Desi was in prime before your time.
By ‘before your time’,
I mean exactly that.
Before your time.
This time in which you are meant to shine.
Your prime time.
And just what is it you’ve achieved compared to Desi?
Desi could sing the words “Babaloo”,
beat a conga drum in accompaniment,
and convey a wild abandon that…
well… made women giddy.
He had that big ol’ conga drum attached to a harness
and it would be just in front of his hips…
you know… right there.
And he would beat on his drum.
Wale on that sucker.
Flail his conga and yell
Well women found this entertaining.
Of course this was a time before electric guitars.
Long before Hard Rock and
young men making fools of themselves playing
Was there ever a time when young men played
Like… you know…
Hands at their crotch,
beating the hell outta some
Say if I, at this moment,
did an homage to Desi
and commenced a little ‘air conga’ action,
would you get it?
I mean… would…
Would you be impressed?
Not with me that is.
No. I wasn’t even born yet.
Didn’t have a conga to beat as it were.
No. Lucy saw Desi beat his conga once
she fell in love.
Lucy got herself a TV show
and put Desi on it.
Now bear in mind that Desi was a Cuban
but this was back before it was decreed that
we hate Cubans for being Cuban.
He had that brown skin.
he had that huge conga and
knew how to use it and
ahem… was passionate about it, so…
So we as a nation let Lucy’s husband
be her TV husband as well.
Desi was in prime time.
Prime time TV.
Six odd years of it.
he went from being the man to being
“Who’s that?! Why, that’s Lucy’s husband!”
Desi was living in a man’s man’s man’s world
but it wouldn’t be
no sorta prime time
without the loving of a particular woman.
But there at the end of the Fifties,
Desi’s uncontained babalooing
got the better of him.
Lucy gave her hot conga man the boot.
Lo, but in Desi’s lifetime,
he saw his existence shift from
nothingness to prime time
and back to nothingness again.
That’s not necessarily true.
For some fifty odd years, Desi
has been singing “babaloo” in reruns.
Ah, that “babaloo.”
now I pay homage to Desi almost every night.
Yes, in honor of Desi,
I whip my conga out
and beat forth a ferocious rhythm.
prime time doesn’t last too long.
Just like poor ol’ Desi,
it comes and it goes.
orgasmic spasm in this
babalooey spew of eternity.
©05 Jack Hubbell