Meet the flockers

by JOHNSON CUMMINS

Usually I try and reserve this little corner of the rag to hip you street urchins to all the Grade A shit that is happening around town. Of course, I like to keep my chi in tune, and will also occasionally hip you to the things that are utterly putrid such as Dave Navarro or the resurgence of yacht rock (Please—Toto and Hall & Oates has never been funny or ironic, just stop it already!).

If you are like me and find a need to make sure your black little ticker is still tickin’, you should look no further than the throng of alcoholic dentists, lawyers and divorcees known as “parrottheads.” That’s the name given to fans of wine-spritzer-drinking douchebag Jimmy Buffett (“parrott” takes two Ts, just like Buffett’s name).

Now, Buffett’s music is not unique, in the sense that it is about as exciting as watching televised golf or paint peel, but not even the world’s most astute anthropologists can figure out how he has convinced a throng of well-to-do yuppie sheep to travel all over the U.S. and show off their lack of dance skills by swaying with arms akimbo to the warbling of this Hawaiian-shirt-clad spawn of Satan.

SON OF A BEACH: Jimmy Buffet

True, Buffet can kick up quite a stench, but it’s because of his fans that I feel an overwhelming urge to spill some ink here. Canada has thankfully not been susceptible to the parrotthead scourge raining down like a cloud of hungry locusts on the U.S., but with yacht rock now getting a second swing, it could be only a matter of time. Parotthead culture is kind of like a deadhead rehab, about as rebellious as wearing a piano keyboard tie to work on casual Fridays, or getting a tribal armband tattoo. Baby-boomer “We must support the troops” Republicans don the Parrotthead uniform of grass skirts or cargo shorts, flip flops and Hawaiian or golf shirts, with Jell-O shots or Bud Lite in hand, as Buffett spoon-feeds them a plastic lifestyle of weekend alcoholism.

Looking at numerous photos of parrottheads on hundreds of Web sites, a thread begins to appear. They are usually overweight baby boomers plastering on a sloppy smile, as if life has passed them by while they were trading stocks. Others include divorced cougars, more alcoholics looking for social acceptance and identically dressed couples that appear to be clutching at straws after the kids left the nest and their marriage sunk into atrophy.

You’ve got to hand it to the man, though. Buffett sells hermetically sealed and safe rebellion and, judging by his annual income of $100-million, business is good. He dug his hands deeper into the “rebellious” Republicans’ wallets by becoming a chain restaurateur and getting into bed with yuppie hotspot Outback Steakhouse, breaking ground on two giant casino resorts and partnering up with Budweiser for his signature beer, his own tequila and a clothing company.

If any of you think I am actually making this shit up, check out www.squidoo.com/parrotpages, or YouTube “parrothead tailgate” and get yer hate on. As for all those parrottheads in the cyber world that have stumbled onto this missive of malice through Google, may I just say on behalf of all of the people trying rid the planet of banality and mediocrity—go fuck yourselves.

ISAAC HAYES, R.I.P.JONATHAN.CUMMINS@GMAIL.COM