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“On the morning of August 16, 1993, I was driving along Highway 95 between Needles and Laughlin, Nevada, going from one construction site to another where my landscaping crews were working. The first verse of `Mama, I Miss Memphis’ was literally implanted into my consciousness — and I could feel another presence around me. I knew immediately that the song was a message from the King. My home was very near, so I headed straight there, repeating that verse to myself again and again.” — Richard Dean‘s description of how a song called “Mama, I Miss Memphis” was transmitted to him by none other than Elvis Presley himself. We found this nugget on Dean’s Web page, where the Arizona-based songwriter offers recordings of the ditty for — can you believe it? — money. Shocking. It just seems like it should belong to all of us.

–A ‘FLY ON THE WALL’ CLASSIC: August 7, 1997

Now for some non-Elvis-related news. Last Thursday John Willingham’s barbecue restaurant, famed for its charred succulent ribs and complex sauces, was destroyed by a two-alarm fire. More alarming than the actual fire was the number of news stations that broke into regular network programing to report the blaze. Only in Memphis does a burning rib-shack rate the same media treatment as a tornado watch.

Or at least his cooking. Writing for the Arkansas Democrat Gazette, Elisa Crouch reported that during his eight years in office former President William Jefferson Clinton “amassed 625 tons of papers, photographs, and gifts … including an Elvis Presley Cookbook.” As of yet no special prosecutor has been appointed to determine whether the cookbook was a bribe from the peanut-butter-and-jelly-doughnut lobby. Krispy-Kreme’s D.C. representatives could not be reached for comment.

Now for some non-Elvis-related news. Last Thursday John Willingham’s barbecue restaurant, famed for its charred succulent ribs and complex sauces, was destroyed by a two-alarm fire. More alarming than the actual fire was the number of news stations that broke into regular network programing to report the blaze. Only in Memphis does a burning rib-shack rate the same media treatment as a tornado watch.

Or at least his cooking. Writing for the Arkansas Democrat Gazette, Elisa Crouch reported that during his eight years in office former President William Jefferson Clinton “amassed 625 tons of papers, photographs, and gifts … including an Elvis Presley Cookbook.” As of yet no special prosecutor has been appointed to determine whether the cookbook was a bribe from the peanut-butter-and-jelly-doughnut lobby. Krispy-Kreme’s D.C. representatives could not be reached for comment.

Close your eyes and picture this: William F. Buckley Jr., the laconic voice of stuffed-shirt conservatism, is standing alone in a tight spotlight. Clad in a skin-tight suit of shiny black leather, he is lasciviously gyrating his stiff patrician’s hips while pronouncing with impeccable, unmistakably Ivy League diction the words, Warden threw a party in the county jail. Prison band was there and they began to wail. On second thought, don t do that. Buckley s newest novel, Elvis in the Morning, is horrifying enough. At one point in the novel Elvis visits an army pal who s gotten himself into a bit of trouble. Buckley writes, I m Elvis Presley. And I ve come to sing to Orson, on account he cayunt [sic] hear me on the record player. Now ain t thayut thuh ding-dangdest thang y awll evuh seeyun?