Wallnuts After Dark
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Saturday, March 23, 2013
Wallnuts After Dark – What's With This Whole Pope Thing?
Ya know, for all a the mystery that surrounds this Pope selection process, it really ain’t all that complicated. C’mon, in Italy, do youse all really think a bunch of Finnoch priests can run the most powerful and profitable business in the world all by themselves? It ain’t all a them Cardinals or priests or whatever the frigg they are that choose il Papi, but a handful a old Mafia goombalas who really run the Vatican.
Ain’t ya never heard of the the goombalis? Madonna Mia!
I remember when Pope Paul the VI (that’s sixth for all a you Mama Lukes out there) was picked by Frankie and Sam Giancana along with Joe Bonnano and Cesare Manzella. So Sinatra jaunts over to the Vatican on Bob Hope’s jet, see? All for a big hush hush meet-up with all a the religious jamokes. But no one was talkin about it, so Frankie was keepin’ it on the low down. They was all set to elect, or whatever the f#@k they call it, some Polack priest and the Mob guys were screamin’ holy Mary Jabrones! No way theys gonna stand for that! Giancana made some calls and was all like, “No frickkin way a frickkin” Polack is gonna be the Frickkin’ Pope on my watch!” Hand to God.
So Giancana called Frank, and Frank called Skinny D’Amato and they all showed up in the Vatican with the Sicilian dagos and their goons like they was ready to break kneecaps just for the fun of it. Even the hardcore goombas was afraid a them Sicilian sons a bitches. But in the end it came down to the threat of Skinny givin’ two a the Papal Conclave Momos a Culo Punzone. Papal Conclave Momos a Culo Ponzone, I says.
An Ass Punch is an Ass Punch, regardless of the language. Na mean?
By the way, the Mob was constantly sending over high-end celebrity chicks to take care a the Pope’s helmet, ever since Benedict XV had a hard on for Clara Bow back in the 20s.
Pius the XI almost got caught schtupping Garbo in a cloak room in the Sistine Chapel, Pius the XII loved to be dominated and Joan Crawford used to dress up like a Nazi and wack his Guinea Pope Ass with a belt until he was satisfied, and John the XXIII was the guy who told Jack Kennedy what a great lay Marilyn Monroe was. Oofa, all a those Roman Numbers make my head hurt.
Remember that Pope who died after about a month who was supposed to have had a heart attack and was found sitting up in his bed? The real deal is that he was bangin’ Lola Falana. That goomba had a hankering for the Sammy Davis Jr. chicks, if ya knows what I means, and got a little too much sacramental wine and was workin’ it a little too hard, and blew a gasket.
The Mob had to cover up John Paul I goin’ tits up with a renob real quick and paid off a bunch a nuns and priests and others to make the whole thing go away. No investigation, no nothin’.
Saturday, March 16, 2013Wallnuts After Dark – Somebody Needs to Whack That Dick Vitali Character
Somebody needs to whack that Dick Vitali jabrone.
So I was watching the Duke/UNC college hoops game on The ESPN the other night and I had to turn the sound down because that Mama Luke was screamin’ his tits off like he’d just blown a c-note at the track!
That manudnick was screamin’ all a the time and says the same friggin’ thing over and over. “Take a T.O. Roy! Take a T.O. Take a T.O. Oh, baby! Oh baby!” I found myself yellin’ at the damn T.V., “Shut the f@#k up you bald, one-eyed hump.” Mrs. Wallnuts came in and tole me to cheese it on account a my high blood pressure and lumbago, which always acts up when I get sore at somethin’ or have a beef wit someone.
Lumbago, I says.
I tells ya, back in the old neighborhood anytime there was a big mouth always yackety yakkin’ about somethin’ or some such, one a the guys would a hit him with a sockful a stale gnocchi right across the back a his noggin’ and rolled him for good measure.
Stale gnocchi, I says.
One time there was this neighborhood babbo named Jimmy “Lobes” – he had earlobes that looked like balls a pizza dough – who was goin’ on and on about winning a Trifecta at Belmont Park to the point that this local mook Tommy “Elbows” – he never trew punches wit his fist, but trew elbows – cracked Lobes so hard that all a his fillings fell out a his head right there on the sidewalk on Grand Avenue in front of the Conca D’oro Social Club. Madon!
This Vitali Momo is way worse than any a these neighborhood Sfachims I used ta know. He never shuts up and he gave me so much agita that I had to take a physic and put some Jimmy Roselli on my 8-track player to calm my nerves. That Roselli really does the trick. He had a voice like a friggin’ angel and so I was able to relax thanks to him singin’ “Mala Femmina,” enjoyed that great game. I was rootin’ for Duke, but UNC covered and I had the under too, so all in all it was a good night.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013Wallnuts After Dark – Oscar Night
A four hour show where they do nothin but give out awards for some movies, most of em nobody ever seen? Pazzo! Back in the old days it was a get together at one a the Hollywood-area hotels, they’d toss out a few statues, snap some pictures, and then get on to the gropin’. Gropin’, I says.
Back in ’53, Sinatra’d just won the golden shvantz for “From Here to Eternity,” and they trou one a the biggest, wildest orgies I ever seen! That was the year Eva Gardner was also nominated, but even them legs didn’t win it for her. She was in some movie I don’t remember. Alls she did was show her knockers in a low cut dress, or some shit. She wasn’t much of an actress. Just knew who to shlamouli to get into the right pictures.
So anyways, Eva and Frank got into a knockdown drag out fight because Eva thought Frank was notching Donna Reed, his co-star who also won one of them golden shwantzes. Eva was extra whacked that night cuz she lost and knew Frank was making the Beast With Two Backs with that goody-two-shoes Reed. Reed was another one of them dames, you know the type. All prim and proper in public, but absolutely filthy in bed. Filthy in bed, I says.
So ole’ Bill Holden had the party that night, since he won the golden shwantz for best actor. Holden was an all-time lush who used the Müller Lyer Illusion Test to determine if he’d bang a broad. Hey, how in the hell am I supposed to know why?
Anyways, Holden used to just take it out after a few martinis. Didn’t matter who was there. The night of this shindig, he has it out and is holdin it in one had and wa slapping the head of his Golden Shwantz with the head of his Golden Shwantz. Know what I’m sayin’?
Saturday, March 2, 2013Wallnuts After Dark – Manscaping
What’s with all a these guys that don’t have no body hair? Is it possible that in a generation guys went from bein’ hairy like a man to bein’ hairless like a kid or some weird plastic doll? It don’t look right.
Now don’t get me wrong, an overly hairy guy ain’t too good to look at, and I’m sure no broads love to have that hair shirt all rubbin’ up against their gazongs when they’s doin’ the nasty all slows-like. But NO body hair for a fella? That ain’t natural.
I s’pose us boys used ta kinda sorta “manscape” back in the day. Especially after the watershed Miami Shaving Party that I tole all a youse about a while ago. Ain’t nobody want to see all a them Gabiles on a guy or a chick. I remember the first time Sinatra tole us all about how he trimmed his chest hair and his down below areas. We was all shocked because that was the kind a stuff only Finnochs did back then, but we was all ascared to say anything like that to Frank. But once the dames saw it and we realized they liked it, we was all about cleanin’ up ourselves down in the underbits.
I remember one time Normy Fell hacked up his joint pretty good trying to trim his Gabiles with one a them old school Wilkenson double edge razors that we all used to use back in the day. You could a cut down a friggin’ Sequoia tree wit one a them razors they was so sharp. You needed to be delicato down below and old Normy paid for it for weeks. He couldn’t bang no broads with a nicked up schvantz. Nicked up schvantz, I says.
Now, another ting, some a these guys back then didn’t have the greatest bodies, but they at least looked like men’s bodies. These days some a these guys with the shaved bodies look like one a them, whattaya call, Hermaphrodities that’s got both a joint and tits and even a twat.
Imagine that.
Buddy Hackett would a banged a Hermaphrodite and never minded it had a joint. He banged anything.
When it came to hair on our heads we had to be real careful what we said since Frank was always wearin’ a rug. God forbid somebody made a comment about anther guy wearin’ a wig, since Sinatra was always tapin’ a piece to his dome. Oofa.
This guy Scungilli Phil, who ran numbers for the Gambinos, had a few drinks too many at Toots Shore’s one night and called Sinatra’s toupee a bath mat. He thought he was being funny. No one ain’t never seen Scungilli Phil after that.
Frank was always jealous of Dean’s hair. Ole’ Deano had a full head of thick, black sheen that he’d grease all up to the nines like one a them Chinese dandies that used ta run numbers at Caesar’s back in the ’30s. Chicks was always runnin’ their hands trew Dean’s coif. Meanwhiles, Frank never would let no dame come near touchin’ his head. Ole’ Blue Eyes was afraid they’d knock his toup off his dome. Dome, I says.
Saturday, February 23, 2013Wallnuts After Dark
So the other night I stopped by one a my favorite waterin’ holes in midtown for a belt or two.
When I bellied up to the bar and ordered a Makers on the Rocks one a the bartenders tole me if I liked bourbon I really should try this one and that one! And that bourbon is so popular that there! They’se got all kinds a choices these days!
Just pour me a drink, son.
If that wasn’t enough, he started suggestin’ all a these other mixed drinks with all kinds a ingredients in ’em.
I was thinkin’ back on the old days where there weren’t no drinks with more than three ingredients. An usually two of ’em were the booze an the ice.
Madonna Mia, what ever happened to a simple friggin’ drink?
Then this nice young fella asks me if I’d like ta see a drink menu. “A drink menu?” I says, “Listen Jack, I don’t need no menu for no drinks. Take a glass, put some ice in it, and then pour that there Makers Mark in it. Real simple, like. Inin it?”
One time Normy Fell ordered a Jack and Coke with a slice a orange in it. By the reaction he got from the bartender you woulda thought poor Normy laid out a lincoln log stool on the bar like it was a finsky.
“Orange?!? Who the f@#k orders a slice a orange in a Jack and Coke?,” Sinatra says.
I can hear him sayin’ it like it just happened today.
A whiles back we went to that movie with the half-a-Finnoch Cruise guy who was a bartender and they was doin’ all kinds a things with the shaker like they was the Harlem Globetrotters, trowin’ it around the bar pourin’ drinks all silly an all a that.
I remember Frank and Dean sayin’ that if any guy tried to do that whilst makin’ their drink they woulda grabbed him by the shirt and punched ’em in the mush.
Punched ’em in the mush, they says.
Saturday, February 16, 2013Wallnuts After Dark – What's With This The American Idol Show?
Madonna Mia, what is with this The American Idol show?
Now I know Mariah Carey from the A.M. radio. I think I got one a dem albums on the 8-track. She’s a real classy dame that I know Frank and the guys woulda loved. Plus she’s got one a them big ole natural racks that you don’t sees too much anymore. Ella Fitzgerald had a set like that, but she was as ugly a dame as there ever was! Even though she was a real sweetheart and loved to bang like the Dickens. Not Charles Dickens. Dickens as in those dick gumshoes who used to work the cases that Mickey Cohen didn’t pay off.
Anways, Ella. She could sing great, too. Frank really loved Ella. But as a musician. Not in a bang kinda way.
So I seen this Nicki Garage, with the pink hair, and I gotta go an find out what she sounds like on her albums. I still haven’t figured out how black dames have blonde hair and straight hair, so the pink hair really trows me off. Na mean? So I goes to The Google and find out she has some big hits and is a rapper of some sort. Then I went to The iTunes and listened to some a her songs, and I gotta say they was all horse shit.
So this Nicki Garage has a hit song that talks about pissin’ on some other dame. Oofa! How does that make any sense?
The other guy, who I guess is the star of the show, that Ryan Seachest, is really Finnochy, but in an appealin’ kinda way. Now I don’t know if he goes the other way, and believe you me I ain’t no Finnoch myself, but I wouldn’t blame no other Finnoch for bein’ attracted to this Seachest character. He’s very neat, dresses nice and has cute hair, which in my experience means he’s light in his loafers, if you catch my drift.
Saturday, February 9, 2013Wallnuts After Dark
Madonna Mia! I just read a story where some guy who works for the government is getting jammed up because he farts too much at work.
I mean, what kinda pazzo, mixed-up world is we livin in where a guy can’t drop some Wolf Bait when the urge strikes?
It’s not like he was Bangin’ Down a Stiff Lucy, for Chrissakes. A Stiff Lucy, I says.
I can think a some pretty famous folks who’d be outta a job if Blowin Kumquats was some kinda disqualifier. I remember some a the biggest stars in the world who had some a the most terrible gas you coulda ever smelled, and yet nobody said nothin. It was a weird kind a code where it would be okay for a guy to float a Rotten Air Biscuit, but then it woulda been considered outta line if another guy said somethin’ about it in a complainin’ kinda way.
One time this wise guy Jimmy the Beep, who was from the Midwest and was a Button Man for some a the families back there, came out to Hollywood as a guest a one a the big movie producers who was into the mob for some serious shcarole.
So we was at a gig at Frank’s in Palm Springs and Henry Silva let fly with a really loud and odiferous Neapolitan Butt Belch, and The Beep starts carryin’ on like he just got shived in the shower at Sing-Sing whilst gettin’ boned up the shoot for bein’ a f@#kin’ Wise Guy. Odiferous, I says.
So Silva, who was a legit tough guy, walked over to the Beep and slapped him in the mush and tole him there was dames who was tougher than him, and who did he think he was actin all c@#ty over another guy blowin’ heat. C@#ty, I says.
Everyone held their breath waitin’ for The Beep to rip out Silva’s larynx, but he backed down. Plus Silva laid down another Methane Brick whilst he was face to face with the Beep. We didn’t never see The Beep again.
And you don’t even know what kind a pollution that was bein’ snuck out by some a the choicest skirts in all a Hollywood.
Janet Leigh was known for Cuttin’ Walnuts whilst doin the deed and would Queef like an old Studebaker with a clogged intake valve, with regularity.
Some guys loved that noisy shit.
That’s one a the reasons that half-a-Finnoch Tony Curtis married her.
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Wednesday, January 30, 2013Wallnuts After Dark: Frank 'n The Boys
Legendary Douchebag Hunter and owner of this here site, DB1, asked me how Sinatra and the rest a the guys interacted with dames back in the day.
That’s a good question there, DB.
There obviously weren’t no textin’ or Internet or nothin’ like that, so the guys, for the most part, actually had ta talk to broads face to face.
Now some a the guys was real crude, but you’d be amazed by how so many dames was so star struck they’d respond to anything. Except to Rickles, as you all know by now.
One time when we was filmin’ “Ocean’s 11” Buddy Lester tole some broad he wanted to, “Drive his bike trew her mud puddle,” and she went for it! But Sinatra would never say somethin’ like that. He’d write somethin’ like, “You are the most darling creature that I have ever seen and I would love to meet you and get to know you.” Now he coulda been sayin’ somethin’ in Chinese or jibberish like, “Cockey moomen Hanukkah dreck,” and he still woulda got laid. But he enjoyed the seduction. Ya mean?
When he was done, he always treated dames right. Made ’em breakfast, brushed their hair, drove ’em home. That’s why you ain’t never heard a any stories from pissed off dames he banged. All the other guys would get jammed up from time to time and had ta scramble to cover their tracks. But not Frank. Not never.
I’ll tell ya, there’s nothing wrong with progress. Anyone who remembers when Hi-Fis was able to be in Stereo instead a Mono knows that progress is good. Do any a youse even know what Mono is, have you ever listened to music in Mono? Madonna mia!
Now that I think of it, I been readin’ about how vinyl records is comin’ back. I don’t know how I feel about that; records sounded good but it was a pain in the ass with the scratches and the needles and if your kids walked into the room and were jumpin’ around the friggin’ record could skip and God forbid you scratched the album and it would skip every time you played that tune. I remember buyin’ the Sinatra Live at the Sands with the Count Basie Band album and the first day I dropped the friggin’ needle on the record and made a scratch on the opening track, “Come Fly With Me,”and it ruined my week. I had to go out and lift another one.
Now me, I like the 8-track tape. I got the complete Sinatra collection on 8-track, baby. These babies can get runned over by a semi rig and not skip a beat. Of course, it sounds like you’re listenin’ to music trew a pillow.
The Twitter and the Facebook and that other thing that lets you post pictures and add comments to them, and all a the other societal media don’t make it no easier to meet and talk with dames, or anyone for that matter. People think these things represent progress and maybe in some sense they is progress, but is it really progress?
I know Dean never would a posted his spur a the moment thoughts on the Twitter or started a beef with another guy by sendin’ a Tweeter usin’ misspelled words, remoticons or whatever the fuck they’s called, and phrases like, “U suxxor, the Pack is 1337,” or “My last album pwned urs n00b! :))”
So maybe we weren’t as advanced with all a these gizmos and things, but we knew how to talk to people and how to treat ’em and weren’t hidin’ behind a cell phone or computer.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013Wallnuts After Dark
You know, as Sinatra used to say, “A good tune is a good tune no matter who does it.” He was right about that. It don’t matter who sings a song, if it’s a good song, with a good band and a good arrangement, it sounds good.
The Beatles was a good example a this, too. Frank used to say, “People think they are bunch a long hairs, but they write great tunes.” Sure, not every tune is gold, but even DiMaggio made an out now and then. Na mean?
Take this Paul Anka fella. He wrote some great songs, and he wrote “My Way,” a song that Frank sung the shit out a and kinda made an anthem out of. A theme song, so to speak. Anka’s still workin’ and makin’ music, and not just the old stuff. He appreciates a good tune whether it be rock or a standard from the old days.
Some of this crap today like Muldoon 5 or that broad with the black hair and big knockers that sang that song about kissin’ another broad and likin’ it who was married to that half-a-Finnoch Brit, or Brandy Spears, and most a the songs you hear on the radio that sounds like a computer sung it, you can all just flush it down the John. It’s worse than disposable. Sure there was crap music in the old days, but the crap is worse now a days.
One thing I always have appreciated – whether I liked ’em or not – is the singer or band that goes out there and plays their stuff and sings and don’t hide behind gimmicks and the nonsense. There’s that bald, sunglasses wearin’ guy who looks like this guy Pep Zazarra who was one a Frank’s old Hoboken goons and he does the Bud Light commercials, some kinda dog name I forget. Come on, what is that nonsense? So anyways…
Funny about this “Smells Like Teen Spirit” tune, but I never could figure out what that Nirvana character was singin’. I remember sayin’ to Jilly Rizzo, “Jilly, I dig this tune but I don’t know what the f@#k this kid is sayin. You know what I’m sayin’?” Jilly wasn’t much into rock so he’d just lean over and change the station or shove a Sinatra tape into the 8-track player. I had the last 8-track player GM ever installed in a Coup de Ville. I can still get any album on 8-track tape. It pays to have Union ties. Ya mean?
Anyways, it was a good tune, I just needed to hear it better and Anka laid it down – for me – in a way I could unnnerstand. Kinda like when a skell owed the Scarfos the Vig on top a the loss and Skinny D’Amato had to explain to ’em that if they didn’t pay up they’d get punched in the ass. Especially the line about the Mulatto. Am I right when I say that, Reverend Chad?
So I guess you can say that Paul Anka helped me “get” “Teen Spirit” like it was the threat a gettin’ an Ass Punch.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013Wallnuts After Dark
Welcome to the first installment a my new feature here on HCWDB, “Wallnuts After Dark.” I figures since I gave Hef the idea for his show back in the 50s, and the title for it that he didn’t use 10 years later, I might as well use it now since he ain’t.
So anyways, I’ll be usin’ this regular feature here to tell stories from back in the day, give my thoughts on how things have progressed over the years, and tellin ya about what we drank, what we wore, how we was, and how all a that differs from what’s goin’ on now.
Bein’ I’m a raconteur, I have some great stories for ya.
So, speakin’ a Hef, there was no guy who worked harder to “class up the joint,” as we used to say. Class, that’s one a them things that’s missin’ today. When you get some time, check out Sammy on this here video from Hef’s first show, “Playboy’s Penthouse”
Now, I was flippin’ through the channels the other night and I came across that benefit concert they had for the victims a that f@#kin’ hurricane we had back there in October. Now, on the good side, these organizers or promoters a today are real civic minded, you see. They got this thing together licketty-split and got all a the big names to pitch in, even the ugly, too-old British guys.
Now I make fun a the old Brits but back in my day, the boys never would a gotten together to pass the hat for a bunch of unfortunates. No way, not never. Sure Frank ponied up with cash and gave tons a dough to hospitals and for sick kids and all kinds a stuff like that, and some a the gang was generous to charities and whatnot. But a free concert? Never would a happend.
So I was watchin’ that Who group, or whatever the f@#k they’re called, and I’m rememberin’ them from when they was young punks and had that wild kid playin’ the drums and they would wreck hotel rooms and trow TVs off a balconies into the swimmin’ pool, and I says to myself, “Wallnuts,” I says, “these guys finally growed up.”
One time Frank, Buddy Rich and I got went to go see these kids play at the Whisky-a-Go-Go. Frank and Buddy would sneak in the side door and watch these new rock acts from where nobody could see them, and then talk to the guys after the show. Frank and Buddy hit it off with the Daltry kid and the drummer, and got these young kids blowed by some real dames.
These Who fellas had been boning every dirty, hairy hippy chick groupie they could shake their joints at, but after Frank and Buddy got them dames who was all shaved up down below, they startin’ demandin’ these groupie broads clean up their Snappers. Clean up their Snappers, I says. They used to come to watch Frank and the guys, but they kept it real quite-like so their fans wouldn’t think they was squares.
Back to the other night. After Who finished this other guy called Kanton West or some f@#kin’ thing, comes on stage wearin’ a skirt and starts with this jibberish that ain’t even rap and certainly ain’t no kind a music. I mean I like the Sugar Hill Gang, Kurtis Blow, LL Cool J, Run DMV, De La Soul, Snoop and those white Jew kids the Beastly Boys or whatever the f@#k they’s called, and some a these other young talents who create stuff that sounds like music, but this was just a cacophony.
Cacophony, I says.
Which brought me back to thinkin’ about Sammy and how he could mesmerize a room full a people whether there was 20 or 20,000 people, no matter what color they was. Somebody needs to tell that Kenyon West character to take a powder. Don’t no one need to hear that. Am I right when I say that? God forbid someone tells this jamoke he’s piss-poor and needs to cheese it. This Mo-mo carryin’ like this is an insult to all a the other class acts out there who is actually good.
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