There was no post last week. I was nestled in a cabin deep in the Smoky Mountains, just outside Dollywood.  A place like that wouldn’t have wifi, right?  It turns out the password was directly above the thermostat and clearly labeled.

But I’m better prepared this week.  I had to be.  While Dollywood was a wholesome adventure (aside from some confusion regarding an eatery called “Aunt Granny’s”), Graceland turned out to be a libidinal rollercoaster.  The world needs to think about Elvis in a sexual way again…or at least the 9-12 people who read this blog do.

The Elvis in my head was a great American icon, but he was a comical figure too. My first glimpse of Elvis was on his way down.  But, Jesus Christ, why didn’t anyone really tell me about “UP” Elvis?  Like, it would have barely taken any effort for an adult to pull me aside and say, “Hey, he wasn’t much to look out at towards the end, but check him out when he was a bashful kid with with a gyrating pelvis.”  I could have been fantasising about him when I was a young teen instead of those terrible 70’s vampire movies HBO aired at 2am.  I don’t want to dwell here, but I robbed of twenty-seven years worth of guilt-free exploratory material.

So, There I was.  Walking around Graceland experiencing regret, lust, wonder, and a faint memory of an interview where Cybill Shepherd said Elvis loved going down on her.  It was agony.  Hyper-arousing agony, which only make it better.  And then worse.

Don’t take my word for it though.  Maybe you’re lucky and already know Elvis’ obvious charisma.  But if you’re on the fence, watch “Clambake.”  Anyway, here’s a recipe for Elvis’ favorite sandwich.

*I”ll leave you with this quote from a friend in response to Elvis’ Graceland kitchen, just so you’re aware that I acknowledge there was a real man within the legend.  I’m not so naive as to believe Elvis was flawless.

“Of all the fucked up stories I’ve heard about Elvis, nothing has shocked me quite as much as seeing that his kitchen was carpeted.”

There you have it; nobody’s perfect.  But, I would absolutely forgive his carpeted kitchen.  I might even go as far as to say I prefer a man who chooses a fully carpeted kitchen.