After the digital exercise is over for another six months, Malarkey carefully climbs into his XKE and drives out of the lot. As Malarkey cruises up the 405N, he turns on the radio and hears K.C. & The Sunshine Band singing, “Get Down Tonight.” Now if the Reader doesn’t know the lyrics or has forgotten them, here’s a sample:
Baby, baby, let’s get together
Honey, honey, me and you
And do the things, ah, do the things
That we like to do
Of course, without the music this chapter tends to lose its impact. So, as with previous chapters, Malarkey suggests the Reader Google the song and play it while reading the chapter as Malarkey does the same while writing it. Malarkey has helped you out here (https://
Now by the time Malarkey gets to campus, it’s midday and even though K.C. is still ringing in his ears, he realizes the necessity of grading some papers, presumably those more recent than 1988.
Oh, do a little dance, make a little love
Get down tonight, get down tonight
Do a little dance, make a little love
Get down tonight, get down tonight
So, Malarkey attempts to grade papers while sitting on his favorite campus bench, but it becomes increasingly difficult to do so since, even though sorority rush is over, there are bevvies of young co-eds wearing very, very short cutoff jeans or very, very short shorts that pass by and there are rapid cuts from Malarkey’s point of view to those nubile young women whose butt cheeks à la mode are mostly hanging outside their shorts rather than inside them and which tend to bounce in unison to K.C.’s music.
Baby, baby, I’ll meet you
Same place, same time
Where we can get together
And ease up our mind
Perhaps, if Malarkey were younger this would be a fanciful distraction in the same way fanciful distractions go, but Malarkey has just come from his urologist who has confirmed, in no uncertain terms, that his prostate cancer will not go on hiatus and, as a bonus, has given him a higher dosage of sildenafil for his erectile dysfunction.
Oh, do a little dance, make a little love
Get down tonight, whoo, get down tonight, hey
Do a little dance, make a little love
Get down tonight, get down tonight, baby
These are symptoms that someone from the Woodstock Nation would never have imagined while smoking weed and fucking in between sets of Richie Havens and Country Joe or Joe Cocker and Jimi Hendrix. So it goes.
Get down, get down, get down, get down, get down tonight baby
Get down, get down, get down, get down, get down tonight baby
Get down, get down, get down, get down, get down tonight baby
Get down, get down, get down, get down, get down tonight baby
Get down, get down, get down, get down, get down tonight baby
Get down, get down, get down, get down, get down tonight baby