6's & 7'S
and all things crazy
Living in Las Vegas, it's not unusual to see celebrities once in a while: dead or alive. So my random Elvis sightings never hit me as strange. Lately, however, I'm seeing the King a lot and a pattern is starting to emerge.
If it were the young, hot, black and white Elvis, it wouldn't be so bad. But it's not. It's the older, sweatier, barely-squeezed-my-big-ass-into-this-sequined-jumpsuit-Elvis. And after three encounters in one day, I'm convinced that he is stalking me.
The first was innocent enough. I was picking up prescriptions from the CVS pharmacy and I saw Elvis, cut off jeans and a tank top, shopping for laxatives. He did look bloated, so I didn't think much about it. But a few hours later, I saw him again, and his behavior was definitely suspicious. I was walking my dog, and Elvis was jogging. I think we all know that fat Elvis doesn't run and besides, if you were constipated two hours ago, wouldn't jogging be the last thing you'd want to do? He started toward me and I considered releasing the dog. No, just a coincidence, right? Maybe.
Later In the afternoon, he pulled up next to me at a stoplight in his turquoise and primer Geo Metro. His windows were down and HAMMERTIME! was blaring from his one crackling speaker. Just as the light went green, I turned my head and yes, he was staring right at me. RIGHT AT ME. Then he twitched his lip. He was either stroking out or trying to smile. I wasn't sticking around to find out.
Oh, no, Fat Elvis, you can't touch this.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not necessarily opposed to befriending a dead singer. Taking a yoga class with Janis Joplin, getting a tat with Joey Ramone, an evening of girl talk and mani/pedis with Liberace---I can imagine any of those would be interesting. But what can you do with Fat Elvis? Take him to a buffet?
So now I'm on constant Elvis alert. I've got my emergency call button at the ready and my taser is packing a million volts. So be forewarned, Fat Elvis; Unless your intentions are to buy me a Cadillac, if you come into my space I'll take you down like a hound dog.
But on the other hand, having Elvis as a friend might be fun. Maybe I should grab my blue suede shoes, channel my inner Priscilla and give the poor dude a chance. I'm sure he'd kick ass at karaoke night. And he'd be a blast at Bingo.
(In my best Elvis voice) "Uh, hey doll, I gotta Bingo over here. Thank you. Thank you, very much."
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