Elvis had it all

I'm listening to Elvis while banging away at this f*%#ing computer. I actually forgot how good he was, and still is. I'm sure he's working behind some 7-11 counter in Encino with an Abdul nametag pinned to his polyester shirt flipping off the paparazzi when they come in for coffee.

That SOB sure could sing and gyrate.

Hell, he invented gyrating.

And he had the looks.

That bad boy look, with the sneer.

Every girl between 14 and 54 likes bad boys. I know a lot of girls won't admit it, but deep down inside, where they do their secret craving, they want a bad boy. Not too bad, mind you. No sense in getting raped, or arrested, or beat up. But bad enough to get on the back of a motorcycle or in a hot rod or sports car, and be seen with Elvis. Or one of his millions of wanna-bes.

I was an Elvis wanna-be, who the hell wasn't.

Dark slicked back hair, collar up in the back. Levis. No cheap shit imitations. You had to wear honest to goodness Levis. No rolled up farmer cuffs.

Life was easy back in the fiftys. You either looked like Elvis, or you were a homo. How do I dare say that? Easy. Straight guys wanted girls and girls wanted Elvis. Ergo, you became an Elvis clone. The guys who didn't care about getting a girl? They wore chinos with the stupid belt in the back and pastels.

Maybe the King of Pop is dead, but the King of Rock and Roll just keeps rolling along.