Email to:A Night Out With My Friend And Mr Cohen
My friend and I always enjoy our outings……
Do you like my new bag? I ask…as we line up to enter the temple of Mr Cohen.
It’s quite nice KJ, although it does look a bit like you’re carrying a uterus………
My friend no longer has the power to hurt.
Not since she arranged a luncheon so I could meet a women who’d availed herself to a very cost-effective face lift at the Bumrungrad International Hospital in Bangkok. I have Dr Preeyaphas Nilubol’s card if you’re interested. And yes, he’s a whizz if you have a lazy five grand….
MY FRIEND AND I (AND MY NEW UTERUS) TAKE OUT SEATS IN THE TEMPLE OF MR COHEN………..
Credit: Michael Foley; flickr
Who are all these other people?…..my friend asks….I don’t think they’ve been out since they tried to get arrested at a Moratorium march…..
They are people just like us….EXCEPT by the looks of it some are in very long-term relationships….HERE HE IS…….HERE COMES MR COHEN!!!
I think he’s put his age up…….
Shoosh….SHOOSH……(Mr Cohen is singing lots of songs and just quiety, breaking my heart…..)
Gee that Baby Boomer mosh pit is really going off…..must have something to do with trying to keep the circulation going……
Shoosh, SHOOSH! (I loved you in the morning our kisses deep and warm….you hair upon my pillow like a sleepy golden storm…….
KJ….They’re kneeling down. And he’s…..he’s BLESSING them!
Shoosh, SHOOSH! (So long Marianne, it’s time that we began to laugh…and cry….and laugh about it all again…..).
Psst, psst…..KJ this is DANGEROUS……. VERY DANGEROUS…..mark my word, people will die tonight……
Shoosh, Shoo, Sh….WHAT did you say? PEOPLE ARE GONNA DIE?
Yes, they are KJ……They’re gonna go home and try to have intimate relations for the first time in a very long time…..and there WILL be casualities…..I know that, you know that…..
We both became very quiet after that. Very quiet. My friend and I always enjoy our outings………
Speak to me, speak to me….( and you can also bring me tea and oranges that come all the way from Leeton if ya feeling generous…..)
Just click on the ‘comment’ thingo and follow the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the ‘website’ space – not necessary
Prawn Cutlet Award
February 1st, 2009 at 6:45 pm
For those who do not like farewells, inexplicable absences, or those who eat roots and leaves….
Hey, That’s No Way To Say Goodbye………….resonates……..
I loved you in the morning
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden storm.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But now it’s come to distances
And both of us must try,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that’s no way to say goodbye.
I’m not looking for another
As I wander in my time,
Walk me to the corner
Our steps will always rhyme,
You know my love goes with you
As your love stays with me,
It’s just the way it changes
Like the shoreline and the sea,
But let’s not talk of love or chains
And things we can’t untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that’s no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden storm.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But let’s not talk of love or chains
And things we can’t untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that’s no way to say goodbye.
February 1st, 2009 at 6:46 pm
I could think of worse ways to say Goodbye! KJ
February 2nd, 2009 at 12:54 am
The words froze in my throat when I saw him, wrinkled like a handsome prune, still ripe for the picking for any female looking for a heart, his fedora at a tilt, his warm eyes reaching out to offer the kind of happiness only profound sorrow at leaving in the dawn light can offer.
The voice was still like a Velvet Medication the doctor gave you to prevent further episodes of delusions………
Bletchley, Schmetchley he told the crowd, leapt into the air and lightly touched down to embrace me.
This is a fellow scrounger, charmer and thief of milk bottles from the Chelsea – a schmoozer who begged a tape recorder so we could make the first album.
This is Ginger Geronimo of Trinity and The Ginger Men.
How ya doin, you meshuginah? Still stealing milk and charming landladies?
Old age ain’t for sissies. Stop talking like a Bronx putz, Lenny, you know you’re a classically trained Canuck who learned the bouzouki on Hydra and other things when George wasn’t around.
Classically trained? You must be on the absinthe again. The fact that I was chosen vocalist of the year says a lot about Canada, doesn’t it? And it’s not true I only have three chords – I have four.
Suddenly the old Gibson L48 he had given me was in my hands and I played a few songs from the old Chelsea days. They never made it to recording sessions, for obvious reasons.
In the early morning light, as you fell through the skylight…..
Going past my window, going down, was no way to say farewell, like a voice from Hell….
I found my mind in a brown paper bag that was tossed through the clouds enclosing a bottle of gin…….
Then I saw Try Do in the crowd. He was manacled to a red-faced policeman who was pointing towards me.
Gotta go, you old schmoozer.
See ya Ginge-O…..
So long Marianne, so long Leonard……
I’m on the Road Again.
‘
February 2nd, 2009 at 12:59 am
PS: In my panic to escape I forgot to sing:
Truman’s in the toot, and I think that he’s kaput…..
February 2nd, 2009 at 8:58 am
Glad it did not go commercial with ads for Viagra and the Prostate Clinic – or the So Long Marianne Cardiac Arrest Unit.
February 2nd, 2009 at 9:08 am
Hello The Dude…..OPSM and the Clear View superannuation folks were joint sponsors – and they didn’t have to spend a cent…….KJ
February 2nd, 2009 at 9:12 am
I sisal in the morning
My cheeks are very worn
Your hair’s upon the pillow
And most of it is gorn…
February 2nd, 2009 at 9:29 am
I live in the Now.
Jane would like that.
No pensioner pass to Leonard.
But I did watch the Darcyish Mr Nadal win last night.
February 2nd, 2009 at 9:58 am
Dear Pandora…….NO, NO, NO!!!
Mr Nadal APOLOGISED to Roger for beating him.
Mr Darcy would NEVER do that….at least not until he was secure in love with Lizzie….KJ
February 2nd, 2009 at 12:41 pm
Leonard Shmenard!
That’s all I got to say.
Bloody no-good Grimaldi cheapskates and their no-good bouncy cheques!
That’s another thing I got to say…..
I mean, just when the hell did the Royal Principality of the Valleys of Andorra Goat-meat and Money Exchange get connected to Interpol?
Who wouldathought?
Anyways, been lying low since THAT GIG, got a few “documentation” issues to sort out, and the bloody bottom’s fallen out of the bloody Oyster Perpetual market!
It’s OK, been in tougher binds…seen it all…twice…………..
Remember The Art Swifty…it’s all in The Art….
BS
BIG SWIFTY – a collective sigh of relief is heard throughout our supportive cyber community – particularly since you appear to be in one piece….
Where to now BS?
You once said that it would be a mortal sin if we never got to work together……
May I say this?
It would be CRIMINAL if we never got to work together AGAIN…
February 2nd, 2009 at 7:03 pm
Big Swifty: It’s all in the Art…..
No offence but your comment is the rave and rant of a man who is alas a mere fancy pants pirate. OK.
Like most academics across the country I was last week compelled to attend many functions where the subject turned to Cohen.
It was at one of them that I first heard disturbing news which has entered the realm of the ‘distribution of the sensible’ (according to Ranciere).
AND that is at one particular event Cohen changed his own lyrics. In fact, the claim is that Cohen SELF-CENSORED. See the below and IF you heard him substitute any word for another PLEASE let me know. I’d like to write a paper on it.
I know that if there is any online community cognisant of the importance of such information it will be this one.
In the interest of methodologically sound research I must keep the details of the claim to myself so as not to influence results so please be specific about what it was that you heard referring to the original.
Give me back my broken night
my mirrored room, my secret life
it’s lonely here,
there’s no one left to torture
Give me absolute control
over every living soul
And lie beside me, baby,
that’s an order!
Give me crack and anal sex
Take the only tree that’s left
and stuff it up the hole
in your culture
Give me back the Berlin wall
give me Stalin and St Paul
I’ve seen the future, brother:
it is murder.
Dear The Lonely Scholar: what an intriguing research project….
As one of the few people NOT wearing hearing aids at Mr Cohen’s concert at the Sydney Entertainment Centre (Wednesday Jan 28th) I can confirm that the aforementioned artist sang all songs as written on this date/in this venue. KJ
February 2nd, 2009 at 7:47 pm
I can’t handle this.
February 2nd, 2009 at 7:48 pm
Big Swifty,
TGM is in trouble, can U help ?
February 2nd, 2009 at 8:28 pm
Anybody who self-censors under pressure of Leeton has my sympathy.
The Dude,
Self-Censorship is an UNKNOWN concept in Leeton….
Oranges, grapes or rice? I’ll have the lot thanks in NO particular order……
IT’S AN ANYTHING GOES SORT OF PLACE!!!! KJ
February 3rd, 2009 at 12:10 pm
Dear Ms KJ,
I have taken the liberty of sending you by surface mail my latest paper titled:
Orifice Envy: A New Post-Freudian Concept.
Sincerely,
Prof Schwarzenheim,
Psychiatric Research Institute For Internet Communication.
February 3rd, 2009 at 2:32 pm
Let’s forget the rectal rhetoric, and move on to an important topic: to sisal or not the sisal, that is the question.
Having opened a Relaxation Set and had The Sisal Experience I wondered if this descaling is the Answer to Eternal Youth.
Does Leonard Cohen need a good sisalling?
If he did would he return to the drop dead good looks that featured on the cover of an album in every maid’s bedroom?
I sisalled until flesh showed and I needed a blood transfusion.
What do you think?
Very, very happy to drop the rectal rhetoric…..as long as no-one replaces it with a papilloma polemic….KJ
February 3rd, 2009 at 3:57 pm
Heat wave conditions in my office. Not even for KJ would I risk mucking up the new hairdo.
I’ve missed you all.
What’s this about BS? He’s back!
KJ, would you consider a Valentine’s Day croon (or something) with Big Swifty?
Lots of photos for Bill O’S (exotic locations do not include the floor of Radio National)
We’ll help you write it…….
Dear Megsy……When heat and humidity or rain threatens Gwennie’s hair-dos, she always puts a shower cap on. Apparently holds everything together. And yes siree, I wanna work with Big Swifty again but ONLY if he stops demanding I take singing lessons. I am afterall….that rarest of things: a self-taught self-obsessed self-promoter……
February 3rd, 2009 at 3:57 pm
Hello there Chadwick – I am a great fan of sisalling.
HOWEVER, those new to the technique should be aware of a potential pitfall of a very serious nature.
NEVER lather the area that is the target of sisalling.
Oh this is easy, this is good…..you will think.
But when BONE suddenly appears you will feel sick in the stomach – and realise that in sisalling (as in other facets of your life) YOU HAVE GONE TOO FAR…….
February 3rd, 2009 at 6:02 pm
After lying face down in the mud in Nam we found that sisalling was an essential part of R&R.
February 3rd, 2009 at 6:08 pm
Hello Megsy,
Our hearts go boing when we hear from you. Are you wearing rags and feathers from Salvation Army counters?
Have you cooeed with Cohen?
More importantly, do you have a Relaxation Set for Camping Recovery?
To be frank, do you sisal?
Can sisal play a role in Weight Reduction?
Should students be taught about de-scaling for use in later years?
Big Swifty, does he sisal? How could he sisal around his magician’s mobeard?
Whodathought he could sisal?
February 4th, 2009 at 10:02 am
…..self-taught self-obsessed self-promoter……
You forgot to mention ruthless. You aren’t a Taurus are you KJ?
Anyways coming back to the completely irrelevant but Australian theme of familiarity which Ginge has thrown up.
Under no circumstances refer to Natasha Mitchell as Nattie (sound of tiny feet being stamped).
Control yourself, don’t do it. No uh uh never.
February 4th, 2009 at 10:09 am
Dear BILLY,
I am a child of the Murrumbidgee Irrigation Area – AND an AQUARIAN….
Blessed or what?!!! KJ
February 4th, 2009 at 10:46 am
Try Do escaped Law.
Used toothpick to pick cuffs.
We are now staying with other members of Try Do’s family,
May Do
Can Do
Shood Do
Why Do
How Do
And three Aussie-born family members……..
Gunner Do
Praps Do, and
Will Do.
February 4th, 2009 at 10:59 am
Billy, Billy, Billy Slatter with an O,
I just KNEW that you were the astrologer for New Idea and Woman’s Day.
Now we can come to you with all of our problems.
I know this is the Dawning of the Age of Hilarious…..
Hilarious! Hilarious!
I am a Virgo, Billy, and I have a problem.
My heart is so big that I do not know how they fitted in the lungs and other organs.
Yet people do not recognize my essential niceness.
What should I do?
You should have known that KJ is not Taurus – she does not take any bull.
February 4th, 2009 at 11:29 am
Late up from the bed. Missed Breakfast. Breakfast the Dog, that is.
Try Do family looking suspiciously contented this morning.
TGM
February 4th, 2009 at 1:23 pm
Will Do is fighting with a cousin, Shall Do.
Something about verbs and grammar.
Gives me a headache.
Where is Breakfast?
I miss him.
February 4th, 2009 at 2:39 pm
Yet people do not recognize my essential niceness……
Hmmm that’s a tough one Chadwick.
Essential niceness is a rare but vital quality for the functioning of society as a whole. It means you’re one of those suckers who make interesting sacrifices for its good and our entertainment.
This is a quality of Virgos.
Alas Virgos typically have trouble with blood reaching the extremities.
I suggest you take more exercise.
Accusations of hilariousness, in my experience, usually occur just before the Christmas Day meltdown – and are thus to be avoided.
February 4th, 2009 at 7:28 pm
Billy, Billy, Billy Slatter with an O,
It was nice that you responded so nicely and promptly.
I have decided to give up this niceness stuff.
It’s like these attacks of hilariousness – tears before bedtime, for sure.
February 4th, 2009 at 7:34 pm
Have to go and find Breakfast.
Has the world no heart?
Gave hostess, Wont Do, a copy of Dangerous Women: The Gutter Was Waiting For Girls Like Me.
February 4th, 2009 at 8:21 pm
Mr Chadwick, Mr O’Slatter and anyone else who’ll listen….
I tried to be GENUINELY nice once, even cracked a little smile. The next thing this nun had me by the scruff of the neck. She whisked me around, put her face up close to mine and said: WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE…..
Ever since, I have had real problems when it comes to niceness and smiling……..
KJ
February 4th, 2009 at 9:33 pm
The Dude,
It’s not Spidie on the ceiling, not the kids-only little old me. Hot air rises or is it light things float?
KJ,
Gwennie may wear a shower cap. Not a good look for Meg! Then again the PM’s lovely wife’s sproings are not for me either. May this heat be over soon.
TGM……..Didee DO?
Dear Megsy: Didee TGM DO??!! Didee ever!!!
February 5th, 2009 at 12:14 pm
The twins. Didee Do and Didee Not Do ran after The Ginger Man.
One of them was holding my precious Trinity scarf.
Mum tried to keep this, but she gave it up, said Didee Do.
It was a bit of a struggle though, said Didee Not Do.
She cracked off a tooth crown, said Didee Do.
She said she wanted you to have this, said Didee Not Do.
Didee Not Do handed me a shower cap and a Sisal Relaxation Set.
There’s mail for you from someone called Meg.
I looked at it and smelled the envelope, which was addressed in a round girlish hand. It smelled faintly of eucalyptus leaves and woodsmoke.
I’ll read that in private.
Then a miracle.
Out of the bush by the highway emerged the dearest of friends.
It was Breakfast!
He wagged his tail, and showed his bottom teeth.
Breakfast was being led towards The Ginger Man by a third sister, Didnt Do.
Breakfast had denied both fate and nomenclature.
February 5th, 2009 at 2:57 pm
Gee, you’re a quirky bird, KJ….
Last time I said that to someone it was like the restaurant scene in Moonstruck.
I found my companion’s glass of chardonnay had been poured on my head.
She stormed out.
How quirky!
It was an unpredictable or unaccountable act or event – a vagary: a quirk of fate A sudden sharp turn or twist. Quirky.
I could not quirkily say to her that I was making an architectural reference to a lengthwise groove on a molding between the convex upper part and the soffit.
I did not say, My dear, you are strikingly unconventional.
How would she have reacted if said: Gee, you are:
Far-out?
Off-beat?
Way-out?
Kinky?
Unconventional?
Unconformist?
Peculiar?
No, I said she was Quirky.
Every man had his own quirks and twists wrote Harriet Beecher Stowe.
What if my guest had said to me: Gee, you’re a quirky little bloke.
I took my wine-soaked jacket to the drycleaners.
I asked the woman there if she could remove the stains.
She said: Try Do.
I did NOT say: Gee, you’re a quirky little drycleaner.
Mr Chadwick…….I hope you don’t think I’m being inappropriate BUT I think you need a hobby……I think you need to get out more…… and I think you could very well be a CUTESIE in a safari suit.
Go get ‘em Chadwick, go get ‘em! KJ
February 5th, 2009 at 3:23 pm
KJ those nuns have a lot to answer for.
February 5th, 2009 at 4:53 pm
Don’t get me started Bill, just don’t get me started…….and then when I STARTED to wear the TINIEST bit of mascara they’d grab me on a daily basis and push my face under the tap in the ablution block……
My freestyle stroke remains UGLY to this day……I swing my head wildly and gulp for air on BOTH sides…….I JUST CANNOT RELAX IN THE WATER! But, I won’t go on. It’s just NOT my way…….(you’re not an ex-priest are you Bill….?)
February 5th, 2009 at 5:59 pm
KJ m’dear,
Quirky maybe, a cutesie not. Yes, I did once wear an off-white terylene safari suit.
Yes, I thought I looked great. Yes, I did look like an absolute shithead.
Viet Cong lying face down in the mud kept lying down and refusing to look at me.
Maybe saved my life.
There is a picture of me in this horror, and if you are out there on ebay I pay top dollar.
February 5th, 2009 at 6:29 pm
Bill,
Thanks for asking.
Nuns do not answer, they ask questions.
February 5th, 2009 at 6:34 pm
Meg,
I miss Spidie…….
He’s back with that dearest of gents, Stan Lee.
…….I wonder if he responds to Stan’s demand to COME DOWN FROM THERE IMMEDIATELY.
Must rush off with Breakfast who is showing signs of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome whenever he spots a bowl of fried rice.
February 5th, 2009 at 8:26 pm
Rather than compliment me on my priestly nature or otherwise I was hoping for more nun horror stories.
I’ll just have to make do with your failure KJ to master a decent swimming stroke. And Chadwick, all for the best…..
Someone who gets upset at quirky is not to be trifled with.
February 6th, 2009 at 5:21 am
OK Bill…..what about an internecine nun horror story….?
One day, I happened to be hiding away at the back of the convent (right next to the school) in Leeton.
I WITNESSED TWO NUNS FIGHTING OVER A SHOVEL….
They were pulling the shovel this way and that, growling at each other…..at one stage things got so heated I thought: It’s going to be off with the veils at six paces!
Sr Declan won the shovel fight.
I came to fear her even more, if that was possible…….
February 6th, 2009 at 9:57 am
Yes KJ, that one was funny. Brides of Satan.
Now coming back to your swimming stroke I use the standard reference for these matters ‘Games People Play’ by Eric Berne and, in particular, ‘Wooden Leg’. A decent swimming coach will fix your stroke up.
A more serious matter KJ : is any there any point in me joining the queue of Aussie intellectuals waiting to get Phillip Adam’s gig.
NO. KJ
February 6th, 2009 at 10:40 am
Dear BillyO,
In fact, she did trifle with me. On the way out she picked up a bowl of trifle and hurled it, hitting me in the chest. Was this a trifling matter?
February 6th, 2009 at 1:29 pm
KJ, invaluable feedback again.
Mmmmm, again asking the hard questions Chadwick. As KJ has hinted at, it is all to do with the philosophy of the Mind.
In Ms Trifle’s world, and in this particular context, quirky was an insult. How did this come to be? What quirk of fate had lead her to conclude this? Was her mental machinery too shoddy to conclude certainties about her social realities? Or had a set of cruel males or females (nuns?) lead her to look on the dark side of any statement about her own nature ?
February 6th, 2009 at 3:19 pm
KJ,
Your group seems pretty clever. BIG PROBLEM. Going to the Hunter Cup, Moonee Valley Sat night. Travelling from NSW and HAVE to go through Moama/Echuca. It’s also the weekend of the Southern 80 boat races. Traffic will be slower than our horse.
Any ideas???
Well, Princess Of The Paceway……you are in luck because logistics happens to be one of my passions. Leave earlier than planned. KJ
February 6th, 2009 at 3:29 pm
Dear TGM,
I can’t imagine how any of my correspondence smells of eucalyptus and woodsmoke!
I’m an Estee Lauder ‘Beautiful’ girl myself……and I’ve only been camping THAT one time.
I’d be investigating those twins, Didee Do & Didee Not Do (or their mum) more thoroughly.
February 6th, 2009 at 4:25 pm
Dear Princess of the Paceway,
Some clarification needed here. For example, what are ‘ Southern 80′ boat races?
I have a vision of eighty-year-olds all wearing hats sitting stationary on the highway with their boats on trailers behind because one of their leaders has had ‘a turn’.
Last night, I heard Sir Roger Moore on the radio saying that when you turn 80 people say to you: Bless you!
So I suggest you walk along saying, Bless You! to each driver (they will lift their hats in turn).
When you reach Roger in his boat and trailer, say Bless You! and hop into the vehicle….
Forget about the Hunter Cup, you are now bosun on the ‘Southern 80′ boat race.
Next year, head up to Brissy for the ‘Northern 80′.
These are the races that are setting the pacemaker.
February 6th, 2009 at 4:30 pm
Dear Meg,
A gent never tells, Dozee Do?
And the contents of the letter will never fall into enemy hands.
It was of course written in Navajo Code.
When I burned the envelope there was a ‘Beautiful’ odour of sanctity present.
Breakfast ate the letter.
February 6th, 2009 at 4:33 pm
Billy,Billy,Billy,
When Eric Berne reached his late mother’s age he snuffed it.
He must have been playing the Use By Game.
February 6th, 2009 at 5:14 pm
The Chadster : I hate to break the news to you buddy but there is no such thing as a perfect theory. The funniest one about Berne that I read was that somehow or other he upset Sinatra and Berne then claimed it was because Sinatra’s parent had become engaged in the interaction between himself and Sinatra. I would have analysed it thus : don’t upset Sicilians.
It is however quite self evident that people spend considerable stretches of time playing social games.
February 6th, 2009 at 11:05 pm
Purple haze.
One, two, three, CLEAR !
Hyoscine…get in that cannula…Adrenalin, now !
One, two, three, CLEAR !
Oxygen, induce coma !
I am floating to Bletchley, across the Channel, the white cliffs.
Bomber Command.
LOOK OUT FOR THAT TRUCK ! FORGET ABOUT THE DOG!
Breakfast you have been a good soldier dog in the Schwarzwald. You cleaned up that Nazi Alsation.
LOOK OUT !WHAMMMMMMMMM!
There’ll be blue birds over, the white cliffs of Dover…
One, two, three, CLEAR ! Blood transfusion!
Things look bloody green around Oxford. Punting with ladies. Cricket.
Not a patch on Trinity. That girl….why is she crying on a Spring morning?
Bloody Green tunnel overhead. White light. Don’t they know there’s a blackout?
Ah, a searchlight ! Shoot the Hun down !
The mess. Tankard upturned for Billy who bought it.
Look out ! a Nazi truck ! Whammmmm!
Keep an eye on him. Intensive Care Unit soon as possible.
i wonder if Vera Lynn would be good to be married to ?
February 6th, 2009 at 11:38 pm
Keep an eye on him. Coma levels constant. 24-hour monitor.
Intravenous Buscopan and Diazepam hourly. Can you handle this?
Try Do, doctor. Try Do.
I am looking down. Down, down, down.
Hit by a cricket ball. Or was it that lady with the large umbrella or the gent with the carved stick?
No, the Nazi truck.
Why is there blood on the Trinity scarf?
Cannot decode. Cannot decode.
Put it through Colossus!
Spidie, COME DOWN IMMEDIATELY! COME DOWN!
Are you my daughter? If so speak now, or forever hold your peace!
Why in white? Getting married?
Do you take this man….? Try Do. Try Do. Try Do.
February 7th, 2009 at 2:38 pm
Love blooms in Del Boca Vista
Martha takes you down in the Jason Recliner
You can hear the channels surfing
Because the remote’s right beside her
And you know that she’s fully crazy
You don’t know if you want to be there
But she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from Leeton
And just when you need to tell her that you have no drugs for her
Then she gets you in a headlock
And she asks where is your Viagra
That you’ve always been a looker
And you want to snuggle with her
But you lost the pills at tea time
And you know that she will kill you
Because you can’t touch her wrinkly body without nine.
February 8th, 2009 at 11:13 am
Why is everything SO BLOODY WHITE?
February 8th, 2009 at 11:19 am
Billy-O,
Thanks for the Sinatra anecdote.
I think despite his charm, Frankie was a bad seed.
While some Sicilians are buona anima, others suffer from what Professor Schwarzenheim calls Orifice Envy, and this makes them put lots of holes in others by way of demur.
Still, they have to put bread on the table like those in Underbelly which screens part two Monday night.
February 8th, 2009 at 11:25 am
Billy-O,
You are correct about games. What about the Valentines Game which is about to start? I wouldn’t mind subscribing to a mailing service that over the years would sent a card to several women. Automacity! Out of the phone book. Never heard of em.
Why not call it Val’s Day?
Dear Val,
I love you.
Ernie
February 8th, 2009 at 11:30 am
PS
Your are in advertising, right? Here’s the grip:
WRITE TO VAL TODAY !
February 8th, 2009 at 5:41 pm
Thank you Breakfast. So the code of silence is doggy do.
March 4th, 2009 at 10:43 pm
KJ,
When I was young, just getting over popular suicidal lyricists of Mr Cohen’s era, I was appalled to hear these words from my new guru’s perfect mouth: And just when I thought your teachings were pure, you drowned yourself in the pool.
Since those alarming words hit my earwaves I have NEVER trusted anybody.
Recently a bloke said Fanny you have a nice smile.
I smiled – then grimaced.
Yes that Cohen hit lyric has had much to do with my peripetatic love life.
Fanny.
March 5th, 2009 at 12:11 am
Dear KJ,
I do commisserate with you re the treatment of THOSE nuns.
Funny in retrospect, two nuns fighting with shovel. No damage to shovel I can assure you.
But try this one.
Fanny respectfully lines up in early morning head count in quadrangle.
Suddenly hears loud clipping sound and feels light-headed.
Look downwards to witness my gorgeous red, long, curly hair at quad level.
That’ll wipe smile off your face. Wrong!
Bill O’, you are not quite right!
I want to thank those poor Irish girls given to nunnery (too many female offspring, give one to God)
I have NEVER run from bullies and do know all words of A Boy Named Sue – and have a bloody great laugh.