Movin with Nancy

Here it is in all its glory and gloriously goofiness. The 60's TV special by Nancy Sinatra, Movin with Nancy.

I have been trying to find this special for many years to watch it. I have the album and it is wonderful.

But I've at last seen the special...

Some Velvet Morning is a straight up pure psychedelic classic.

I'm a fan of Frank and Dino's music so having them in this is a pure bonus.

The dance sequences.... um, they were ridiculously goofy but pure fun.

I really recommend checking this special out.

Yours in TV Watching,

Count Robot

 

Three of Some Other Kind

 

Three of Some Other Kind

A pirate, a monkey, and a junkie walk into a bar

The pirate orders rum

The monkey orders rum

The junkie orders the monkey off his back

Why is it three that I always see?

A goblin, a troll, and a pin up model walk into a bar

Then one of them opens the door

Get it?

They actually all walked right into the wall outside the bar

What a bunch of morons

Who can swim across lagoons or play drum solos on spoons

A plumber, a mathematician, and Dr. Frankenstein, walk into a hotel bar

The name of the hotel is as relevant as the irrelevance of the post

nasal drip condition of a Hawaiian wolf dog's beekeepers local honey farmer

Once the trio sat down, Dr. Frankenstein offered the plumber five thousand clams for his brain, then the doctor offered the mathematician one thousand clams for his brain

The mathematician was shocked, he wanted to know why the doctor offered less for his clean, precise, brain

The doctor explained that plumbing can't be outsourced but math can be 

It's all you, you, and me

Bicycle Man

 If this were a true story, it should have a beginning, middle, and ending.

Instead its more like an idea or a description.

Under the highway overpass there lives a weatherworn man.

In a sense he might be called homeless, but this is home to him.

Its also where he works.

He repairs bicycles. Any kind, any make, it doesn't matter to him.

He takes whatever payment people will give him, a can of soda, a sandwich, a couple of dollars, a thank you, a few kind words, whatever anyone can spare.

He scours the city for parts for his repairs. He fashions whatever he can find into what he needs.

I don't know how he lives with the summer heat, the noise, the exhaust fumes, the punishing pavement, or the winter cold.

He sleeps in a small tent behind his wall of stuff. Discarded and broken material dreams that he builds into new stuff or keeps simply because he feels they must be kept. 

How long will the city let him remain there?

Will he stay there until he chooses to close his repair shop or will some bureaucratic red tape wind its way around his unshaved neck?

Yours in repair,

Count Robot