YOU CAN'T PUT NO BOOGIE WOOGIE ON THE KING OF ROCK AND ROLL

Back yet again with another collection of his ephemeral newspaper pieces, turf-kicking, one-gallus humorist Grizzard reverts to his customary populist procedures. Sometimes the soul of political correctness, sometimes sociological troglodyte, Grizzard fires off more random shots than Rambo on a busy day. Unfortunately, not enough hit the mark. It's his advice to women who attend country music concerts to ``keep your undergarments to a minimum'' to avoid long lines at the ladies' room (just the kind of social ill that causes our southern gentleman much concern). Another (and more interesting) question vexing the bard of the know-nothing bon ton: ``Why,'' he wonders, ``are so many of today's young men wearing their ball caps backward?'' Grizzard seems to have selective areas of concern. There is a lot that has to do with hometown Atlanta, the failures of its sports teams and the faults of Mayor Maynard Jackson. There is much ado about the author, his own self, including the failures and faults of his innards. The text, being a compilation of daily off-the-cuff maunderings composed largely of one- or two-sentence paragraphs, tends to be a bit redundant, with a lot about zits, mooning, and other such interesting arcana. Throughout, there's a vein of old-timey country xenophobia. Recent events in the Persian Gulf (where we needed to ``kick butt and take some names'') finally give Grizzard a chance to get ``camel jockey'' triumphantly past the Speech Police. This year's offering is not the best of Grizzard, just a lot of Grizzard: standard smirky humor from a writer who knows better.