Here we see competitors Johnson & Creecy lining up for judgement on this fine Friday afternoon. The Society of Ugly Neckwear had just been called into session, & the tension in the room could have been cut with a knife, albeit a very dull knife. Or maybe even a shiv crudely carved out of a piece of prison cafeteria plastic (way more dangerous than it sounds, take it from me).
Pete’s tie was skinny & sleek, & resembled the universal Cheap Motel Room Bedspread. Maybe you’ve seen that Dateline NBC exposee involving said bedspread & a blacklight? Maybe not. Stone Phillips has (SEEN it? shiiiit, he EMCEE’D it!), & somewhere, right now, he’s remembering his foray into the depths of human filth & getting up to puke just off camera. A concerned boom mike operator is rushing to his aid, but our dearly beloved anchor is fine now — merely embarrassed, for the only thing wounded is his pride.
Carson’s tie was thick, & looked as if it had been crudely sewn together from leftover gang memorobilia found at a swap meet in Inglewood some years prior. You can almost hear the unmistakable bounce of hydraulics from some ‘64 Impala at the back of your memory. That thumping bass you feel is merely your heart beating. Every glance is like being struck with a stray bullet. When the surprise of the sight of it passes, shock sets in, & you know in the pit of your stomach that you’ve been mortally wounded.
Truly hideous, both of them.
There are some who gave the edge to Johnson. There are some who gave the edge to Creecy. It is a conversation that may last the weekend through, in certain circles.
All we know is this: Next Friday cannot come soon enough.
