548. Technicolor Dreamtime with Callum Z. Blabber

Callum Z. Blabber has had some time off this week, from the daily grind of updating former and current guests of Loveless Motel, or luring new ones. Far from getting away as originally planned, he's found himself stuck in his Aluminum City quarters, going through old boxes of shit he should have tossed years ago, cleaning cat boxes in "the cat room", and otherwise busying himself while his money sits unspent in his surprisingly healthy trust fund. His guilty pleasure, pursuit of a latent career in cabaret as a one man band has been on hold but he's even carved out a few hours of time to practice, despite the complaints of his nearby neighbors who complain that the thin tin can walls of a trailer seem to amplify the sound.  He's shrugged off the complaints and invited a few of the biggest complainers in for drinks and mini-concerts, and things have calmed down. His medley of Piaf tunes is particularly popular - he brings some of his pals to tears with his version of Non, je ne regrette rien, but they liven back up when he transitions to L'Accordeoniste.  Some of the guys are Certified Hustlers - it's like being in home territory. Since he can't sing and play the harmonica simultaneously, he hands out lyric sheets.  It's a fucking party!

 Of late, he's taken a few cat naps, something he looks forward to on a daily basis, because he's been having a series of wild dreams in vivid color. Not an imbiber of some of the drugs that float around the social hangouts around the resort, he's not quite sure what the source of the dreams are; there seem to be no familiar faces, and definitely no situations - just outrageous situations far out of reach of even some of the creations of Snap Wadmacher at Shutter Bug Camera Shop, but he's not too worried.  

Maybe he'll be able to use some of what he can remember as Loveless Tourist Rag fodder the next time he has to come up with a marketing campaign.  Time for another nap.

HEY CAL! WAKE UP BUDDY!  WE'RE CLOSING FOR AN HOUR SO THE SPOOGE PATROL CAN COME IN AND HOSE THE PLACE OUT!

Begrudgingly he snaps out of his dream, looks around and sees empty chairs around him, and the houselights up at the little movie theater at After Midnight Arcade.  "How long have I been sitting here?" "Buddy, you've been sitting here asleep for 8 hours,6 showings of this flick, your dick is hanging out and you're startin' to smell a little...better get a move on. See ya around.  Can't wait to read your story about this one, Cal!"

The accordionist

The prostitute is beautiful (lit. Girl of pleasure)

Over there on the corner

She has a client

Who fills her stockings up (pays)

When her job is done

She goes on her way

Looking for a bit of dreams

At a dancehall in the suburbs

Her man is an artist

He's a strange, little guy

An accordionist

Who knows how to play the java (a dance)

 

She hears the java

But she doesn't dance

She doesn't even look at the dancefloor

And her loving eyes

Follow the vigorous playing

And the wiry, long fingers of the artist

It gets under her skin

From the bottom, from the top

She has the urge to sing, it's physical

All of her being is tensed

Her breath is held

it's a work of art shaped by the music

The prostitute is sad

Over there on the corner

Her accordionist

Left to be a soldier

When he comes back from war

They will have a house

She will be the cashier

And he will be the boss

How beautiful life will be

They'll be true big-shots

And every night for her

He'll play the java

 

She hears the java

That she hums softly

She looks again at her accordionist

And her loving eyes

Follow the vigorous playing

And the wiry, long fingers of the artist

It gets under her skin

From the bottom, from the top

She has the urge to cry, it's physical

All of her being is tensed

Her breath is held

It's a work of art shaped by the music

 

The prostitute is alone

Over there on the corner

The girls who are sulking

The men don't want

And too bad if she dies

Her man is never coming back

Farewell to all of those beautiful dreams

Her life is fucked

Nevertheless her tired legs

Take her to the dive (dancehall)

Where there's another artist

Who plays all night long....

 

She hears the java

She listens to the java...

She closes her eyes...

Those wiry, vigorous fingers

It gets under her skin

From the bottom, from the top

She has the urge to yell out, it's physical

And so to forget

She begins to dance, to turn

To the sound of the music...

 

STOP!

Stop the music...

513. New Dirty Dozen at After Midnight Arcade

Just hitting the shelves are 12 new titles at After Midnight Arcade, located off the lobby at Loveless Motel. It doesn't really open at midnight.  You can go in there and drop quarters 24 hours a day, seven days a week, if you like.  The spooge brigade is eager to clean up after you - those eager lads who have entered into the work release program after having been incarcerated in the Hoosegow for looking at a bartender cross-eyed, wearing a combination of a horizontally striped shirt with vertically striped pants, complaining about pubic hairs in the coleslaw at our restaurants - all of these types of infractions have lead to our ability to provide a spotless arcade environment for your prurient pleasure.*

* We recognize that some of the infractions mentioned may seem a tad trivial, but when you consider the prospect of not having adequate help to do the menial tasks required by any business, signing a waiver exposing our lodgers to the slight risk of becoming conscripted is really a small matter compared to the possibility of wandering around in squalor while on vacation.

483. Ginger Rarities - Archie's a Bottom - Who knew?

Convenience is our middle name at Hit and Split, your destination at Loveless Motel for the latest in, candy cigarettes, real ones, single cans of beer for daytrips into town, aspirin and condoms. Just in, some light reading material, reminding us that ginger men are a real rarity around here.  Catch one if you can.  Then, stop over to After Midnight Arcade and catch the latest addition to redhead beefcake, (we know the first gay naked man you ever saw in print was in Playgirl, and we've just received a used copy with a few pages that are stuck together)

Recent Loveless Motel  redhead visitors

473. Nutbush Camp Ground Stump Grinder Wanted - ?

 A recent Help Wanted ad in one of the manly magazines sold at After Midnight Arcade yielded unexpected results. There are still a few prospective campsites which, having been cleared of timber, now need to have the remaining stumps removed by grinding them down, and the only man in town known to grind stumps lost his equipment in a poker game and his main grind, the amputee postwoman, an Armenian immigrant named Aznef Bizdikian, dumped him for a ventriloquist with a lisp- hence the ad was placed in hopes more exposure would net results.  Here are a few of the most interesting candidates. See if you can spot the man that's sure to have a leg up.

469. Coming out of hibernation at Loveless Motel

 

After Midnight Arcade has the newest issue of the Advocate available - just ask for the latest February issue, and while there, pick up a few back issues! Right now you can get the July 1979 issue at half off and entertain yourself with George Mazzei's article "Who's Who in the Zoo" with great illustrations by Advocate cartoonist Gerard Donelon, whose work we excerpt here. We've seen a few of these burly, furry creatures here latel and a few were observed skinny dipping recently - a misapplied name for an activity which doesn't quite cover these men, literally or figuratively speaking. It appears they would make a downright acceptable solution to those cold nights we've been having. Looks like we have a winner in the "Give me another gay label" contest. Bear meat, anybody?