Get in on the Ground Floor!

In the interest of posterity, I am composing a list of those articles and institutions which stand as cornerstones of the 1970s. That not-too-long-past era has, of late, suffered fatal blows; and now that she is trampled underfoot, we would hope to put forward some remembrances to serve as documents that she was not just a flighty dream, that she was as real as your or I.

My list, I’m afraid, will be limited in its comprehensiveness to those items within the range of perception of one who was a mere tyke, a mere knee-high at the dawn of the decade in question. But being of sound judgement and a quick-wit, we hope to rise to the occasion and prophesy well the difference of a ’70s thing from a ’60s thing or an ’80s thing. Please do not confuse or even think to compare the author’s treatment of the topic with that of a certain Playboy magazine, a sham composed by lonesome cowboys. Enough of that, folks; here commences your list of ’70s memorabilia:

1. Cream Rinse and Conditioner
2. Television commercials with talking and dancing animals
3. The Loud family
4. Unisex Hair Salons (much ado about hair in the ’70s)
5. Shopping Malls
6. The song “Afternoon Delight”
7. Partial nudity in advertising (as opposed to ’80s sexual symbolism)
8. News on the radio like: “Such and such a group of psychologists has discovered that arguing is actually good for a relationship.”
9. Talking to your plants.

Send your suggestions to:
R.S. Drew
[address no longer active]

Please do not submit anything too obvious like The Exorcist or the song “Run, Joey, Run.”

Once upon a time, while Ramona Otoe was walking through the forest, she ran into the Prefect’s little boy, Rimple. The weather was sunny and warm and Ramona had had quite a lot of fun already that day, so she stopped to ask the boy to play tag with her.

“I sha’n’t play wif you,” he told her. “You’re only a girl, and a commoner too.” Well, Ramona did not like to be addressed in such a way. So she crossly informed him that boys and girls could too play together, so long as they wanted to. “And,” she added, “My Daddy says I’m very special.”

“It doesn’t matter what your daddy say,” insisted Rimple, sticking out his chin at her. My Daddy’s Prefect and he can make your daddy say ‘spit.'” “Can not.” drawled Ramona, but her eyes were on the ground because she didn’t want to show him how angry she was getting.

“He can too! My Daddy says that Prefect can do anything, ‘cos he’s the Law.” Rimple took courage from the sound of his own voice and he started to speak louder. Ramona thought for a moment how silly he must sound, but all she could feel was how she wanted to prove him wrong.

“And my people have been on this land for two hundred years,” he said finally. “Well, so’ve mine!” Ramona rightfully defended.

“That’s different,” Rimple laughed. “We own the land. You just work on it.”

“Well— Well, my Daddy says that you’re not rich.” “‘Course we are.” “No, you’re not,” Ramona felt her temper slipping away. “Not really. My Daddy says the really rich people only let you think you’re rich so’s you’ll keep people like us in line. My Daddy says they let you govern so’s they can rule. My Daddy says that you’re no better than me, even if you are a boy.”

Rimple’s eyebrows arched very big and he turned very red. “I shall have your daddy flogged!” He shouted, pointing his finger at her. “You won’t,” she threatened. But the boy was already running. “See if I do,” he called over his shoulder. “You see if I do.”

And the next day some men came and hung Ramona’s daddy from a tree.

There was much to do in Pixyland that day. King Raoul was to celebrate his Gold Jubilee, 50 years as monarch of this little kingdom, nestled somewhere in the mountains between the Kingdom of Oz and Never-Never Land. King Raoul had declared that this day was to be a day of celebration and to show his good will he promised not to have any political prisoners drawn and quartered. Not only was it the King’s jubilee, but the people of Pixyland were celebrating the first anniversary of the end of a seven year drought that had killed off 90% of their crops (Jujubees and Tootsie Rolls) and 70% of their population. The drought did have a good side to it, though. The Pixy children had 50% fewer cavities. None the less, all the pixies were decorating their split-level ranch homes with tinsel, garlands & life-sized plastic statues of King Raoul and his queen, Gladys. They also washed their Lincoln Coontinentals and drove up and down the streets shouting things like, “Horray for King Raoul!”, “Did you pass the Crest Test??”, and “The King is an Ozanian puppet!”

Needless to say, that for all his hard work to make Pixyland a better place to live, King Raoul still had to suffer through quite a bit of political dissent. He was a good old soul, not unlike Old King Cole, his father, to whom Raoul was often compared. The people would sing a little ditty that went like this:

King Raoul may be a fool,
But he’s a good old soul
Like Old King Cole.

The real problem in the kingdom was Queen Gladys. She and her good-for-nothing brother, Prince Clive, were always asserting their power in order to get what they wanted, and through shiftless double-dealing had managed to gain control of the bootleg videotape industry and all of the off-track betting in Pixyland. It was also rumored that Clive also had dealings with smugglers in Never-Never Land and had subjugated the nearby Munchkins to grow poppies for his so-called “pharmaceuticals” firm.

Queen Gladys was just about as evil as any queen could be. She was constantly exploiting the peasants, convincing Raoul to increase their taxes and decrease their wages. Before the drought, she convinced  the king to enact a Lincoln Continental tax that had the populace in an uproar. One was forced to pay a tax for every mile that was driven. The people could not afford to pay so much to drive. When confronted by the press, her reply of “Let them drive Buicks!” rang out all over the land and was the battle cry of the Revolution of K⊕R⊕ 36, which was a moderate failure.

During the drought, Gladys kept the people of Pixyland quiet by stringing them along with promises to open up the warehouses, but she never did. At that point the people were too hungry and tired to start a successful revolution.

But today, something was up. Something well below the surface. As the royal Lincoln made its appearance in the main square of Pixyland, the PLF (Pixyland Liberation Front) shot up the motorcade, killing Raoul, Clive, Gladys and a four piece rock band. The people then did nasty things to their bodies (Raoul’s & Gladys’s, that is) and hung them by their toes in the square. The entire population then emigrated to Oz, where they were put into holding camps until further notice…..