-FUPPETS- Video Of The Day : PRINCE

Today's -FUPPETS- Video Of The Day is in honor of the current NFL playoffs and the upcoming Super Bowl. In 2007, in a driving rainstorm the likes of which had not ever been experienced in a Super Bowl, Prince delivered the best halftime show -FUPPETS- ever saw. Thanks be to Prince. The Super Bowl halftime show is usually the worst part of the entire day. Artists and bands just play these cheesy medleys of their own songs while Prince mixed it up in a great way, drawing from many different types of music and genres to entertain everyone. Prince is a HUGE Minnesota Vikings fanatic and knows what football fans wanna see. I do not think the fucking Black Eyed Peas are gonna do a thing to even come close to Prince's performance. Fuck em with a dead porcupine. The guitar solo on Purple Rain alone blows the entire recorded output of the Black Eyed Peas out of the water.

PRINCE - Super Bowl Medley (Part 1)

PRINCE - Super Bowl Medley (Part 2)

HUNTER S. THOMPSON & HOUSTON, TX (Part 8)

Ahhh, the Good Doctor. Always ready to increase the levels of insanity and chaos to 11. The last time we caught up with HST, he was in Houston to cover the Super Bowl and was giving a local Houston psychic reader, Mother Roberts, the "bizness." She was not amused.

It was not until Monday afternoon that I actually spoke with Mother Roberts on the telephone, but the idea of going over to Galveston and dealing with the whole Super Scene story from some rotten motel on the edge of the seawall had been wandering around in my head almost from the first hour after I checked into my coveted press-room at The Hyatt Regency.
And in dull retrospect now, I wish I had done that. Almost anything would have been better than that useless week I spent in Houston waiting for the Big Game. The only place in town where I felt at home was a sort of sporadically violent strip joint called the Blue Fox, far out in the country on South Main ( Houston in those days did not extend to the far reaches of Harris county as it does now - -FUPPETS- ) Nobody I talked to in Houston had ever heard of it and the only two sportswriters who went out there with me got involved in a wild riot that ended up with all of us getting maced by undercover vice-squad cops who just happened to be in the middle of the action when it erupted.
Ah . . . but that is another story, and we don't have time for it here. Maybe next time. There are two untold sagas that will not fit into this story: One has to do with Big Al's Cactus Room in Oakland, and the other concerns the Blue Fox in Houston.
There is also -- at least in the minds of at least two dozen gullible sportswriters at the Super Bowl -- The ugly story of how I spent three or four days prior to Super Week shooting smack in a $7 a night motel room on the seawall in Galveston.
I remember telling that story one night in the press lounge at the Hyatt Regency, just babbling it off the top of my head out of sheer boredom . . . Then I forgot about it completely until one of the local sportswriters approached me a day or so later and said: "Say man, I hear you spent some time in Galveston last week."
"Galveston?"
"Yeah," he said. "I hear you locked yourself in a motel over there and shot heroin for three days."
I looked around to see who was listening, then grinned kind of stupidly and said, "Shucks, there wasn't much else to do, you know -- so why not get loaded in Galveston?"
He shrugged uncontrollably and looked down at his Old Crow and water. I glanced at my watch and turned to leave. "Time to hit it," I said with a smile. "See you later, when I'm feeling back on my rails."
He nodded glumly as I moved away in the crowd . . . and although I saw him three or four times a day for the rest of that week, he never spoke to me again.
Most sportswriters are so blank on the subject of drugs that you can only talk to them about it at your own risk -- which is easy enough, for me, because I get a boot out of seeing their eyes bulge: but it can be disastrous to a professional football player who makes the casual mistake of assuming that a sportswriter knows what he is talking about when he uses a word like "crank." Any professional athlete who talks to a sportswriter about "drugs" -- even with the best and most constructive intentions -- is taking a very heavy risk. There is a definite element of hysteria about drugs of any kind in pro football today, and a casual remark -- even a meaningless remark -- across the table in a friendly hometown bar can lead, very quickly, to a seat in the witness chair in front of a congressional committee.

HUNTER S. THOMPSON & HOUSTON, TEXAS (Part 7)

*The last time we visited with the good Doctor Thompson, he was collecting bets before the Super Bowl had even finished.

Do Not Mistake Me For Any Other Reader

I have come here to help to save the suffering. You know God works in a mysterious way. If you have faith in God, don't fail to see:

MOTHER Roberts
PSYCHIC READER AND ADVISOR
THE ONE & ONLY GIFTED HEALER

was born with the God-given powers to help humanity and has devoted her life to this work.Tells your friends' and enemies' names without asking a single word. She will tell you what you wish to know regarding health, marriage, love, divorce, courtship, speculations and business transactions of all kinds.
She will tell you any changes you should or shouldn't make, good or bad. She removes evil influences and bad luck of all kinds. She never fails to reunite the separated, cause speedy and happy marriages. She lifts you out of sorrow and darkness and starts you on the way to success, and happiness. You will find her superior to any reader you have consulted in the past. A place to bring your friends and feel no embarrassment.

1/2 PRICE WITH THIS SLIP
OPEN DAILY & SUNDAYS -- 8 am TO 10 pm
1609 W. ALABAMA PHONE JA 3-2297
NO APPOINTMENT NECESSARY - LOOK
FOR ADDRESS

Ah yes. Mother Roberts . . . I found her card on the bus and jammed it into one of my pockets, thinking that maybe I would give her a call on Monday and make an appointment. I had a lot of heavy questions to lay on her like "Why am I here, Mother Roberts? What does it all mean? Have I finally turned Pro? Can this really be the end? Down and out in Houston with ---
"No, I was just kidding, Mother Roberts, just putting you on -- just working a bit of the test on you, right? Yes, because what I was really leading up to is this extremely central question . . . No, I'm not shy; it's just that I come from way up north where people's lips are frozen about ten months every year, so we don';t get used to talking until very late in life . . . what? Old? Well, I think you just put your finger or your wand or whatever, right smack on the head of the nail, Mother Roberts, because the godawful truth of the whole matter is that I've been feeling extremely old this past week, and . . . What? Wait a minute now, goddamnit, I'm still getting up to the main question, which is . . What? No, I never curse, Mother Roberts; that was a cry of anguish, a silent scream from the soul, because I feel in serious trouble down here in this goddamn town, and . . . Yes, I am a white person, Mother Roberts, and we both know there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Are you prejudiced?

. . .No, let's not get into that. Just let me ask this question and if you can give me a straight and reasonable answer I promise I won't come out to your place. . . because what I want you to tell me, Mother Roberts - and I mean this very seriously - is why I have been in Houston for eight days without anybody offering me some cocaine? . . . Yes, cocaine, that's what I said, and just between you and me I'm damn serious about wanting some . . . What? Drugs? Of course I'm talking about drugs! Your ad said you could answer my questions and lift me out of sorrow and darkness . . . Okay, okay, I'm listening . . . Yeah, yeah . . . But let me tell you something, Mother Roberts: My name is Al Davis and I'm the Editor of Reader's Digest . . . Right, and I can have you busted right now for false advertising . . . Yeah well I think I might pick up some of my people and come out to see you later on today; we want some explanations for this kind of anti-christ bullshit. This country's in enough trouble, goddamnit, without people like you running around selling drugs like cocaine to people in serious trouble . . . ."

Mother Roberts hung up on me at that point. Christ only knows what she thought was about to come down on her when dusk fell on Houston . . . Here was the Editor of the Reader's Digest coming out to her house with a goon squad, and all of them apparently stone mad for cocaine and vengeance . . . a terrible situation.

SUPER BOWL & Two Beers

The SUPER BOWL is nearly upon us once again. -FUPPETS- avidly supports the beauty and mayhem of professional football, and this year the Championship Game is poised to be one for the ages. One of the most decorated and praised teams ever, the Pittsburgh Steelers, are facing off against the perennial loser team of the NFL, The Arizona Cardinals.
For many people, the Super Bowl is a day to feast and party, to hang with friends watching the big game. For many others the Super Bowl is an occasion to witness spectacle at it's most hyped, to watch the commercials and to discuss the halftime show. For US soldiers/seamen/airmen stationed overseas however, the Super Bowl is a special time.
Many bases work on skeleton crews to allow as many soldiers to watch the game as possible. There are satellite feeds and impromptu celebrations throughout all military bases worldwide. This year, in Iraq, the soldiers have been promised two beers each to enjoy with the Super Bowl, and they are righteously looking forward to them!.
ESPN has filed a great story about this, and about the men and women serving overseas.

TWO BEERS IN THE DESERT: On Super Bowl Sunday, American Military Personnel Stationed in Iraq Will Enjoy A Couple Of Historic Cold Ones. - ( Wright Thompson - ESPN )