersey Dude. He will ooze cool and forget to turn up
Joey's solo on purpose if Joey keeps bugging him.
Did you ever notice that we have a lot of Joes in this aggregation?
Why is that. The best answer gets dinner with me and you also win
the fabulous prize of picking up the check. I choose the wine. And
that dread-locked stud, Sean, will be lurking behind the scenes,
waiting to pounce on some unsuspecting young thing, gender no
object. Do NOT put him on the same floor as me, Hood. I needs ma
sleep.
Well, that's the story, folks. We have other projects in the works,
which will be revealed when the time is ripe. As ripe as my socks.
See you in my dreams. Southside
Jive Archive:
Jive #1 | Jive #2 |
Jive #3
| Jive #4
| Jive #5 | Jive
#6 | Jive #7: 06/02/01 | Jive
#8: Christmas
Jive | Jive #9: 11/15/01 |
Jive
#10: 02/10/02 | Jive #11: 03/27/02 |
Jive
#12: 06/25/02 | Jive #13: 08/27/02 |
Jive
#14: 12/01/02 | Jive #15: 03/07/03 |
Jive
#16: 06/07/03 | Jive #17: 11/27/03 |
Jive #18:
01/16/04 | Jive #19:
06/01/04 |
Jive #20:
Ray Charles | Jive #21:
09/16/04 | Jive #22:
12/25/04 | Jive #23:
08/01/05 | Jive #24:
11/07/05 | Jive #25:
12/22/05 | Jive #26:
07/25/06 | Jive #27:
03/13/07
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