blue girl

Enslaved Into Durance Vile, I've Clapped The Darbys On Him

My slave sayeth I speaketh of being an average temptress.  He-eth knoweth not of what he speaks.

Average?  Please, child.

High two figures?  Whattaya, nuts?  You get $0.  Notta.  Total zero-eth.

And Jeez-Louise.  You cave so easily.  You cried, "Uncle" before the gameth even began. 

And, oh, by the wayeth, I figured you would look way more like Doctor Johnson as imagined by William Hogarth during a particularly irksome episode of gout than the photo that I so elegantly displayed.  (Damn you for adding the bubble words --  so, 21st century of you.  Of course the one word isn't a word at all, now is it?)

You are now set free!  I need to have a slave for life that I can freaking understand!

I tease old Neddie.  Just chill.  Oketh?

There Will Be A Price To Pay. Oh Yes. There Will Be A Heavy Price.

Someone out there, and you know who you are, is not as loyal as they have previously claimed to be.  Simply blogrolling blue girl does not get you off the hook so easily.

And any number of spoonerisms that you may come up with will not even begin to get you out of this mess.

You thought Paul O’Neill suffered for his disloyalty?  Ha!  You thought Richard Clark got the short end of the stick?  Believe me, an apology in front of a Congressional Committee is only the beginning of what you are going to have to do.

Your punishment will become more and more severe with each passing hour. 

They Say A Picture's Worth A Thousand Words

Surfing the Internets today, I came across this photo.  Not sure who this guy is, but to me, he looks dashing.  Like a wordsmith who's grumpy because there are just too many words in need of smithing and can't he catch a break, already?! 

I love this sort of smart-detective-professor-Oscar Madison-curmugdeonly  type.  Like a character that Neil Simon would concoct.  He would live in New York City and walk the streets at night.  I somehow feel that I wouldn't even be disappointed when he had to do the big reveal.  What is or is not under that hat, I don't think would matter at all.  But what's inside that head underneath that hat definitely would.

Something about this guy is very familiar.  I don't know what it is.  And since they say a picture's worth a thousand words, it just might be words that I have read that I am making this ethereal connection.  Clever words, profane words, words that are not even words! 

Is this man a man of music?  And would his words sing:

Grand Funk Railroad sucked longer, louder and with more consistency than any band in the history of Rock and Roll. By a moonshot. By a light-year. By a parasec. Take three REO Speedwagons, four Golden Earrings, eight Nazareths, two Starships, and three Status Quos, mix 'em up in a big-assed blender, toss in some Olson Twins videos for crunch, and you will still have only a small jigger-load of what you'd need to make up a bowlful of brand-clean Grand Funk Suck. When the the Great Scorer comes to mark against their name, he writes not that they won or lost, but how much they just plain Sucked.

Is this a man who is an expert in many fields?  Would he be considered a leading authority on such hot topics of the day as:

Titty-Bingo stickers?

Uranus vegetation?

Turkey Pitties?

Hmmph.  Not sure, as I am not on that level, but still trying to get up there.

I wonder, is he a good guy fighting the good fight on the side of the good?  Would his words reassure you that he is:

But here's what's got me worried. In my interior monologue I am making this guy a scapegoat for every goddamned avaricious, mendacious, soul-destroying crime against sanity perpetrated by beauty-hating, know-nothing, land-raping, Iraq-invading, home-schooling, Christ-insulting, religion-perverting, Kerry-slandering, Abu-Ghraib-denying, history-mangling, language-destroying, WMD-inventing, plutocrat-tax-relieving, wingnut-judge-appointing ASSHOLE in the last five years.

Do you know, this morning a woman drove past me with a personalized license plate that said GOP GIRL and some frother bumperstickers -- and I flipped her the finger?

Ahhh. No need to worry about that.  I somehow feel he'd get along much better with BLUE GIRL than GOP GIRL.  Until, of course, GOP GIRL took off her shoes and made him a homemade patriotic apple pie to show off her 1950s cooking skills.  She might have me there.  My microwave abilities may not mean squat to this wordsmith.  Who will ever know?

Well, I will continue my search to find out who this gentleman reminds me of.  It may take awhile but if I ever do make that connection, he's going to be my slave forever!