Saturday, 20 February 2010

Praise Be To Hoff………..

As a man, I am pretty crap.

I lack all of the so called traits that men are supposed to have.

I have no skills to speak of whatsoever. I can’t put up shelves. I can’t wallpaper a wall. If you handed me a hammer, a saw, and a socket set, and then asked me to do something manly with it, more than likely I would just look back at you as if you had just handed me a new born baby and then asked me to raise it as my own, teaching it decent values and morals and how to be an upstanding member of society.

Then I would probably begin sweating.

I can’t drive and know nothing of cars, so I can’t gather in a circle of men and begin to debate  the merits of the new Ford Megabollox 5000, with its horse powered bastard fast engine, which also comes with shiny alloy wheel things and a pair of airbags, that when inflated, resemble two huge testicles being squashed into your face so you feel like you've fallen headfirst into Meatloaf’s lap.

I don’t go out and get shitfaced drunk with other men and then start to letch on women in that charmingly enduring way that only drunk morons can, where in their own heads they believe themselves to be the suave reincarnation of Dean Martin and Jack Nicholson, but in reality they actually resemble sad and lonely figures who are only going to go home alone, covered in speckles of their own vomit and chip grease, and masturbate furiously in dark and silent bedrooms. And with each bitter stroke, their eyes will moisten from the sheer emptiness of their lives as they face up to the fact that their best years are behind them, and they have absolutely nothing to show for it other than the dull ache that sits in the place where their heart used to be and the crumpled up jizz covered tissues that actually represent the only form of relationship that they have right now, one which happens to be with their own right hand.

I don’t do that obviously.

In fact the only allusion to manhood that I actually follow is the fact that I like football. But even then, when I go to a match, I probably stick out like a man who gets turned on by heights doing a bungee jump due to the disdain I normally feel for my fellow supporters as they bellow out the inane drivel that passes for support in these enlightened times.

Kick his fucking legs!

You’re shit Cole!

(Upon when pointed out that was actually Illunga that miss kicked the ball and not Cole)

Cole, Illunga, who fucking cares?

Sort it ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut!

Sigh………

But saying that, if you replaced the whole crowd with exact replicas of me, rather than cheering as the team marched out on to the pitch, all you would have would be a slight air of disappointment and 36,000 people wondering if you could buy shoes for monkeys, so maybe its probably best if things stayed the way they were on that front?  

So, as you can probably tell, as a man I lack any sort of quality whatsoever.

I suck.

When I was growing up though, there was one person that epitomised manhood in all its glory and also gave me something to hope for as well, the hope that I too would grow up as hairy and virile as this God amongst men was.

That man was David Hasslehoff.

For about two years, The Hoff was a god to me. During my Knight Rider obsession at the age of about eight, I too wanted to wear leather trousers and walk around with my shirt undone, looking for all the world like I had a tranquilised possum stuffed down the front of it who was just starting to wake up and wonder where the hell it was. But sadly for me, my mum wouldn’t let me buy a pair of leather trousers, and at the age of eight, my chest hair was a little on the lax side.

But make no mistake; the man was a living legend to me. And Knight Rider was my church. I tried to copy the way The Hoff walked, how he got the ladies, and how he oozed effortless cool.

But most of all, I tried to copy the relationship he had with KITT.

The fact that The Hoff was so cool he actually had a talking car basically sealed the deal for me. I too wished I had a talking car, and on occasion, if left alone in my dad’s car, I would whisper to it “You can talk to me if you want?”

It never did though.

But this obsession with talking cars spread out into other household objects as well. I overheard my parents talking one time about if they should send me to a child psychologist after they had caught me having a one sided conversation with the washing machine in our kitchen. I tried to explain to them that if Michael Knight could have a talking car, why was it so silly if I had a talking washing machine? True, our crime fighting prowess would be a tad limited, but at least my leather trousers would always look clean as I did it.

Now though, The Hoff has been relegated to a clownish figure to be laughed at and ridiculed. The king of cheesy moments, drunken antics, and bizarre behaviour.

And then there is the music.

Upon preparing to write this love letter to all things Hasslehoff, I realised that in all honesty, I hadn’t really heard any of his music. Whether that was a good thing or not I am still to decide. I’d heard of it, but just not the actual music itself. So I popped over to Amazon to listen to a few snippets and found quite possibly the funniest selection of reviews I have ever read. 

Pop on over and have a look yourselves, but here are a few choice selections:

“Once in every generation you have gifted musical and literary geniuses who create bodies of work that can only be described as sublime transcendence. Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Shakespeare, Cervantes, Tolstoy - this pantheon of greatness can only be complete with the addition of none other than Davis Humpinhorse. I was depressed, lonely and spiritually empty until one day, I listened to "The Best Is Yet To Come", and my eyes were opened - I was thus convinced that God not only exists, but we are all ensconced in his presence. If you truly love music and poetry, you must have this CD in your collection. For those who have grown world-weary and cynical, I challenge you to listen to gems like "Do the Limbo Dance", "Highway To Your Heart", "I Believe" and the particularly good song "Hot Shot City" (THE MASTERPIECE which exquisitely describes and defines the human condition) and tell me that life still has no meaning! In terms of his contemporaries, forget clowns like Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen or Tom Waits. The Hass-man blows them away. People will be studying and enjoying his poetry and music for generations.”

“I was a cynic, I'd done it all, seen it all, produced legends such as U2, Madonna, The Beetles, Tim Curry. As you would expect, I had grown weary of the wild world of the music industry. The constant parties, dealing with drugged up losers hawking what scrap of talent they had left in their war ravaged bodies to the highest bidder. So it would be no surprise to you folks that upon receiving Dumphil Hampersoft's "Very Best Of" album for Christmas from my great granddaughter Clarisse, I had almost chucked it out.
 

Almost.
 

But something about the man on the cover intrigued me. A quality I had seen before in others, John Lennon, Jimmy Hendrix, Elvis, Jesus. Overcome with, well, I can’t really describe it; I placed the compact disc tenderly in the tray of my 1993 original PanMax ghetto blaster and pressed Confabulate. The effect was instantaneous. As if caressed by the most serene of angels, my eardrums responded by rising in sweet symphony to the crests and troughs of His vocal sirens. Knees weak, I managed to make it to the couch where I slumped as I seen junkies do years before. Slowly my life force was being sapped, but not in a bad way, I was becoming...I was seeing for the first time, hearing for the first time. Then Hot Shot City started to play. As if sitting on my father’s lap for the first time, Dammerhingers voice tenderly trailed the length of my neck, raising each hair on my body in an organic ode to greatness. It was done. I had found what I was looking for. The chase for the white dragon was over and I have only one person, one being, to thank.
Thank you Drupil Handlestroff. You are truly great.”


"Magnanimous....serendipitous...cornucopias....none of these words have anything to do with this album....at least one of them probably doesn't exist...but they are big....VERY big...and big is exactly the size of Mr. Hasselhoff's talent, as displayed so proudly on this greatest hits CD. You will curse your parents for not playing this music while you were still in the womb, for you might have grown up to become a well adjusted individual instead of the worthless heathen you are."

And finally……

"If you're indeed looking for the best of David Hasselhoff, one could do no better than this nearly flawless collection. In "Looking for the Best", Hasselhoff selects 18 songs spanning a back catalogue of 1 previous album. Actually, I'm not sure how someone compiles a best-of album when you only have 1 album, but Hasselhoff is not concerned with semantics here; Hasselhoff is here to rock you.
 

LFTB starts of earnestly with "Looking for Freedom" in which Hasselhoff rages against western materialism. The synthesizer solo rails against your senses, reminding you what it's like to be young again.
 

Our second offering from this collection, "Wir Zwei Allein", Hasselhoff takes aim at the Jews, denying the holocaust as a "jüdische Bengellüge". From his pulpit, Hasselhoff rains down blazing synthesizer rage that will remind you why they call him the "Der Gasraum Kommandant" in Germany and "Meister von Auschwitz" in Poland, where he's feared as a devil.
 

On "Do you Limbo Dance", Hasselhoff raps --
"Who's afraid of my big bad weenie / Rub it and see if it's got a genie / Gonna make disappear this 10-inch zucchini / Just like
Houdini / Big Dave Hasselhoff rappin' / Wanna see yo' butt cheeks flappin' / Hoff want the honeys with the big back doors /
So drop them drawers, whores. Unh."
 

Like most albums that start off so strong, when Hoff takes it down a notch, the album sags in the middle. In "Save the World" Hoff rattles off about the Jews again, and in my opinion, it gets a little repetitive.
 

Fortunately the album picks up again with a rousing gorgeous "Je T'Aime Means I Love You", in which Hasselhoff softens his Arian manifest with clever French wordplay wrapped into a bilingual love-song. Hasselhoff sings "I love your hair and as the french say 'adorez mon pénis, vous putain de parasite'". I'm not sure what that means, but it bleeds with the romance that only Hasselhoff can conjure.
 

All in all, this is an extremely strong collection of songs from an underrated singer. Move over Bob Dylan, the torch has been passed."

I could spend hours reading those…….

So Hoff, even though your place in the annuls of entertainment history have been sullied somewhat by the fact that you a clearly a deranged mental bastard, in my heart, you will always be the coolest of cats, with your tousled hair, your leather trousers that reflect the sunlight so much that even your crutch seems illuminated, and the very fact that you had a talking motherfunking car!

To this eternal eight year olds heart, you were, and still are, the very best.

21 comments:

Eva Gallant said...

That was hilarious! To the Hoff!

Jean said...

I cannot stop laughing at the image of an 8 year old dressed in leather with his chest exposed talking to a washing machine. You, my dear Dan, are a genius writer!

Alice in Wonderland said...

David Hasselhoff? You have to be joking! He's no more a man than I am!
Just you keep on being our Dan that we all know and love!
Never mind gaskets and sockets and all that stuff.
Hey, we won the first Gold medal in the Winter Olympics...by a woman called Amy Williams on the skeleton run!
Reasons to be happy...I'm an English Woman!

hope said...

I'm guessing we're all getting ready to croon, "We love you just the way you are." :)

I'll be kind...after all, you were only 8. I'm guessing his "Baywatch" years didn't interest you; he ditched the leather pants & half buttoned shirt for a red bathing suit. He did hang around a bunch of half dressed women though and told his son not to ogle them...as he ogled them. Half of one episode was all I could stomach.

Every time ol' David drinks too much and has another messy police arrest photo in the paper, our local DJ has fun with him. His slogan? "Don't Hassel the Hoff".

You may not know how to fix a washing machine, but at least you know how to have a decent relationship with one. ;)

Christine Macdonald said...

You said a mouthful right here, mister. I love our memories.

My hero was the Bionic Woman.

:)

jules said...

Ah The Hoff. I loved him during the Baywatch years. As for doing manly things with tools, eh, you can hire people to do those things!

Gorilla Bananas said...

Does anyone know whether The Hoff boinked Pamela Anderson? It's not the worst thing to have on your CV.

Kato said...

Okay so you are frigging hilarious. For real.

J said...

Hi Dan

Having just stumbled into the world of blogging, I consider myself lucky to have come across your blog. This post like every other post of yours is funny and very interesting. Hope to see you write such posts frequently for a long time to come...

Cristina said...

As I was reading this, I kept telling myself...no. No...surely the Hoff's downward spiral has reached Dan's ears! Surely he knows that the Hoff, is no longer Hoss...AH...there it is. Then the reviews as I read on, hilarious.

Mine was Whitney Houston...eek. I have a lot of therapy ahead of me. Maybe I should go back to the motherland and bring my mobile as I am baptized and bathed anew in the Nile, was it?

Love ya!

Cristina

boondog1 said...

Hey, I loved the post. I too suffer from the affliction of not being a guys guy and I can also relate to the Kitt adoration. I recently learnt to drive and bought a car - knowing nothing about them.

The salesman asked if I was looking for any particular features, and I said a slightly camp voice. No freaking smile at all. I sympathise!

B
www.boondoggles.co.uk

Kim Ayres said...

Can't stand football...

aladdinsane12 said...

oh my GOD, i just almost DIED reading the lyrics to "do the limbo dance!" the last thing i would ever want to do in my life is rub david hasselhoff's crotch to see if it had a genie.

and about the talking to your car thing, just get sat nav and it's no longer frowned upon. i have entire conversations with my "kenneth"

The Vegetable Assassin said...

Talking car huh? Are you sure you weren't swayed really by his beach bod in "Baywatch"? You can tell us. We won't judge. Every now and then we all lapse and fall for a man in a Speedo, Danny.

Well except ME, naturally.

My favourite Hoff moment is that thing where he's totally wasted and talking about cheeseburgers. It's so sad yet so....hilarious.

kasabiangirl said...

Awesome and hilarious..This is an outstanding post Dan :)

I feel like recommending your brain for scientific research. Keep blogging :D

mo.stoneskin said...

The Hoff was a god? Is still a god I hope.

You don't know anything about cars? Right then, we're over...

Literary challenge over at my place, pop by and let's see what you can do ;)

Matthew said...

My hero was Jim Morrison. Explains a lot.

UberGrumpy said...

Ha! Got me spot on on the ole' masturbation scene. Except I'm left-handed

scarlethue said...

Simply awesome :)

JenJen said...

Now who's fucking brilliant? hmmm? HMMMM?

Anyhoozle my friendly, I have a prize at my house for you. Come and get it...

Dan said...

Eva- To the HOFF INDEED!

Jean- It would have been the best look to rock up at my school disco with. Bloody mums.....

Alice- Now Alice, the Hoff wasn't a man, he was THE MAN. And you are not just an English woman, your a super English woman1

hope- OK, you just made me laugh out loud with the washing machine comment. Thank you!

Christine- Never really watched that sadly. My dad did though, surprisingly....

Jules- Ding. Greta idea matey, cheers!

GB- If he did, that could explain his slow mental decline?

Kato- Ow shut up you (no seriously, don't Keep going!)

J- Hi J, welcome! Many thanks for the kind comment, I hope you stick around. You don’t have too, but I will find you if you leave.....

Cristina- Whitney Houston? And people mock me.....

boondog1- I'm so happy there are others like me. Perhaps we should form a help group? Welcome by the way!

Kim- *Mutters about Kim being a Nancy*

Veggie Ninja- It was the way he ran across the beach with that floatation thing that no one ever fucking used. What a man.....

kasabiangirl- Please make sure I'm dead before you do. It helps me do stuff. Thanks for the comment though chum!

mo- You’re a car man? Noooooooo!

Matt- Don't mock my hero. Ever.

UG- Figures. No wonder you’re grumpy.

Scarlethue- Thank you!

JenJen- Coming over to collect now my chumlet.