Schoultz’s Lo-Fi Motel

I’ve been slacking here lately.  Especially yesterday.  But helping a friend move her daughter off to college and then working a job bright and early at 6a.m. the next day will unleash a heaping helping of canned whoop-ass and take the wind from your sails.  To make it up, I offer not one but two odd bits of television nostalgia and product pushing.  Just my little way of doubling the pain.  Cheers!

Hunter S. Thompson’s illegitimate son?  Can’t blame little Timmy’s need to take out frustrations when saddled with a Dad who chides him mercilessly for not being able to read.  ‘Nam awaits.

The new Quentin Tarrantino film Inglorious Basterds gives us WWII revised with baseball bats, a cooler soundtrack than anything Glenn Miller could have offered, and Brad Pitt urging for an agenda of “killin’ nat-zees.”  But let us go back to the 1960’s where nazis were portrayed as lovable goofs and their POW camp barracks were weird-ass combinations of United Nations headquarters and club houses with cool hidden compartments.  Add the unlikely provision of Jell-O to the mix as well as an unexplained appearence by Carol Channing and the WTF factor shoots straight into the stratosphere.