Power Playin' Snakes in the Grass

Serpents in Legends Equal Evil Which Equals SIN
According to the legend I grew up under out on the lone prairie, the reason snakes had no legs, the reason they slithered on the ground rather than walking upright, was because God due to Old Ned's tricking Sweet Eve into eating a no-no (verboten) tomato--said to be an aphrodisiac, I suppose, by God's Garden of Eden police force, cursed the snake, took away the poor soul's legs--made to crawl on his belly, the height of humility. So the Red Tailed One TEMPTED Sweet Eve by becoming male-cocky alluring to her in the guise of a wily serpent--a serpent walking upright mind you--get the picture? Wearing a tuxedo and a top hat I would imagine. The Devil certainly is a poet, isn't he? A drunken poet like Poe. A drunken poet like John Berryman. And this snake-in-the-grass got his ass cursed to lose his legs and have to slither around on the ground in order to survive in the Jungle. Thus, Old Ned as a serpent was a woe on the man Yahweh called Adam, his woe-unto-man being his tempted woman, Naked Eve, who allured old virginal Adam into bobbing for tomatoes in Eve's woman's grass--this Woeman that Yahweh created out of one of Adam's ribs (why Yahweh didn't create Eve at the same time he created Adam I never understood)--the missing rib in a man's rib cage--does the woman have an extra rib? I can't recall that half of the legend--all I know is, according to my instincts, I'd say this serpent, snake, or whatnot is something to FEAR. That's because a snake hides its evil well--like snakes are still in the early predator phase of snake society. If you are a man, you fear the snake because he corrupted your female possession, corrupted her--I mean, come on, this cute little naked symbol-of-the-flesh thing Yahweh named Eve--same as Ava as in Ava Gardner--and what a big snake charmer Ava Gardner was--she was the 1940s and 50s sexpot queen-type actress who men in those long-ago days followed around H-wood stomping their feet and wolf-whistling at or stomping their feet and howling at the moon over them. "Hey, toots, how 'bout a tumble in the hay with a true haymaker?" Artie Shaw told my brother Ava was hillbilly dumb when he first met her (she was from the mountains of North Carolina) while at the same time she was intellectually brilliant when it came to the art of fucking. Artie married Ava way back when she was a teenager--there's a great biography about her, Ava, a big book, written by Ava Gardner herself it was once rumored. Artie openly claimed he took hillbilly dumb Ava under his tutelage even on his wedding night and before they got unhitched he'd turned her into a multisubject genius--by then he had her reading physics textbooks and learning Latin and Greek and reading Shakespeare and reading psychology and sociology books and he had her reading Freud and Adler and Karen Horney--let's see, did Frankie Blue Eyes act the serpent and steal Ava from Artie?--or was it Orson Welles?--it might have been Mickey Rooney. The Mick married her in '42 or so when he was only 22. I was always jealous of little Mickey Rooney (Joe Yule, Jr., born in Brooklyn) when I was an upcoming ladies boy. He was married 5 or 6 times by the time I was a young getting-hornier-and-hornier-day-by-day boy and rumor was that Little Mickey had fucked just about every high-strung, top-box-office, hot babe in Jolly Hollywood, from Rita Hayworth to Ava Gardner who he married--though the Mick swore up and down even before he found Jesus back in the 1970s--that he never fucked Judy Garland--I never believed that though I've seen him swear to it three or four times on teevee--but boy how I envied Little Mickey Rooney in his heyday. I think the Mick is still alive--he was born in 1920 so he's 88 going on 89--he seems like he should be older than that. He lives over in the Poconos somewhere I think with his 8th wife. Mickey is the only actor to be #1 box office in Hollywood over three decades, the 30s, 40s, into the 50s. By the time the Mick was in his early twenties, he was earning the highest money in show biz.

From Mickey's Wikipedia entry:
So Mickey Tells Big White Lies, What Harm?
Rooney later claimed that, during his Mickey McGuire days, he met cartoonist Walt Disney at the Warner Brothers studio, and that Disney was inspired to name Mickey Mouse after him,^[3] although Disney always said that he had changed the name from "Mortimer Mouse" on the suggestion of his wife. Rooney also took credit for giving rising starlet Norma Jean Mortenson the stage name Marilyn Monroe, his co-star in the 1950 film The Fireball, although she had been so billed as early as 1947.

So Mickey Tells Little White Lies, Too, What Harm?
On December 31, 1961, he appeared on television's What's My Line and mentioned that he had already started enrolling students in the MRSE (Mickey Rooney School of Entertainment). His school venture never came to fruition, but for several years he was a spokesman/partner in Pennsylvania's Downingtown Inn, a country club and golf resort.

Why the Mick Turned Jesus Freak
In 1966, while Rooney was working on a film in the Philippines, his wife Barbara Ann Thomason (aka Tara Thomas, Carolyn Mitchell), a former pin-up model and aspiring actress who had won 17 straight beauty contests in Southern California, was found dead in their bed. Beside her was her lover, Milos Milos, an actor friend of Rooney's. Detectives ruled it murder-suicide, which was accomplished with Rooney's own gun. Milos was also a bodyguard and was connected to Stevan Markovic, bodyguard of French star Alain Delon. Markovic was also found dead in mysterious circumstances in Paris two years later.

Grief-stricken and not in his right frame of mind, Rooney quickly married Barbara's friend, Marge Lane.^{[citation needed]} The union lasted about one hundred days.

Joseph Yule, Jr. The Mick, Mickey Rooney. What are those medals?

The Mick's first wife, the barefoot hillbilly from North Carolina--Hollywood's Eve

The Mick's Wife, Barbara Ann. Mick came home one night and found this woman in bed with sometime bodyguard, sometime actor, and sometime stuntman, but full-time Mrs. Mickey Rooney lover, Milos Milos--also a friend of the Mick's. It was assumed that Milos Milos, after banging Barbara that one last time, took the Mick's pearl-handled pistol out of a nightstand drawer and then first he blew Barbara's brains out and then he turned the gun on himself and BLAMMO, there went his brains, too, all over the joint. True male emulation--"if I can't have her, then neither can you."
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Out where I was born on the lone prairie, there were snakes--from garter snakes up to serpents (the poisonous ones: the copperheads, the water moccasins (cottonmouths), the corals (little docile creatures that seldom bit anybody though they are the deadliest snake in the USA), and the most feared snake of all, the diamondback rattlesnake--or the prairie rattler--or the eastern diamondback--though also there are nonpoisonous snakes out there that would scare the hell out of a little kid brought up on the Adam & Eve tale, like bullsnakes.

Snakes were commonplace in my life from the time I was a true kid, around 8, until I moved to New York City--even though, believe it or not, I once lived with a friend and his girlfriend in a loft on Renwick Street in downtown Manhattan, and one morning I woke up at dawn and heard something like scratching on the concrete floor of my room--and it was so irritating I snapped wide awake and rose up like a jack-in-the-box on steroids and the first thing I saw slithering straight across the floor towards me was a god-damn snake. I immediately jumped out of bed and started chasing the slimey bastard--and I mean this snake was like whip snakes and racers from back home on the lone prairie, fast like greased lightnin'--and I was hollering at his wiggly-running ass--and my friend and his girl woke up and saw the snake headed his way and he whipped his girlfriend's nightgown off her and threw it over the snake, grabbed it up and made a bag out of that nightgown, twisted the top shut, put the whole booty in a cardboard box and then we all sat down and he said sure 'nuff he knew where the snake came from. There was a doctor living up on the floor above us who was doing research in breeding snakes in terms of different colors--something weird and off-the-wall New York City like that--and he kept 26 snakes in his apartment--and, yes, the Snake Doc said he'd lost this snake we'd caught over a year ago--so the snake had been living in the walls and ceilings or wherever around us for over a year.

Turned out the Doc was a snake in the grass. I had met this girl through an artist friend of mine while she was visiting him down from Bennington for a two-week holiday. She was half-Spanish/half-Texan, so hell yes I fell for her--her father was a US diplomat to a country in South America--and she was from San Antonio--and I took her to see Debbie Does Dallas, the old porn flick starring Bambi Woods--a nice Dallas girl--and because of that movie we had sex on the elevator going back up to my friend's loft where she was staying. We just shut the old elevator down and had marvelous sex. The next night we were together again at the Ear Inn, a downtown Manhattan "in" spot in the 1970s, and she was with a bunch of Bennington-girl friends of hers, one a chick I really dug who was wearing a leather motorcycle suit and said she'd ridden her motorcycle down from her family's estate in Chappaqua and she and I were getting along famously--she was offering me a ride on her motorcycle--but I stayed loyal to my new girl--who I'd banged on the elevator last night after just meeting her the afternoon before. But she said she loved me, too, later that second night when I took her back to my place and we stayed entangled the whole night and half the day into the next day. And the next day after that one I called her at noon and I said I had tickets to go to a concert at Town Hall would she like to go--and she said--fine--let me call you back--OK, babe, I'll be waitin' for your call. And I waited. I waited by the phone anticipating yet another day of love and night of good sex. I waited. No call came. I waited a long time. Still no call. Time for the concert came and went. I called my friend the artist where she was staying and he said she wasn't there--he thought she'd gone to meet me. I said to hell with it and went back to my loft on Renwick. Son of a bitch! I unlocked the big entrance door to the loft building and came into the foyer where the elevator was. Just as I turned to go into my loft, the elevator door opened. There was a couple kissing on the elevator. He was groping her ass like mad and she was pushing her body into his--they were dry humping, dammit. I made a noise and they broke apart. Son of a bitch! It was my Bennington/Texas girl with the god-damn Snake Doc! Her explanation in the middle of that lonely night on the phone: "I met him before I met you." "But, I met you the day you got to whackjob Eddie's. Your first day in town right?" "Yeah, but I met the Doctor earlier...at breakfast." I was too confused to argue. I propositioned her and she turned me down. So I asked her if the motorcycle girl from Chappaqua was there and she said yes and that's who I ended up with the rest of the Bennington girls's break-time down in New York City.

In Dallas, though we lived in a big two-story brick/stucco tudor-style house, it sat alone on a hill surrounded by fields that had once grown hays and grains for feeding the cattle that had once roamed around that area of Dallas back in the 19th century. The heartiest grass of them all, we called it Johnson grass, had survived from those original grasses, and it filled all the wide-open undeveloped fields that surrounded our "house on the hill." Before my mom and I moved to Dallas, my dad had lived in the house after he bought it to fix it up before mother and I and our belongings got there. The night we arrived I overheard pops telling mother how he'd just that day killed a big snake up in our upper room--our attic room. "It was a rat snake. I figured he had climbed that cedar tree and had come in through that bay window up there looking for rats and mice. I was scared hell of going up to that attic after that. Snakes were scary as hell to me. Not that I had even seen a snake at that time in my life. We moved to Dallas when I was 7--for four of those years in Enid, Oklahoma, where the only snakes I may have seen would have been in the Springs Park Zoo--but I don't ever remember seeing a snake live until one day in the backyard of that Dallas house.

My dad had been watering the back yard and then he had dragged the long hose around the house up the driveway toward the front yard. He hollered for me to go back to the back yard water hydrant and unscrew the hose from it and bring the hose around to the front yard.

I quickly ran back to the back yard and up to the water hydrant and I reached down and started unscrewing the hose from the tap when I noticed something move just beneath my hand. It was speckled. It was yellow, speckled yellow, and then it coiled up quickly and rose up hissing toward my face. I dropped that hose and went screaming terrifyingly around to the front yard where my parents were. My dad went running around to the back yard with his hoe and soon here he came back with that snake draped over the hoe head. It was a big snake. My dad said it was a chicken snake. Harmless. But god-damn it wasn't harmless to me.

We are currently being attacked by snakes in the grass. Our politicians are devil-snakes; that's what they are. Obama included. He's just another god-damn politician out for his own gains, gains which I don't deny him. He deserves to be president. The people young and old, black, white, Latino are behind him 100% for the moment. However, don't be disappointed when Obama turns out to be a snake in the grass. You don't surround yourself with the crooked likes of Rahm Emanuel, Larry Summers (he's already talking about privatizing Social Security--this limp-wristed bastard), Robert Rubin, Robert Gates, Admiral Blair (war criminals), and you don't make Hillary Clinton your Sec'y of State! It don't look too good right now, folks. These snakes look harmless maybe, but they're not. War now will move from Iraq to Afghanistan and Pakistan--we are building India up as our ally against the Pakis, the Taliban, the very elusive Osama Bin Laden-Bush, and the extraspecial omnipotent and seemingly invincible Al Queda.

I'm sorry, folks, but I've been around these slimy snakes since I was born right in the middle of Roosevelt deceiving Americans about the Japanese--

Have you realized yet that all the wars America has gotten involved in have been staged affairs?

thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler