What Sort of Man Reads Paco Camino?

He’s had a trying year. Deep in thought en route to his exclusive mountainside retreat in the Catskills, the Paco Camino Man speeds past snow-covered fields in his private rail car with his devoted woman. Sharing a bottle of rare vodka, he’s suffering from the devastating loss of his best friend’s life, and recently shaken to the core by the callous actions of a once noble lifelong colleague. But somehow, despite all the wearing & tearing, the Paco Camino Man still dresses like a mastodon of manliness—check out his cognac raccoon coat from New York City’s Barlan Furs, ribbed turtleneck by Pringle of Scotland and $2,000 caramel leather pants from Rafael Fashions. Like high fashion, grief and loathing have a shelf life. One day, he knows, the ice age will melt.

Vintage Ad. Appliance wheels, 1972

What Sort of Man Reads Paco Camino?

He can bullshit his way out of anything. Though she’s skeptical about his preposterous excuses, she’ll always forgive the Paco Camino Man. Bringing her back to their glory bleacher days (with strong mixed drinks), he’ll casually explain to her that a random roller skating bowling alley waitress innocently lost her bra down inside his pants when she accidentally fell on him serving a tray of drinks last Friday. And the simple explanation for his disappearance until Sunday was that he, uh, was helping a friend move. Also there was no phone service where he was because of a freak, unreported electrical storm that caused a power outage. And as far as the naked woman found living in his car last week goes, “she was merely a disoriented day hiker that wandered away from a nudist colony and needed shelter. That’s all.” Oh yeah, off the hook again.

What Sort of Man Reads Paco Camino?

He’s your boogeyman, turn him on. Hey, he may not have any social skills, but he’s a real cutup with the ladies. Granted he might also have some deep-seeded stalking issues after stabbing his sister to death on Halloween night in her bedroom 15 years ago. Confined to a sanitarium ever since, he’s decided to come home for Halloween. So really, is it his fault he stole a car and broke into a hardware store to steal a mask and some knives? People need those things. His only other social faux pas was maybe knifing a few horny teenagers and digging up his sister’s headstone from the cemetery and placing it on a bed with the corpse of some teenage slut. The Paco Camino Man. He can survive any injury, endure terrible film sequels and put up with imitators like Camp Crystal Lake’s Jason Voorhees and that bum Freddy Krueger from down on Elm Street.

Killer concert poster. Brad with Happy Chichester

Poster by El Bajista

Vintage ad. Newport cigarettes, 1970

Bold Cold Newport. Light on it.

Testing the waters of insanity.

As a teenager growing up in Australia, I once saved Olivia Newton-John from drowning and blew the reward money having AC/DC play my birthday party. It was depicted in the down under film of the decade, Quick Times at Ridgecrest Academy. It won an AFI Award for Best Original Character (Jess Tricoli).

Deathtember continues. R.I.P. George Blanda

Shit’s fucked up around here. See when I see you.

The eternal Jimi Hendrix passed away 40 years ago today

Jimi Hendrix died at the age of 27 in 1970, yet since his death he’s released over 40 albums bearing his name. Not bad for a dead guy. This soulful performance of “Hey Baby (New Rising Sun)” was recorded just four months before dalliances with drugs, booze & wild women got him killed.