ooga chaka, ooga chaka!
It’s been a while since we had a nice, resin-cast child here, and I think I remember why.
Of all the forms resin can take when it glops and pools in the great resin-swamps east of Houston, the most obnoxious is the resin-cast child. At least, that’s what I thought. Turns out, I was right. I don’t know what tragic, dwindling tribe this little guy’s from, but I don’t doubt they’ll be happy to take their last swirl around the toilet basin of oblivion once they see how the great artists of resin have chosen to commemorate them.
The chicken…the chicken adds class.
If I was celebrating my heritage through interpretive dance, I’d totally want to have a chicken in the middle of my patch of weirdly-textured concrete. The affronted squawk will just heighten the dignity of the whole thing.
From this angle, I can’t tell if he’s playing a djembe, or trying to dig out all the filberts from a weird blue bowl of mixed nuts. My bet’s on the filberts. Filberts are awesome. A skirt made of blue leather and peacock feathers is kind of awesome, too, but not on him. Maybe on a member of Thunder Down Under, but not on this kid.
46 years later, washed up, broken, alcoholic and probably on his second loveless marriage, he’s still wearing the little skirt. “You should have seen me. God, those were the salad days. Big endorsements…women…all the damn filberts I could eat…it was paradise. Then I got…I don’t know, too old. My agent said it was the filberts what done it, but I knew…he didn’t come out and say it, but I could see him thinking ‘Dave…Dave, put down the funny felt hat. 26 is too old for that hat.’ But you’re never too old for peacock feathers, know what I’m saying? Now get the hell out of here, or pass me another can o’them mixed nuts.”
Savers on Burnet near 2222, Austin