Pale yellow sphere burns microwave centre.
Anxious pitbulls watch an aloof kitten.
Ceiling fans melt for upside down winter.
By stepladders are Debbie's shoes smitten.
Vital treaties retreat to upholstery.
The fierce beasts stop halfway up a staircase.
Motives are key to solve human mystery.
No plane's a toy for a real flying ace.
There aren't buttons to select life's chapter.
Leaky barley liquid moistens mousepad.
Vaginas accept a good adaptor.
Lack of USB makes machine sex sad.
The master's cake survives as yoghurt now.
Valets like Eric Blore never ask how.
Just now looking at Eric Blore's Wikipedia entry, I see this fascinating bit of information;
His death caused an unexpected stir, quite independent of his fame. The British critic Kenneth Tynan, writing for The New Yorker, had recently made a mistaken reference to "the late Eric Blore", and this error passed by the normally vigilant checking department. When Blore’s lawyer demanded a retraction, the editor had no choice other than to refer this demand to Tynan, pointing out in a fury that this was the first retraction ever to appear in that uniquely authoritative magazine. In disgrace, Tynan prepared a major apology, to appear prominently in the next issue. On the eve of publication, when the edition was printed and ready for delivery, Blore dropped dead. So next morning, the daily papers announced Blore’s death, while The New Yorker apologised for any insult to Mr. Blore’s feelings through their erroneous report of his demise.
What a different world. The idea of any journalist taking such a thing so personally nowadays seems fantastic.
I'm feeling strangely refreshed to-day--Kaydyn the Dog woke me up at around 8:30am yesterday and I ended up not going to bed until 3:30am, after two scotches. I thought I wasn't going to be able to sleep, but ended up sleeping the best, most solid nine hours I've had in at least a month. I could've kept going, I think, if the alarm hadn't woken me up. And I just felt peaceful and good to-day, not even a hint of a hangover. I was also oddly lucid all day yesterday--just thinking about all I managed to do at a relatively leisurely pace makes me seriously ponder Jhonen Vasquez's whole Z? (question sleep) philosophy.
I'm still very much a cat person, but taking care of a dog for two days wasn't so bad. Here's some video of the strange relationship between Kayden and Charley the Cat.
Music's by Bernard Herrmann from the North by Northwest soundtrack and there's an Ella Fitzgerald track on there too, which UMA is bugging me about, but fortunately didn't disable. Unlike Sony, who disabled to-day the video of a pacing Jaguar I've had up for months because I used a fragment of a low quality demo tape of Bob Dylan performing a song called "I Got Troubles." So looks like the free ride's over folks--you may no longer listen to that magical one minute anymore without paying. I trust you shall now track down that boxed set of Bob Dylan "bootlegs".