Not all hypocrites are bad people. I had a boss (he fired me because I took a lady friend to a Las Vegas conference, even 'though I paid her way), who got on a "Buy America" kick back in the late 60s, early 70s. He dumped his Mercedes and bought a  Mustang which fell apart in about a month. All the while beating the druns for "Buy America", he was killing himself chain smoking Turkish cigarettes. A few years later he sold his hi-tec business to a new group of raiders from Japan. The number of employees dropped from about 500 to about 150!

Mr. D diad a year later from the cigarettes (and scotch), but he was a nice guy anyway; just happened to be a hypocrite.

Queenie

Whitey saw the girl in a bamboo cage,
Her chin at rest on her knee;

He thought she looked familiar
And said. “I guess I’d better go see”.

Sure enough, that was Queenie, all right,
His “friend” from the Cling Ting Café

The one who stood about 4 foot ten;
(Whitey was six foot three)

Well, Queenie spoke a little English
But, to Whitey, she acted dumb

And like she didn’t know him
She was quiet, still; almost numb.

Then a Chinese guard with a pole came along,
Which he pushed into the cage

And he growled as he started poking
Which sent Whitey into a blind hot rage.

The Chinese guy was Queenie’s size
Maybe five feet one, no more;

And Whitey hit the guy so hard
It broke the little cage door.

Queenie came out like a shotgun blast
With nary a “thank you please”

And while I was watching her disappear
Here come the f****n’ MPs

And while they were cuffing Whitey
And getting names and such

Whitey said, “Maybe you can find her, Bob;
Tell her I’ll be in touch.”

Two nights later at the Cling Ting Café
I spotted her through the haze

I sidled up close, and said, “Queenie, Hon,
Poor Whitey got 30 days.”

 

The Cling Ting Café

My new friend , Whitey, led me astray!
He dragged my ass to the Cling Ting Café;

We’d met in a proper Kunming bar,
Drinking spiked tea from a samovar.

It didn’t take long ‘till we headed out
To some special place he’d heard about;

It was in the Walled City, about a mile away
Patrolled by MPs, both night and day.

But this was neither, being half past five
Sun still up, joints closed, not yet alive;

We got pointed in the right direction
By a young MP who knew this section.

“The Cling Ting is not yet open”, he said
“But go around the back by the wooden shed;

A cutie named Queenie will let you in,
“A pack of ciggies gets you rice wine or gin”

The place had a bar along one wall
Tables with phones, you wanna make a call

To one of the ladies you like as a mate
If that was Queenie, you’d have to wait.

But, when Whitey asked, she came right over
And Whitey felt he’d soon be in clover.

But Queenie said, while sitting on his lap
“I solly soljer, I tink I got some clap.”

I figured Whitey would send her away;
Maybe try somewhere else, another day;

But Whitey put out his arms as if to engulf her
And said, “Don’t worry kid, I’ll get you some sulfur!”

This was June, nineteen forty-four
I doubt if the Cling is around anymore

Nor is my best friend still alive;
A bad heart killed Whitey in ‘65.