Sunday, December 27, 2009

Insulting My Facebook Friends (Part 4)

Sadly for Lorraine, real men don't eat quiche.

Lynda enjoys helping out her male students straighten out their Longfellow.

There once was a girl named Lynne, with a body that was made just for sin... with the boys in the mood to study her nude, she drowns all her troubles in gin. Happy birthday you filthy whore!!!

Mark, you pus spewing, boney, puke faced twit.... I just can't think of an insult for you.

It's easy to tell the difference between me and my evil twin sister Marlena..... she's the one with the cloven hooves.

Linda B, the smartest thing to ever pass through your lips had balls attached, you skank.

If you sneak up on Mary D, you can hear the crabs complain that they have a bad case of Mary.

This year, Mary W. was caught hanging children with her stockings by the chimney, with care. Almost had it this time....

"You don't understand what you're dealing with..., Matt eats!!, it's what he does, with forks, with knives... with his bare hands. He can eat things that would make a billy-goat puke. If you're going to insult him, you'd better remember one thing... bring a good supply of wet-naps."

Matty K, "I'll be with you always" (Matthew 28:20) but in your case, it's herpes simplex HSV-1.

Maureen, it seems like it was just yesterday that I was cleaning all the toilets on the 3'rd floor of Hoosac.... and then I put your toothbrush back where I found it.

Melody will have peace on earth this Christmas even if she has to kill every man, woman and child on earth to get it.

Nine out of ten frightened hookers agree that Mike G. is not abusive... the tenth is still missing.

NaNa has been voted the Edward Gorey centerfold of the year.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

The Pogues... Fairytale of New York

Without a doubt, the greatest Christmas song ever.

Insulting My Facebook Friends (part 3)

Kimmy was assaulted with a turkey baster and enjoyed every second of it. What a tramp.

Kevin was born with a tail... He keeps it in a jar in the fridge now.

Kim makes the baby Jesus cry every time she touches herself.

Kristen has the distinct odor of a wounded badger.

Laini makes wonderful road-kill banana bread.

contrary to popular belief, there is some good in Larry.... it's located behind his left kneecap.

Laura has the largest collection of nude Don Knotts pictures in the northern hemisphere. (That includes the tattoo on her right butt cheek.)

Linda was once hired as the stunt double for Grace Jones..... sadly, Grace wanted to do her own stunts in Conan The Destroyer.

Every time Lizz tells a joke, an angel has his wings ripped off and gets a vodka enema for the pain.

Lois was the inventor of the less popular...... Serious Putty.

Lori D knows exactly how to make any man purr like a wookie..... the little tramp.

Lori L. touches herself every time she thinks of Andy Rooney.

Lori R. has sold her virginity on e-bay thirty-seven times..... and counting...

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Home again

So I’m flying back to Boston last night and I started to get nervous… I’m not quite sure when it started,… it might have been when the co-pilot decided to start selling off baggage that wouldn’t fit in the overhead compartments or when he started directing passengers to the smoking section…… on the wings.

Maybe it was during the pre-flight when he made a noose out of the seatbelt and proceeded to strangle himself….

I’m not quite a hundred percent on this, but when the flight attendants were pointing out where the emergency exits were, I swear he was dancing YMCA behind them.

What I am certain of was the dizzying array of insults he hurled at the crew and passengers alike. Anyone who failed to move fast enough was a target…. “You!!! (describing the victim for that extra humiliation…) red hat with the brown duffel bag… why are you moving slower than a snail in a glue factory?” “There are ninety people waiting for YOU!!!!”

At this point, I started to like the old coot, so long as nobody let him fly…

I started to take a nap a few minutes into the flight only to be smacked on the head with a rolled up magazine by my favorite co-pilot. “If I can’t sleep, nobody does!!!” Can’t argue with that logic…

A few minutes later he was back in the cockpit daring the pilot to do a loop over an open mic.

Anyway, I had a great time in the Carolinas. It’s always good to see some of the Watson clan. Thanks for the hospitality and the driving guys.

As for N. Carolina, Thanks Jasyn for a wonderful time. You are as beautiful as ever and have an amazing family. I miss you all dearly.


Monday, November 30, 2009

Monday, November 23, 2009

Thanksgiving quiz

You Are The Stuffing

You're complicated and complex, yet all your pieces fit together.

People miss you if you're gone - but they're not sure why.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Insulting My Facebook Friends (Part 2)

Frank, I heard two cats humping last night and immediately thought of you..... bastard.

Gillian, You shall be insulted by the greatest insult artist ever to grace the small screen, and the universal patron saint of robot haters, Dr Zachary Smith.... You nagging ninny of a nincompoop, you bubble headed booby....... oh the pain the pain!

Greg, may ten thousand midgets tap dance on your scrotum you little twerp.

Iris, may your shoes be filled with walrus poop for eternity.

Jacquie... aka Jack-Ass.... may Amy Winehouse pelt you with toenail clippings... you tramp.

James, may you be smothered by Rosie O'Donnell's hairy assflaps.... you maggot.

Jason, you sir, are an ass-half. It would take two of you to make a complete asshole.

Jasyn, Hab SoSlI' Quch!

Jen D, one thing in your fridge has been down my pants....... BON APPETIT !!!!

Jen C, aka Cava-Floozy, may Gary Busey lay a moist fart on your oatmeal every morning, you tart.

Jasyn wanted a human insult..... so...... may your boobs bruise your kneecaps in three years time... you wench.

Jen H has a golden arches tramp stamp.... millions and millions served.

Jen T belongs in a bad sideshow.... somewhere between the amazing two eyed cyclops and Skippy the talking mime.

Jillian, may you step in dog poop and climb a ladder today.

This is just getting way too fun!!! You a-holes.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Wedding disaster

Nice to see that the bride keeps whats left of her chin up.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Insulting my Facebook Friends... Part 1

I've decided to have a bit of fun on Facebook at my friends expense, of course. Using Wowbagger, the Infinitely Prolonged as my muse, I've decided to insult all of my Facebook friends...... alphabetically.

I started off a bit slow, but I think I'm getting the hang of it now.

This is part 1

Scott Sullivan has decided to insult each and every one of my wonderful friends.... Alphabetically...

Andrea D smells of cabbage. There, take that sweetie.

Andrea W has defective lips.

AnneMarie makes substandard pies... take that dear...

Anya has been known to soil the Batmobile

Brian is not a well respected goat herder

Briant has been known to choke on vomit... not necessarily his own.

Bridget, Your mother is an hamster and your father smells of elderberries!

Bruce Lee Jr. loves midget porn.

Carla clearly has insane friends.

Cat marches to the beat of a distant plumber.

Charlene causes temporary blindness when taken in small doses.

Chris C. piss off, you hog humping rectum head.

Colleen, bite me, you life sucking putrid tramp.

Corinne, you porn star wanna-be, minni Gianna, butt licking floozy.... and your insult is... you stink.

Courtney, you will be insulted in the form of a Haiku...
Wrapped in a snuggie:
The snow is fast approaching:
You, a filthy whore:

Cybele, You cold hearted, fashion challenged, vacillating tramp. Have a nice day.

Dan D, Go take a flying leap you vomitous mass of puss filled monkey spunk.

Dan M, may your pets conspire to eat you and your family as you sleep, you sad excuse for a pimp daddy.

Darlene, you make me sick, you amazonian, vermin infested, freakshow floozy... see you soon.

Dave K, You suck, A Rod sucks, Jeeter sucks, Steinbrenner sucks, The Yankees suck.... and you suck once again.

Dave L, you are a festering boil on the ass of humanity. Just like the Yankees...

Dave M, you turd like, scrawny Mick Jagger wanna be, smelly crotched dick.

Deb M, I'll be using the random zombie insult generator on you, you stupid, bumwipe, pukestick.... braaaaaaaaaaaiiinnnsssssssss!!!!!!

Lots of people ask me how I could possibly insult such a nice girl like Deb S..... well, like this... You vapid shrew, may the fleas of a thousand mountain goats infest your crotch.

I do not like Denise Phelan, I do not like her in a can, I do not like her in a boat, I do not like her with a goat. I do not like Denise Phelan, I do not like her Scott I am.

Denise W, "[Thine] breath stinks with eating toasted cheese." Shakespeare from: Henry VI, part 2

Donna, may you be eaten alive by zombie midgets with chainsaws.

Earl kicks puppies and kittens when nobody is looking.

Ellen, you vacuous shrew... may your face catch fire and be extinguished with a hammer.... you slut.

Erin, may you be violated a thousand times by Abe Vigoda, you hoe.

Ferval is an alias!!!! he is actually Dr. Zaius - Orangutan and one of the leading council members. He holds the official title of "Keeper of the Faith" and appears to believe that the only good human is a castrated and brain damaged one. Shaving your hair off isn't fooling anyone you damn dirty ape!!!

Friday, October 30, 2009

All Apologies

Please excuse my lack of posting... My computer made good on its threats to kill itself and fried its motherboard. I understand that it felt no pain and went quickly.

I am now house breaking its replacement that I have yet to name. any suggestions?

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Klenginem - SuvwI'pu' qan tu'lu'be

Hat tip Hsu

Well, there goes the last bit of my sanity.... thanks Mike.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Billie Holiday, Easy Living

This is without a doubt, the best song in the world to make breakfast by.

Halloween Quiz

Your Halloween Costume Should Be A Girl Scout

Eerily, that fits somehow!

Anyone want some girl scout cookies?.... made from real girl scouts...

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

The Kugelmass Episode

As a person, Woody Allen leaves much to be desired, but I've always considered this to be brilliant.

If you have ever suffered Flaubert, this is funny. If not, nothing to see here, Move along, these aren't the droids you're looking for.

The Kugelmass Episode

KUGELMASS, A PROFESSOR of humanities at City College, was unhappily married for the second time. Daphne Kugelmass was an oaf. He also had two dull sons by his first wife, Flo, and was up to his neck in alimony and child support.
"Did I know it would turn out so badly?" Kugelmass whined to his analyst one day. "Daphne had promise. Who suspected she'd let herself go and swell up like a beach ball? Plus she had a few bucks, which is not in itself a healthy reason to marry a person, but it doesn't hurt, with the kind of operating nut I have. You see my point?"
Kugelmass was bald and as hairy as a bear, but he had soul.
"I need to meet a new woman," he went on. "I need to have an affair. I may not look the part, but I'm a man who needs romance. I need softness, I need flirtation. I'm not getting younger, so before it's too late I want to make love in Venice, trade quips at '21,' and exchange coy glances over red wine and candlelight. You see what I'm saying?"
Dr. Mandel shifted in his chair and said, "An affair will solve nothing. You're so unrealistic. Your problems run much deeper."
"And also this affair must be discreet," Kugelmass continued. "I can't afford a second divorce. Daphne would really sock it to me."
"Mr. Kugelmass-"
"But it can't be anyone at City College, because Daphne also works there. Not that anyone on the faculty at C.C.N.Y. is any great shakes, but some of those coeds ..."
"Mr. Kugelmass-"
"Help me. I had a dream last night. I was skipping through a meadow holding a picnic basket and the basket was marked 'Options.' And then I saw there was a hole in the basket."
"Mr. Kugelmass, the worst thing you could do is act out. You must simply express your feelings here, and together we'll analyze them. You have been in treatment long enough to know there is no overnight cure. After all, I'm an analyst, not a magician."
"Then perhaps what I need is a magician," Kugelmass said, rising from his chair. And with that he terminated his therapy.
A couple of weeks later, while Kugelmass and Daphne were moping around in their apartment one night like two pieces of old furniture, the phone rang.
"I'll get it," Kugelmass said. "Hello."
"Kugelmass?" a voice said. "Kugelmass, this is Persky."
"Persky. Or should I say The Great Persky?"
"Pardon me?"
"I hear you're looking all over town for a magician to bring a little exotica into your life? Yes or no?"
"Sh-h-h," Kugelmass whispered. "Don't hang up. Where are you calling from, Persky?"
Early the following afternoon, Kugelmass climbed three flights of stairs in a broken-down apartment house in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn. Peering through the darkness of the hall, he found the door he was looking for and pressed the bell. I'm going to regret this, he thought to himself.
Seconds later, he was greeted by a short, thin, waxy-looking man.
"You're Persky the Great?" Kugelmass said.
"The Great Persky. You want a tea?"
"No, I want romance. I want music. I want love and beauty."
"But not tea, eh? Amazing. O.K., sit down."
Persky went to the back room, and Kugelmass heard the sounds of boxes and furniture being moved around. Persky reappeared, pushing before him a large object on squeaky roller-skate wheels. He removed some old silk handkerchiefs that were lying on its top and blew away a bit of dust. It was a cheap-looking Chinese cabinet, badly lacquered.
"Persky," Kugelmass said, "what's your scam?"
"Pay attention," Persky said. "This is some beautiful effect. I developed it for a Knights of Pythias date last year, but the booking fell through. Get into the cabinet."
"Why, so you can stick it full of swords or something?"
"You see any swords?"
Kugelmass made a face and, grunting, climbed into the cabinet. He couldn't help noticing a couple of ugly rhinestones glued onto the raw plywood just in front of his face. "If this is a joke," he said.
"Some joke. Now, here's the point. If I throw any novel into this cabinet with you, shut the doors, and tap it three times, you will find yourself projected into that book."
Kugelmass made a grimace of disbelief.
"It's the emess," Persky said. "My hand to God. Not just a novel, either. A short story, a play, a poem. You can meet any of the women created by the world's best writers. Whoever you dreamed of. You could carry on all you like with a real winner. Then when you've had enough you give a yell, and I'll see you're back here in a split second."
"Persky, are you some kind of outpatient?"
"I'm telling you it's on the level," Persky said.
Kugelmass remained skeptical. "What are you telling me-that this cheesy homemade box can take me on a ride like you're describing?"
"For a double sawbuck."
Kugelmass reached for his wallet. "I'll believe this when I see it," he said.
Persky tucked the bills in his pants pocket and turned toward his bookcase. "So who do you want to meet? Sister Carrie? Hester Prynne? Ophelia? Maybe someone by Saul Bellow? Hey, what about Temple Drake? Although for a man your age she'd be a workout."
"French. I want to have an affair with a French lover."
"I don't want to have to pay for it."
"What about Natasha in War and Peace?"
"I said French. I know! What about Emma Bovary? That sounds to me perfect."
"You got it, Kugelmass. Give me a holler when you've had enough." Persky tossed in a paperback copy of Flaubert's novel.
"You sure this is safe?" Kugelmass asked as Persky began shutting the cabinet doors.
"Safe. Is anything safe in this crazy world?" Persky rapped three times on the cabinet and then flung open the doors.
Kugelmass was gone. At the same moment, he appeared in the bedroom of Charles and Emma Bovary's house at Yonville. Before him was a beautiful woman, standing alone with her back turned to him as she folded some linen. I can't believe this, thought Kugelmass, staring at the doctor's ravishing wife. This is uncanny. I'm here. It's her.
Emma turned in surprise. "Goodness, you startled me," she said. "Who are you?" She spoke in the same fine English translation as the paperback.
It's simply devastating, he thought. Then, realizing that it was he whom she had addressed, he said, "Excuse me. I'm Sidney Kugelmass. I'm from City College. A professor of humanities. C.C.N.Y.? Uptown. I-oh, boy!"
Emma Bovary smiled flirtatiously and said, "Would you like a drink? A glass of wine, perhaps?"
She is beautiful, Kugelmass thought. What a contrast with the troglodyte who shared his bed! He felt a sudden impulse to take this vision into his arms and tell her she was the kind of woman he had dreamed of all his life.
"Yes, some wine," he said hoarsely. "White. No, red. No, white. Make it white."
"Charles is out for the day," Emma said, her voice full of playful implication.
After the wine, they went for a stroll in the lovely French countryside. "I've always dreamed that some mysterious stranger would appear and rescue me from the monotony of this crass rural existence," Emma said, clasping his hand. They passed a small church. "I love what you have on," she murmured. "I've never seen anything like it around here. It's so... so modern."
"It's called a leisure suit," he said romantically. "It was marked down." Suddenly he kissed her. For the next hour they reclined under a tree and whispered together and told each other deeply meaningful things with their eyes. Then Kugelmass sat up. He had just remembered he had to meet Daphne at Bloomingdale's. "I must go," he told her. "But don't worry, I'll be back."
"I hope so," Emma said.
He embraced her passionately, and the two walked back to the house. He held Emma's face cupped in his palms, kissed her again, and yelled, "O.K., Persky! I got to be at Bloomingdale's by three-thirty."
There was an audible pop, and Kugelmass was back in Brooklyn.
"So? Did I lie?" Persky asked triumphantly.
"Look, Persky, I'm right now late to meet the ball and chain at Lexington Avenue, but when can I go again? Tomorrow?"
"My pleasure. Just bring a twenty. And don't mention this to anybody."
"Yeah. I'm going to call Rupert Murdoch." Kugelmass hailed a cab and sped off to the city. His heart danced on point. I am in love, he thought, I am the possessor of a wonderful secret. What he didn't realize was that at this very moment students in various classrooms across the country were saying to their teachers, "Who is this character on page 100? A bald Jew is kissing Madame Bovary?" A teacher in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, sighed and thought, Jesus, these kids, with their pot and acid. What goes through their minds!
Daphne Kugelmass was in the bathroom-accessories department at Bloomingdale's when Kugelmass arrived breathlessly. "Where've you been?" she snapped. "It's four-thirty."
"I got held up in traffic," Kugelmass said.
Kugelmass visited Persky the next day, and in a few minutes was again passed magically to Yonville. Emma couldn't hide her excitement at seeing him. The two spent hours together, laughing and talking about their different backgrounds. Before Kugelmass left, they made love. "My God, I'm doing it with Madame Bovary!" Kugelmass whispered to himself. "Me, who failed freshman English."
As the months passed, Kugelmass saw Persky many times and developed a close and passionate relationship with Emma Bovary. "Make sure and always get me into the book before page 120," Kugelmass said to the magician one day. "I always have to meet her before she hooks up with this Rodolphe character."
"Why?" Persky asked. "You can't beat his time?"
"Beat his time. He's landed gentry. Those guys have nothing better to do than flirt and ride horses. To me, he's one of those faces you see in the pages of Women's Wear Daily. With the Helmut Berger hairdo. But to her he's hot stuff."
"And her husband suspects nothing?"
"He's out of his depth. He's a lacklustre little paramedic who's thrown in his lot with a jitterbug. He's ready to go to sleep by ten, and she's putting on her dancing shoes. Oh, well . . . See you later."
And once again Kugelmass entered the cabinet and passed instantly to the Bovary estate at Yonville. "How you doing, cupcake?" he said to Emma.
"Oh, Kugelmass," Emma sighed. "What I have to put up with. Last night at dinner, Mr. Personality dropped off to sleep in the middle of the dessert course. I'm pouring my heart out about Maxim's and the ballet, and out of the blue I hear snoring."
"It's O.K., darling. I'm here now," Kugelmass said, embracing her. I've earned this, he thought, smelling Emma's French perfume and burying his nose in her hair. I've suffered enough. I've paid enough analysts. I've searched till I'm weary. She's young and nubile, and I'm here a few pages after Leon and just before Rodolphe. By showing up during the correct chapters, I've got the situation knocked.
Emma, to be sure, was just as happy as Kugelmass. She had been starved for excitement, and his tales of Broadway night life, of fast cars and Hollywood and TV stars, enthralled the young French beauty.
"Tell me again about O. J. Simpson," she implored that evening, as she and Kugelmass strolled past Abbe Bournisien's church.
"What can I say? The man is great. He sets all kinds of rushing records. Such moves. They can't touch him."
"And the Academy Awards?" Emma said wistfully. "I'd give anything to win one."
"First you've got to be nominated."
"I know. You explained it. But I'm convinced I can act. Of course, I'd want to take a class or two. With Strasberg maybe. Then, if I had the right agent-"
"We'll see, we'll see. I'll speak to Persky."
That night, safely returned to Persky's flat, Kugelmass brought up the idea of having Emma visit him in the big city.
"Let me think about it," Persky said. "Maybe I could work it. Stranger things have happened." Of course, neither of them could think of one.

"Where the hell do you go all the time?" Daphne Kugelmass barked at her husband as he returned home late that evening. "You got a chippie stashed somewhere?"
"Yeah, sure, I'm just the type," Kugelmass said wearily. "I was with Leonard Popkin. We were discussing Socialist agriculture in Poland. You know Popkin. He's a freak on the subject."
"Well, you've been very odd lately," Daphne said. "Distant. Just don't forget about my father's birthday. On Saturday?"
"Oh, sure, sure," Kugelmass said, heading for the bathroom.
"My whole family will be there. We can see the twins. And Cousin Hamish. You should be more polite to Cousin Hamish-he likes you."
"Right, the twins," Kugelmass said, closing the bathroom door and shutting out the sound of his wife's voice. He leaned against it and took a deep breath. In a few hours, he told himself, he would be back in Yonville again, back with his beloved. And this time, if all went well, he would bring Emma back with him.
At three-fifteen the following afternoon, Persky worked his wizardry again. Kugelmass appeared before Emma, smiling and eager. The two spent a few hours at Yonville with Binet and then remounted the Bovary carriage. Following Persky's instructions, they held each other tightly, closed their eyes, and counted to ten. When they opened them, the carriage was just drawing up at the side door of the Plaza Hotel, where Kugelmass had optimistically reserved a suite earlier in the day.
"I love it! It's everything I dreamed it would be," Emma said as she swirled joyously around the bedroom, surveying the city from their window. "There's F. A. O. Schwarz. And there's Central Park, and the Sherry is which one? Oh, there-I see. It's too divine."
On the bed there were boxes from Halston and Saint Laurent. Emma unwrapped a package and held up a pair of black velvet pants against her perfect body.
"The slacks suit is by Ralph Lauren," Kugelmass said. "You'll look like a million bucks in it. Come on, sugar, give us a kiss."
"I've never been so happy!" Emma squealed as she stood before the mirror. "Let's go out on the town. I want to see Chorus Line and the Guggenheim and this Jack Nicholson character you always talk about. Are any of his flicks showing?"
"I cannot get my mind around this," a Stanford professor said. "First a strange character named Kugelmass, and now she's gone from the book. Well, I guess the mark of a classic is that you can reread it a thousand times and always find something new."

The lovers passed a blissful weekend. Kugelmass had told Daphne he would be away at a symposium in Boston and would return Monday. Savoring each moment, he and Emma went to the movies, had dinner in Chinatown, passed two hours at a discotheque, and went to bed with a TV movie. They slept till noon on Sunday, visited SoHo, and ogled celebrities at Elaine's. They had caviar and champagne in their suite on Sunday night and talked until dawn. That morning, in the cab taking them to Persky's apartment, Kugelmass thought, It was hectic, but worth it. I can't bring her here too often, but now and then it will be a charming contrast with Yonville.
At Persky's, Emma climbed into the cabinet, arranged her new boxes of clothes neatly around her, and kissed Kugelmass fondly. "My place next time," she said with a wink. Persky rapped three times on the cabinet. Nothing happened.
"Hmm," Persky said, scratching his head. He rapped again, but still no magic. "Something must be wrong," he mumbled.
"Persky, you're joking!" Kugelmass cried. "How can it not work?"
"Relax, relax. Are you still in the box, Emma?"
Persky rapped again-harder this time.
"I'm still here, Persky."
"I know, darling. Sit tight."
"Persky, we have to get her back," Kugelmass whispered. "I'm a married man, and I have a class in three hours. I'm not prepared for anything more than a cautious affair at this point."
"I can't understand it," Persky muttered. "It's such a reliable little trick."
But he could do nothing. "It's going to take a little while," he said to Kugelmass. "I'm going to have to strip it down. I'll call you later."
Kugelmass bundled Emma into a cab and took her back to the Plaza. He barely made it to his class on time. He was on the phone all day, to Persky and to his mistress. The magician told him it might be several days before he got to the bottom of the trouble.
"How was the symposium?" Daphne asked him that night.
"Fine, fine," he said, lighting the filter end of a cigarette.
"What's wrong? You're as tense as a cat."
"Me? Ha, that's a laugh. I'm as calm as a summer night. I'm just going to take a walk." He eased out the door, hailed a cab, and flew to the Plaza.
"This is no good," Emma said. "Charles will miss me."
"Bear with me, sugar," Kugelmass said. He was pale and sweaty. He kissed her again, raced to the elevators, yelled at Persky over a pay phone in the Plaza lobby, and just made it home before midnight.
"According to Popkin, barley prices in Krakow have not been this stable since 1971," he said to Daphne, and smiled wanly as he climbed into bed.

The whole week went by like that.
On Friday night, Kugelmass told Daphne there was another symposium he had to catch, this one in Syracuse. He hurried back to the Plaza, but the second weekend there was nothing like the first. "Get me back into the novel or marry me," Emma told Kugelmass. "Meanwhile, I want to get a job or go to class, because watching TV all day is the pits."
"Fine. We can use the money," Kugelmass said. "You consume twice your weight in room service."
"I met an Off Broadway producer in Central Park yesterday, and he said I might be right for a project he's doing," Emma said.
"Who is this clown?" Kugelmass asked.
"He's not a clown. He's sensitive and kind and cute. His name's Jeff Something-or-Other, and he's up for a Tony."
Later that afternoon, Kugelmass showed up at Persky's drunk.
"Relax," Persky told him. "You'll get a coronary."
"Relax. The man says relax. I've got a fictional character stashed in a hotel room, and I think my wife is having me tailed by a private shamus."
"O.K., O.K. We know there's a problem." Persky crawled under the cabinet and started banging on something with a large wrench.
"I'm like a wild animal," Kugelmass went on. "I'm sneaking around town, and Emma and I have had it up to here with each other. Not to mention a hotel tab that reads like the defense budget."
"So what should I do? This is the world of magic," Persky said. "It's all nuance."
"Nuance, my foot. I'm pouring Dom Perignon and black eggs into this little mouse, plus her wardrobe, plus she's enrolled at the Neighborhood Playhouse and suddenly needs professional photos. Also, Persky, Professor Fivish Kopkind, who teaches Comp Lit and who has always been jealous of me, has identified me as the sporadically appearing character in the Flaubert book. He's threatened to go to Daphne. I see ruin and alimony; jail. For adultery with Madame Bovary, my wife will reduce me to beggary."
"What do you want me to say? I'm working on it night and day. As far as your personal anxiety goes, that I can't help you with. I'm a magician, not an analyst."
By Sunday afternoon, Emma had locked herself in the bathroom and refused to respond to Kugelmass's entreaties. Kugelmass stared out the window at the Wollman Rink and contemplated suicide. Too bad this is a low floor, he thought, or I'd do it right now. Maybe if I ran away to Europe and started life over . . . Maybe I could sell the International Herald Tribune, like those young girls used to.
The phone rang. Kugelmass lifted it to his ear mechanically.
"Bring her over," Persky said. "I think I got the bugs out of it."
Kugelmass's heart leaped. "You're serious?" he said. "You got it licked?"
"It was something in the transmission. Go figure."
"Persky, you're a genius. We'll be there in a minute. Less than a minute."
Again the lovers hurried to the magician's apartment, and again Emma Bovary climbed into the cabinet with her boxes. This time there was no kiss. Persky shut the doors, took a deep breath, and tapped the box three times. There was the reassuring popping noise, and when Persky peered inside, the box was empty. Madame Bovary was back in her novel. Kugelmass heaved a great sigh of relief and pumped the magician's hand.
"It's over," he said. "I learned my lesson. I'll never cheat again, I swear it." He pumped Persky's hand again and made a mental note to send him a necktie.

Three weeks later, at the end of a beautiful spring afternoon, Persky answered his doorbell. It was Kugelmass, with a sheepish expression on his face.
"O.K., Kugelmass," the magician said. "Where to this time?"
"It's just this once," Kugelmass said. "The weather is so lovely, and I'm not getting any younger. Listen, you've read Portnoy's Complaint? Remember The Monkey?"
"The price is now twenty-five dollars, because the cost of living is up, but I'll start you off with one freebie, due to all the trouble I caused you."
"You're good people," Kugelmass said, combing his few remaining hairs as he climbed into the cabinet again. "This'll work all right?"
"I hope. But I haven't tried it much since all that unpleasantness."
"Sex and romance," Kugelmass said from inside the box. "What we go through for a pretty face."
Persky tossed in a copy of Portnoy's Complaint and rapped three times on the box. This time, instead of a popping noise there was a dull explosion, followed by a series of crackling noises and a shower of sparks. Persky leaped back, was seized by a heart attack, and dropped dead. The cabinet burst into flames, and eventually the entire house burned down.
Kugelmass, unaware of this catastrophe, had his own problems. He had not been thrust into Portnoy's Complaint, or into any other novel, for that matter. He had been projected into an old textbook, Remedial Spanish, and was running for his life over a barren, rocky terrain as the word tener ("to have")-a large and hairy irregular verb- raced after him on its spindly legs.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Monday, October 12, 2009

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Odds and Ends Part 2

I'll bet you a dollar I can.

I'm cloning her a thousand times for my personal army.

He is sooooo cheating...

This house is not cat proofed.... but it will be soon.


I said FIRE!!!!!

Yeah... we've all been there...

Thats it.... I'm going to buy a sharpie today...

I'll bet it would sell at the market too.....

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Quiz time

You Crave an Unpredictable Adventure

Life has gotten a bit too boring for you lately, and you're really looking to stir things up.

You couldn't imagine planning your great adventure. That would go against the whole point of it!

All you need is a plane, train, or bus ticket to anywhere. You'll make the rest up as you go along.

You want to visit every corner of the world and have many different experiences. The sooner you start, the more you'll see.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Seasonal Posting

Do pumpkins text?

H/T Tom for the concept

Sunday, October 4, 2009

I've got Blisters on my Eyeballs (Flashback)

This is a tribute to a bad album cover list I got from Court a while back.... Please remove your eyes for your own safety.

Maybe I've watched Charlie & the Chocolate Factory a few too many times, ... but... no... walking away from this now...

I just need a moment to take this in..... Noooo!!! Mama says you can't sing Col. Sanders!!!!

Larz, Larz, Lazs... the mortal enemy of my eyeballs...

Kinda makes you wonder what didn't make the cut...

Oh God!!! Not funky, not funky!!!

I have no idea what this says, but I'm buying an accordian.

Is that a bunny...?? Bwaahaaahaaahaaaa

...And who can forget that great sixties psychodelic polka band.

...So 5 guys in a field are the authority on lesbians... Damm, I had it all wrong...

Nope, he just changed the locks Gertrude.


Do I have a third choice?

Islam is safe...

Thursday, October 1, 2009

In Unrelated News... Nike Signs Vick Again

Michael Vick, once embroiled in controversy for his role in a dog-fighting ring, has signed an endorsement deal with Nike, his agent said Wednesday.

Vick, signed by the Philadelphia Eagles in August after completing a 23-month prison sentence, will wear Nike shoes, gear and apparel as part of the agreement.

"Mike has had a great relationship with Nike and is excited to be part of the Nike team again," Vick's agent, Joel Segal, said. Segal reportedly negotiated the Nike deal as well as Vick's deal to return to the NFL as a member of the Eagles.

Segal would not reveal terms of the agreement. Nike declined a request for comment.

The deal was announced during a panel discussion at the Sports Sponsorship Symposium by Michael Principe, the managing director of BEST, the agency that represents Vick.

Nike suspended its previous endorsement deal with Vick in 2007, in the wake of news of Vick's involvement with dog fighting.

"... Nike is concerned by the serious and highly disturbing allegations made against Michael Vick and we consider any cruelty to animals inhumane and abhorrent," the company said then in a statement. "However, we do believe that Michael Vick should be afforded the same due process as any citizen in the United States, therefore, we have not terminated our relationship."

The Eagles signed Vick to a one-year contract with an option for a second year on Aug. 13. The deal is reportedly worth $1.6 million for the first year and $5.2 million for the option year.

Vick made his first appearence in a regular-season game for the Eagles last Sunday, going 0-2 passing and rushing once for 7 yards in a limited role in the Eagles' 34-14 victory over the Chiefs.

"It is quite evident that athletes that run afoul of the law are by no means relegated to obscurity when it comes to pitching products," said David Carter, a professor of sports marketing at the University of Southern California.

HT Fox News

Now call me crazy, but WTF Nike!!!! I don't want to deny the guy work as a player, but I thought his endorsement deals were off the table for everyone.

Time to buy a new pair of Chuck Taylors. (Go Converse!!!)

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The The, Slow Emotion Replay

I just never get tired of this band.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Victory is Mine

I have once again taken first place at SYLG's weekly caption contest... Behold my awesomeness.

On a side note, A prayer for Wyatts son Kevin.

Oh heavenly father, I beseech you to lower the testicle of your earthly servant Kevin. Please use that gravity thing that mostly keeps us from flying off into space every time we sneeze to give the nut a little push.... Not too much, but just enough to give things some basic symmetry. That would be great, thanks. Sully

The title of the post will take you to the caption at SYLG.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Odds and Ends


No, this is not me... My spaceship is working just fine.

Well he's an optimist.

Laundry day on the deathstar

My maps are Waaaaaay off.

This is your child on pot.... any questions?

It would probably be best if I stay away from the fridge for a few days... The temptation to do this to the eggs is overwhelming...

The womens curling team?

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

I got you a dozen Roses.

...And I picked them myself

Charlie Rose

Rose is Rose

Tokyo Rose

Rose McGowan

Axl Rose

Rosey Grier

Pete Rose

Rosa Parks

Rose Kennedy

Rosemary Clooney

Rosie Ruiz

Rosie The Robot Maid