My pops was a playa supreme. I'm talkin' 70's and early 80's women, full bosomed with ample butta to ease the party into a tasty, sizzlin treat. The Pam Griers, Farrah was the the black Farrah that broke his heart, I witnessed him cry for the second time in my life.

The first was when I was fiveish and we had this gi-normous light grey weimaraner with a white diamond chest named, George. George was a hyper-alpha dog. He'd attack and kill other neighborhood dogs. He jumped through the living room plate glass window, attacked and killed a dog that was being walked by its owner, on a leash. I recently heard a fella say that  dogs mirror their owners. How true a statement. Well....George was discovered by my pops, stiff as a board...poisoned...served his ass right, though. That was the first time.

I don't recall her name but, she looked just like Farrah Fawcett dipped in a light, creamy smooth, milk chocolate malt. She raced a white, early 70's, Stingray corvette, T-top with translucent pale blue roof pop outs, around town. It was uberpimp. She had a thirteen year old daughter and they were gonna move in with us. But, she broke up with him before that came to fruition. I discovered him in the guest bedroom, prostrate upon the bed, sobbing. He didn't notice me and I quietly crept out of the house.

Slim, as Mac McDaniels would call my This brutha sportted a perm that was pimper than James Brown's, I kid you not. I'd never seen a grown man walk around, outside, doin errands, with curlers in his was anathema to me. The results were amazing. Better Living Through Chemicals is Duponts' tag line.  He was a tall, slim musician, dark as night with a bushy mustache and beard, a bit like Issac, the bartender on the Love Boat (but, Issac didn't sport a beard). 

He and Slim were two peas in a pod, one blondie after the next. It was feverish. I dug it, though, when they'd have house parties, smokin weed, groovin with the sounds of Motown, Hendrix. 

The women, golly gosh ! The United Nations of Feminine Beauty and Intellect flowed through those doors. I give pops one thing, He had to have a woman with a razor sharp intellect.

I'd love to lay my head upon their laps, soaking in their heat, invariably they'd stroke my thicket of an afro and I'd drink the affection like a cute kitten owned by an overly touchy, feely, enthusiastic teenage girl...purrrr.

Cuddlin' with that right gal is the salve that permeates the soul, a kaleidoscopic journey that ushers one into nirvana :) But, I digress...

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