Marilyn’s dead and nothing will bring those Monroes back! Mitch Miller's red blazer and goatee transformed him into a devilish vision of a Victorian cigar salesman or vice versa. Sing along with the rest of the demons, live tonight, right after this.
The commercial faded and there was Cronkite waiting patently, the footage shifts the color television in the darkened room focuses the space before it with Technicolor highlights of U.S. personnel as they bear an injured Marine across the retinas of anyone watching. In black-and-white the commentators in their broadcast wisdom rearrange the audience’s perception to render the images biased.
“Tune in Lawrence Welk later tonight, when the orchestra is joined by the June Taylor Dancers and the Lemmon Sisters. The announcer’s delivery is coarser than Huntley’s and annoyingly loud, the television’s automatic elevation in volume intended to attract those lulled into a narcotic existence by the data dump of the nightly news. Brinkley and the boys are beholden to no censorship worthy of license, they drone on, knowing not what harm they may do to inquisitive young minds.
Dancers in sequined fishnets and stiletto heels have got the boy’s attention, flashing crotches of smiling beauties peg him as a menace to virginity and celibacy, to decency and quite possibly wisdom, for the boy is coarse and profane.
What good would it do to encourage the child when there is no good can come of it, no altering the course he’s set. Lenny Bruce, Woody Guthrie, Truman Capote and Edger Bergin mix it up in the stock yards as Satisfaction ruptures the diaphragms that ring the stage to drown out the ruckus.
What came of Buddy Holly’s crash when all the good died young. Hunter found it lacking and checked his bags for a seat next to Cobain on the flight to oblivion. Roads not shared though both travel the fault meridian.
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