Bye Bye Bonnie
- Jul 10
- 4 min read
July 10th, 2026
Dad killed himself Easter of 1982 and a war on fat women ended with its Hitler. Gary Wayne made preemptive strikes, multiple moratoriums on mammoth maids and maidens. Ornery Black ones on TV outlawed like Nell Carter on "Gimme A Break" which he called "Fat's Happening" riffing on also banned "What's Happening" with house-huge Mabel "Mama" King and crown jewel of the sapphires Shirley Hemphill, who told Fred Barry's character famously "Rerun, you ARE a Fatburger!". Too, our three ton trio backdoor neighbors.
Nope, not gay-chub porn, but the storied Story family: dad Ira, groundskeeper at Rolling Hills Country Club, adjacent to our shoddy little subdivision block. Living there we had racing drunkards jonesing up our street afternoons for their fix. One knocked my friend Drew's dog out of his skin he hit it so hard. Shaking and sweating the grey-templed disaster exited his Caddy, apologized, and sped off to Happy Hour while I marveled at the spot that was Ralph seconds back. Football player son Doug, an attractive jock suitable for a Wheaties box, and older brother David gayer than a bag of balloons who visited frequently from Tejas in his flaming pink running shorts he told me "Paducah's not ready for". "Me either" I thought at 13, half obsessed, half disgusted.
Then came the ladies, mom Bonnie smoking like a freight train her husband both, oldest Lisa "Funniest Girl" according to the Lone Oak High School Yearbook, and youngest Lana, two years behind me and a favorite playmate due to her capacity for complicity. Designed as a partner in crime she was. These women all three unlike those toned and athletic men were obese long before the outbreak. Bonnie out of her molded brown recliner looked impossible. Lisa worked with eventual hubbie Steve who worshiped her immense caboose at the Druthers fast-food chain who had delicious hush puppies on the salad bar. Lana was affectionately called "Baby Tank" by my early crush "Iggy" who looked spot-on punk star Pop.
Dad was determined to stop the influence of sassy overweight women on me, clearly realizing I was different from the other boys. Had he seen me in private with 'em, he'd known I wasn't. Lana not only huge but my female junior was a no-no from the get-go. Before the body was cold, I was in Bonnie's smoke-stinking cleavage being comforted. Monopoly with the family moments later. Unable to verbalize it to Dad, the curtains weren't pulled with static air there. Those people hung together. Lisa made everybody laugh themselves sick, Bonnie made snacks, and they played games. Our only child home as a precursor to suicide wouldn't shock anybody looking for such.
Lana and I spent hours in the back room watching TV, especially our new mutual rage, music videos. Between flicks on HBO we knew they'd show three in an afternoon and came a weird one we both went loco over with Gothic, bizarre, and metaphorical imagery plus a thunderous performance by a one-hit Welsh chick we were instantly consumed by. We were totally eclipsed by Lana's mom's namesake Ms. Tyler whose track smacked like "Bat Out Of Hell" that big sis Lisa plumb wore into the dirt.
From the new Kentucky Oaks Mall that destroyed the childhood magic of Downtown, I snagged "Faster Than the Speed of Night" and played it, Lana and I, unto sickness. THEN, six months later it debuted on MTV and took America by storm. For the first time I was musically ahead. Later I'd be a quasi-snob working in Alternative Radio 1990-1994. Here in prison I have the most diverse selection likely of any tablet this yard holds. Bonnie Tyler's "It's A Heartache" I've got and love on a couple of mixes. Can't do "Total Eclipse of the Heart". No place for power ballads in my orbit. Not being a snob, its my "if I can't fuck to it, I won't fuck with it" music creed. Simply don't float this boat. Missing out on too much I'll avoid being a poser again.
Ira got axed from Rolling Hills in 1986 and they moved to Hopkinsville, Western Kentucky. Lisa lost mondo weight and dumped Steve, preferring the company of Nubian men confounding me as to why she bothered with one or the other because clearly she coulda rocked both. Lana I found on Facebook in 2011. Singing karaoke nightly in queer bars, big as a house, purple-faced off booze swilling and hugging somebody with crazy drunk eyes in every pic, in DM she revealed a recent split from a partner and regaining the weight from gastric bypass. Bonnie was still kicking, to my amazement.
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