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3 September 2015
No. 1,317 (cartoon)
How many lovers have you had?
No one has ever loved me.
4 September 2015
Gertrude and I were marveling at Donald Trump’s spectacularly bombastic, ignorant rants.
“With all that money,” Gertrude asked, “why doesn’t the idjit get a toupee with some brains in it?”
“And one that’s not made from a muskrat hide?” I added.
We agreed that Trump is pompous proof that money can’t buy brains or taste. Sadly, I won’t be surprised if the maroon is elected president; he’s all too American.
5 September 2015
Wasps or Testicles?
Today was another one of those days when I saw a headline that was so good that I didn’t read the article. I’m talking about Jules Howard’s piece, “Wasps may have stung me in the testiclesbut I love them anyway.”
The wasps or the testicles? That’s usually the question, innit?
6 September 2015
Pouring Man 2015
Today’s Pouring Man event was just like last year’s extravaganza, but completely different. The entire experience was beyond words, so I suppose there’s nothing more to say.
7 September 2015
Remembering Mike Roselle
Cat wrote to tell me that she’s working with Mike Roselle (rhymes with hell), and asked me if I remembered him.
I’ll never forget Mike, at least not until he repays the hundred dollars I lent him on the infamous night in North Beach decades ago.
8 September 2015
I’ve never been let down by Cordelia’s aesthetic sensibilities, so I accepted her invitation to see “some great art” at her studio without asking for specifics. I wasn’t disappointed when she handed me a glass of wine, turned off the lights, and told me to enjoy watching The Three Stooges’ 1938 short film, Wee Wee Monsieur.
She paused the projector at three minutes and forty-four seconds so that we could admire Curly’s painting, A Maid on a Night Out Winding a Grandfather’s Clock With Her Left Hand.
“What a masterpiece!” she exclaimed.
“I’m not following you,” I demurred. “It looks like a phallic parody of surrealism in general and Salvador Dalí in particular.”
“Zackly!” she agreed.
She explained that The Three Stooges recognized Dalí as the shameless huckster he was a year before André Breton dismissed him with the anagram, “Avida Dollars.” (That was a play on the French phrase for “avide à dollars,” or, “eager for dollars.”
A Maid on a Night Out Winding a Grandfather’s Clock With Her Left Hand was lost during filming when Curly smashed it over the landlord’s head in order to escape without paying the overdue rent. That is indeed some great art!
9 September 2015
Just Poodling About
Keith Richards just gave the best, or at least the most concise, review I’ve ever read of one of the most monumentally mediocre musical ensembles in recent history.
“The Grateful Dead is where everybody got it wrong. Just poodling about for hours and hours. Jerry Garcia, boring shit, man.”
I wonder if Richards knows why poodles hold their tails in the air? They do it in order to display their Jerry Garcia buttons.
I’ve never read Keith Richards’ autobiography, but perhaps I will if it’s equally insightful.
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©2015 David Glenn Rinehart