CRACKERS IN BED

Saltines crumbling, that is, not white people humping. Or maybe white people humping, too. Thinkin bout Will C’s all-country, all-the-time dictum, I downloaded some sex-love-and-aching-heart classics by that H-Town stunna, Barbara Mandrell (vague early ’80s memory: my tia Luce used to bump that shit on eight track in her gold Cadillac and me and my cousin Amy, we’d have singalongs, loud). They include:
– Sleepin Single in a Double Bed (loping, near-comedic bass line and jovial delivery betrays the tragedy of this break-up track)
– Santa Bring My Baby Home (another tragedy: xmas appeal to kris kringle to bring back her lover from the… war? coal mine? comics convention? it is unclear)
– You Can Eat Crackers in My Bed Anytime (very proto-sex in the city: “we had a fight over something petty, you bounced, now i miss you and regret imposing my nitpicky rules”… although there is something to be said for not eating in bed.)
-Married, But Not to Each Other (proto-sideline ho)

mucho lil kim
In retrospect, Barbara Mandrell, she wasn’t that consistent of a singer, but seemed to get over on chutzpah, personality, Aquanet and her resemblance to Krystal Carrington for the Dallas generation.
this is sort of amazing and terrifying: