Of Postmodernism and Concert Tees
I once tied rats to a violin, then handed the mess to a Singapore whore, snapped a picture and called it art.
And that turned out to be a very good idea!!! It made the cover of an extremely prominent photography journal. (Which gets you invited to a lot of exclusive parties by the way. And being invited to exclusive parties is very good for your self-esteem--at first anyway.)
As a follow-up, I was planning to stuff a tuba with shrews and get a Nepalese goat herder to pretend to play it, with me squatting in the background, eating cheese.
But there aren't any shrews in Nepal, and I had trouble getting my tuba through customs.
So I had to settle for a time-lapse video of me trying to drink myself to death... in Nepal... with a Nepalese goat herder squatting in the background, eating cheese. But the damn goat herder kept on moving out of frame. (Which just ruins time-lapse videos in case you didn't know.) And then at some point I must have thrown up on the lens.
Postmodernism is hard. I don't want to do it anymore. I don't care if it is a great way to get smart New York women to sleep with you--most of the time they're not that good, and they always make you remove your 2005 Dwight Yoakam South by Southwest concert-tees before getting into bed.
"Hey, fine." I tell them, as I remove the shirt. "You could have had Dwight and me, roaming up and down where you want us to be, but you chose to reduce the sexual power by half... and now I'm actually kinda sleepy. G'night."
(And deny a woman once; though she now wants you more, she'll hold it against you forever.)
posted by Latigo Flint @ 12:12 AM
16 comments
16 Comments:
"squatting in the background, eating cheese."
Oh man. That should not make me laugh quite as much as it did. Hey, what's with the word verification now? I kind of miss the guy that used to come by and say he was looking for stuff about baristas.
Aah Lf you are wise beyond your many many many many many many many many years. When I finally reach you age I hope to have the wisdom that you hold now.
Dada is dead.
Well there are the rare lesser Nepalese snow shrews but they are hard to find being well... lesser snow shrews. Anyway.. probably for the best you didn't get any because their eyes pop out if you blow on them too hard so the tuba would have been a bugger to clean afterwards - plus PETA would be baying for your blood - those guys can be vicious.
I laughed so hard at this one, the newt I was brushing my teeth with exploded out my nose.
by the by...that which I am sending you may arrive by this friday.....mabey
You said: "She'll hold IT against you forever"... Ho ho har de har har. Can you stand IT?
Voles would work.
I've always considered your blog as postmodernism. So non-linear and all.
Yeah Latigo, I believe I saw that violin with rats photo in an extremely prominent photography journal, I think it was called art.
Damn, Dwight YO CUM...I'd have been all over that shit!
In Middle School I once drew a caricature picture of my teacher as Barney Rubble, being crushed by a giant pair of testicles. The postmodern defence didn't hold up in the principal's office.
I can picture you in dusty Stetson, tube socks, and S X SW Dwight tee, ready for action, saddle chafes on your inner thighs from riding fences, yet still possessing a deadly sexiness.
But then I had too much Red Bicyclette merlot just now and Sting is screaming how Roxanne needn't activate the crimson beacon, so what do I know?
I've slept with my share of New York girls who favor art over commerce, except where shoes are concerned, and the only t-shirt that ever scored a "hoorah" was a "Jesus is coming" item with three-color photo and bright red letters ... I'll probably regret admitting this.
I once tried to tie a Singaporean whore to a violin and take pictures, but she told me that it "cost extra". That rat bitch.
Ahh, but deny a woman sevenhoundredsixtyfivethousoundthreehoundredandseventyfour-nce and she'll forgive all.
This is so freakin' funny.
I have two words for you. Stan Sweet.
Cause that's even funnier.
Yeah, I know Solace Layfield--I giggled like a fiend the instant I typed it--and I have no idea why.
Call me old one more time TSP, I dare you. The young can die you know, the young die all the time.
Dada is absurd Monkeypotpie. Long live Dada.
I had forgotten all about the Lesser Snow Shrews Hen--what with, as you pointed out, them being lesser and whatnot.
I love it Grublygold--it's on my mantle right now as I type. Hey, by the way, obviously that thing we discussed didn't happen. The form and timing needs to be different. Talk to you later.
Voles always work Old Hoss.
I hate postmodernism LBB. (Course I'm a bit of a self-loather you know.)
With a capital "A" Peter, with a capital "A".
Clever Frap Gurl, I'd never noticed that before.
I feel your pain Trev. Yeah, for some reason our stupid schools still adhere to the implicit contract of lucidity between author and reader--close-minded dummies.
That's quite an image you paint Ari--I'm not sure I can imagine what it would look like... wait, let me glance in a mirror... Ah yes, now I can picture it.
Don't worry Berlinbound, your secret is safe with me... and my millions of readers of course.
Would you begrudge a whore her living Amandarama? The basic package is just break-even, all the profit is in the upgrades. Don't you know that?
I'm going to take your word for that Rasmus--I can't handle much more pain.
You're right Buffy, that is pretty goddamn funny. But I'm twice as fast as Stan Sweet, and everybody knows it.
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