12:57 PM |
I caint quit you, Mummers.
Fancies. Fat ladies, too. "What a great smile." These guys drag along these amazingly large and elaborate sort of mini-floats. The captains wear 200 pounds (I think, could be more) of feathers attached to their backs like Vegas showgirls on steroids (testosterone I hope, these guys need all the help they can get in the pansy department). You can see their grimaced game faces when they pass the judges. "Gootch" is one of them.
Huge revolving peacock, 20 feet wide. The flight of the monarch, made of chiffon, sequins and feathers. 18 feet tall. Pagoda. "Can you imagine the hours it takes...no I can't, Steve." "Uh-oh, we lost something, but the parade must go on."
Mardi Gras. Why can't they leave Mardi Gras in New Orleans where it belongs?
String bands. Quaker City is always a crowd favorite. Rules change this year emphasizes "effect". Color, combinations, unified appearance. Dancing and playing at the same time. Use of props. One of the judges is a judge. I wonder if he can pass sentences on the ones that are really a public nuisance. How about indecent exposure? Judges get "up close and personal," speaking into recorders to note their impressions, so they can be more efficient stalkers.
"Travis, how many of these Turkey Hill iced teas can you pound down at one time?"
"A toast to Turkey Hill, with us for three years now!"
Finally, Fralinger! Through The Golden Gate of Kiev. "Majestic, awesome, awesome." Dancing Cossacks! Eight-time winners looking for number nine. They're in a different class from the guys with the ebay band costumes Mummified. Fralinger just dominates.
In the Bayou. Guys, just leave Louisiana out of it already. "Wow, got her done." Accordion-playing crawdads.
Mayor Nutter. "Can't be more excited." He looks like he's going to a funeral with a hangover. It's painful.
Different Strokes for Different Folks by the Peter A. Broomall String Band. Now we're getting more realistic. Oh, I get it. Painters: Strokes. Their costumes are really awful. No sequins! Mellow Yellow playing. Kick line of fat ladies. Ewwwww. That ribbon stuff that's unbelievably an Olympic event.
Cut to booth. I don't know who the guy on the right is, but his head keeps snapping back and forth like a chicken scratching for corn.
No Boat Like Show Boat. Double reveal expected. They're dancing with those half dolls that you hold onto. Kinda creepy if you ask me. They took them out of suitcases. Is that where the missing girl was?Did they keep her in the basement, chained to the water pipes? Hello My Ragtime Doll playing. They're actually quite good. South Philadelphia String Band. Well, no wonder, they drink the same water as Fralinger. Could be a gang war. When the captain poses at the end, he's in a sort of Elvis position, breathing hard. I swear he is breathing with his junk.
Geez. More Christmas. Where do these guys get their calendars? Maybe they're just behind on their rehearsals. But the tailpieces are four-leaf clovers. Huh? More fat girls with tiaras. They must be the ones who were twirlers in high school-- you know, the ones that were so, um, unsuitable that they couldn't make cheerleader. Or maybe they just saved the crowns from Little Miss Grand Supreme Arkansas when their (generally fat) mothers made them up like Jon Benet Ramsey. "They did a great job merging Irish and Christmas." Oh, that was planned. "Sometimes ya just hafta take a risk."
"It's a great day for mummery!"
Hmmm. Zebra heads. Dancing with Toucan dolls (I see a serial killer pattern here). Hippo heads. How do they play those saxophones? Charleston playing. Oh, wait. Is it another bayou with African accents? Wrong. "If all speakeasies were like that, no one would want to end prohibition." That's because you need all the bathtub gin you can drink.
They're making pretty young ladies do the mummer's strut. How embarrassing.
Could it be fruit flies? I see banana heads. Okay, Chiquita Banana playing. Gross, animated worm coming out of an apple. Heard It On The Grapevine playing. The worst rendition of Strawberry Fields ever. Fruity it is, but consistent. "Wow, that band can really "produce," yuk-yuk."
Pirates playing "Blow The Man Down." Do I see a hint of the rainbow colors? Oh God, more dummies. A sign in the crowd reads "Hi Thelma!"
Rolling Out The Barrel. Fat girls with Bavarian breasts hanging out. Beer theme. Oh, I could use one. "...duck dance...." I missed that.
Got. To. Escape
The mummer quicksand has my feet.
Fancies. Fat ladies, too. "What a great smile." These guys drag along these amazingly large and elaborate sort of mini-floats. The captains wear 200 pounds (I think, could be more) of feathers attached to their backs like Vegas showgirls on steroids (testosterone I hope, these guys need all the help they can get in the pansy department). You can see their grimaced game faces when they pass the judges. "Gootch" is one of them.
Huge revolving peacock, 20 feet wide. The flight of the monarch, made of chiffon, sequins and feathers. 18 feet tall. Pagoda. "Can you imagine the hours it takes...no I can't, Steve." "Uh-oh, we lost something, but the parade must go on."
Mardi Gras. Why can't they leave Mardi Gras in New Orleans where it belongs?
String bands. Quaker City is always a crowd favorite. Rules change this year emphasizes "effect". Color, combinations, unified appearance. Dancing and playing at the same time. Use of props. One of the judges is a judge. I wonder if he can pass sentences on the ones that are really a public nuisance. How about indecent exposure? Judges get "up close and personal," speaking into recorders to note their impressions, so they can be more efficient stalkers.
"Travis, how many of these Turkey Hill iced teas can you pound down at one time?"
"A toast to Turkey Hill, with us for three years now!"
Finally, Fralinger! Through The Golden Gate of Kiev. "Majestic, awesome, awesome." Dancing Cossacks! Eight-time winners looking for number nine. They're in a different class from the guys with the ebay band costumes Mummified. Fralinger just dominates.
In the Bayou. Guys, just leave Louisiana out of it already. "Wow, got her done." Accordion-playing crawdads.
Mayor Nutter. "Can't be more excited." He looks like he's going to a funeral with a hangover. It's painful.
Different Strokes for Different Folks by the Peter A. Broomall String Band. Now we're getting more realistic. Oh, I get it. Painters: Strokes. Their costumes are really awful. No sequins! Mellow Yellow playing. Kick line of fat ladies. Ewwwww. That ribbon stuff that's unbelievably an Olympic event.
Cut to booth. I don't know who the guy on the right is, but his head keeps snapping back and forth like a chicken scratching for corn.
No Boat Like Show Boat. Double reveal expected. They're dancing with those half dolls that you hold onto. Kinda creepy if you ask me. They took them out of suitcases. Is that where the missing girl was?Did they keep her in the basement, chained to the water pipes? Hello My Ragtime Doll playing. They're actually quite good. South Philadelphia String Band. Well, no wonder, they drink the same water as Fralinger. Could be a gang war. When the captain poses at the end, he's in a sort of Elvis position, breathing hard. I swear he is breathing with his junk.
Geez. More Christmas. Where do these guys get their calendars? Maybe they're just behind on their rehearsals. But the tailpieces are four-leaf clovers. Huh? More fat girls with tiaras. They must be the ones who were twirlers in high school-- you know, the ones that were so, um, unsuitable that they couldn't make cheerleader. Or maybe they just saved the crowns from Little Miss Grand Supreme Arkansas when their (generally fat) mothers made them up like Jon Benet Ramsey. "They did a great job merging Irish and Christmas." Oh, that was planned. "Sometimes ya just hafta take a risk."
"It's a great day for mummery!"
Hmmm. Zebra heads. Dancing with Toucan dolls (I see a serial killer pattern here). Hippo heads. How do they play those saxophones? Charleston playing. Oh, wait. Is it another bayou with African accents? Wrong. "If all speakeasies were like that, no one would want to end prohibition." That's because you need all the bathtub gin you can drink.
They're making pretty young ladies do the mummer's strut. How embarrassing.
Could it be fruit flies? I see banana heads. Okay, Chiquita Banana playing. Gross, animated worm coming out of an apple. Heard It On The Grapevine playing. The worst rendition of Strawberry Fields ever. Fruity it is, but consistent. "Wow, that band can really "produce," yuk-yuk."
Pirates playing "Blow The Man Down." Do I see a hint of the rainbow colors? Oh God, more dummies. A sign in the crowd reads "Hi Thelma!"
Rolling Out The Barrel. Fat girls with Bavarian breasts hanging out. Beer theme. Oh, I could use one. "...duck dance...." I missed that.
Got. To. Escape
The mummer quicksand has my feet.