W W W W W W W Wipeoooooooooout

 Man, it is a gorgeous day here on Puget Sound, and the El Apartmento is...

We got two tortillas and a microphone

Yes I know that's not how the lyrics go. 

Today I am out on the back patio frying chicken and drinking a beer. Life is pretty dang good. We got one of those portable electric burners (The Biker got a professional-rated brand after seeing them in use on his cooking shows. It's worth every dime. It's almost as responsive as cooking on gas. Nice.) Anyway, I'm using it outside on the patio, and it is, so to say, the 'hot' set-up. The house doesn't get all heated up, and you don't wake up the next day with the whole place smelling like KFC. No, I am out in the shade in the breeze with my IPA, sittin' in a lawn chair with my chicken and my pokey fork, loving life.

I'm gonna do rings next!

YAHOO RINGS!!!!!

__________________________

Well now what do we have in store today?  We have OLD 'SIXTEEN' AND 'INGENUE' MAGAZINES FROM THE 1960'S!!!!!

1965, 1967, 1968!!! and 1969!

   I couldn't have asked for a better selection.  And I could not have asked for a better perspective on my formative years either, reaffirming my original take on this shit, which was OH FUCK NO JESUS NOT FOR MOI.

But Oh my God, those GIRLS.

I had a crush on Twiggy way before I knew what a crush even was. 

Back in the day, you'd go over to a friend's house and half the time you'd end up lying on the floor amid stacks of these magazines, just reading them and cutting out pictures to tape on the walls.

 I was the kind of person who would have much rather been setting small fires, or riding crawdads around in the basket of my bicycle, but there was something to be said for all that mini skirted femininity too.  I think it's where I got my taste for bois, in fact. I mean, come on, Twiggy. The archetypical boi.

Welcome to 1965!

You can be a stewardess, you can tackle the big questions.  Teen magazines' take on integration was predictably non-committal.

 

A little hint of trends to come is reflected in this 'kicky' little blue moon!

  In 1965, this was deemed Acceptable Listening for teens.  Honestly. 

I was a poo-butt kid in 1965 and even I knew this shit ^^^ was Squaresville, dad. 

HOLY CRAP I KISSED DAVE CLARK FIVE TIMES and got herpes. 

He slipped me the tongue on the last one. It was slobbery.

"Tears are a girl's most special possessions..."

What the fuck does this even mean. 

Why are they switching to tampons?  Because it sucks to sit down and go 'squish'.  

Good thing these tampons won't de-virginize you.  Of course they may give you a taste for insertion, and arouse your darkest desires, and that may lead you to go completely out of control and kiss boys and go down cowgirl style on the whole debate team and then grow huge and monstrous and stomp Tokyo.

This year's Debutante Starlets!  And what a pretty group they are. But who is that bronze goddess center front?

  

What a set-up.  I bet those other girls were so pissed.

And now for some fiction:

What was so cool about Mark anyway? Mark had a dick like a golf pencil and drove his fathers old Plymouth. Ew, Mark.

 

"I snuck your panties out of the dirty wash and I have them in my pocket right now," Andy whispered. 

This is the kind of clothes they were pushing in the Fashion Focus section - the kind of Ladybird Johnson crap that nobody West of Montana would be caught dead in unless they were your moms' age.

I mean WTF sailor neckline.

No seriously.   This shit is what your fat aunt wore to church.

Here in the letters section we have a fake-as-shit 'anti-Beatles' missive. To keep Mom and Pop happy, I guess. The publishers don't shoot themselves in the foot like this after 1965, though.  Nope, after that it's nothing but John, Paul, George and Yoko.

"He asked me out and I was breathless with excitement all week long!  We went to the Big Game that Friday night, and after we shared a needle under the bleachers we engaged in violent barnyard sex and were arrested!"  

A CAUTIONARY TALE:

Let's take a close-up look at her disgusting skin:

Good God! MY EYES!!! It's off to Kalaupapa with you. 

Say hi to Father Damien for me, leper. 

Thing is, I have a whole lot of other pix, all from these four magazines.  Maybe we'll revisit this vibe another time. For now though I need a break, because damn. 

So if you'll excuse me, me and Mr. Super Pan got some regulating to do with our pokey forks, poke poke.

You go check on your laundry.  I think you put some wool socks in the dryer.