Gadabouts and Ruffians: The Summer Social Season Begins
Thought for the Day:
Forgive your enemies, but never forget their names.
John F. Kennedy
(I have the power to move objects with my mind, just thought you should know.)
Random Things & Cast Up-Dates:
I forced my bride to watch Casablanca with me on TV the other night, she couldn’t believe I knew all the words.
M. Chamberlain, has resigned his lucrative position in the 5th Estate, and is now a full time writer; this will allow him to finish the two books he has been working on; “Framed, the Fatty Arbuckle Story” & “The Secret Life and Death of Vic Morrow”. He also plans to continue to write screen plays and work on his free-verse in his spare time. I know you the readers of PTOAPM, join me in wishing him well.
My democrats won in the primary last night (thanks in no small part to my grandparents, they have not missed an election since 1936, even though both have been gone for years now), now its time for the hard battle.
I want to start a franchise of Tea-Houses, no I don’t want to run them, I just want to sell my business and marketing plan then sit back and reap the dollars, fuck the snob-hippy-crowd.
I am wearing black sans-a-belt slacks (a comfortable poly-blend) a white silk Guayabera (traditional Cuban cut), with my white bucks today.
Tattoo John phoned my last night, as you might remember; he left without saying good-bye a few months ago. As it turns out he was abducted by right-wing death squads and only after days of gnawing at his ropes while wearing adult diapers and being forced to watch reruns of Pat Roberson’s Faith Hour and Amos and Andy, was he able to escape. He called me from a safe house outside of Chillicothe, Ohio where he is being debriefed by one of my crack teams, or teams on crack, whichever the case may be. On the plus side he has the money he owes me, something about having a good friend’s big toe cut off helps them to realign their priorities.
Its warm out and the AM whores are back in place; today I saw a pretty one on the way to work, which is odd, pretty ones are often cops. As whores go, I tend to prefer the meth-heads to the crack addicts. Sadly, all I had in my wallet were two coupons for a free Big Mac and an Oil Change at Jiffy-Lube. Damn the luck.
I was in meetings all fucking day yesterday. However, I do have to say, that now I have a better idea of how fucked-up everything is. So, the day wasn’t a total loss.
I am going to make Indonesian curry beef and lemon-hot pepper couscous, for supper tonight, because sometimes a man just feels like eating with his fingers.
While taking myself off pain pills inversely increases my pain, it does serve to make me horny, and sharpen my caustic wit.
My gay stalker sent me pictures of my ass, snapped at a local watering hole last week. He is right; my ass does look good in Bugle Boy jeans. Round like a cherry.
Pastor Bob took a week off, to finish his work on a 1/3 scale replica of the Santa Maria that has been project over the winter. Working on it, late into night, at a secret bunker complex located under his home. He plans to sail himself and his family from here to the mouth of the Mississippi over the summer. In some way he thinks this will help prove his theory that the Spanish acting under orders from the Pope, are responsible for the decline of the native beaver populations and subsequent increase in venereal disease (sometimes, I find its best not to ask). I should also note to you the reader, that the Pastor is currently co-authoring a new book with Dan Brown.
I am not going to the Derby this year. Which is cause for much sadness, yes, in fact, my head hangs low. However one of my rich friends did invite my flower and I, to Zionsville, Indiana for a Derby party with free finger sandwiches and Mint Juleps. I fucking love me some Mint Juleps and I know all the words to “My Old Kentucky Home”. However, I have to teach once again this weekend, so I don’t know if my bride and I will be in attendance.
Later that same day, Baba Ganoush Girl called and invited myself and my Precious China Doll to a Syrian Cinco De Mayio party Friday night. . Falifal Tacos, Goat and Yogurt Burritos, cold beer, and good company, who could ask for anything more? Possibility of teaching a class Saturday morning hung-over: 90%.
The neighbor girl came over to our home last night at 10PM, to ask me some legal questions, I should point out that while this conversation took place, she was holding two b-cup white bras in one hand for reason that as yet are unknown to me. Yes, this really happened.
Today’s Bill:
SONNET 34
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak
That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.
Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.
Thought for the Day:
Training is everything. The peach was once a bitter almond; cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education.
Mark Twain
I remain, the maxi-pad of your bleeding heart:
JQP esq.
Forgive your enemies, but never forget their names.
John F. Kennedy
(I have the power to move objects with my mind, just thought you should know.)
Random Things & Cast Up-Dates:
I forced my bride to watch Casablanca with me on TV the other night, she couldn’t believe I knew all the words.
M. Chamberlain, has resigned his lucrative position in the 5th Estate, and is now a full time writer; this will allow him to finish the two books he has been working on; “Framed, the Fatty Arbuckle Story” & “The Secret Life and Death of Vic Morrow”. He also plans to continue to write screen plays and work on his free-verse in his spare time. I know you the readers of PTOAPM, join me in wishing him well.
My democrats won in the primary last night (thanks in no small part to my grandparents, they have not missed an election since 1936, even though both have been gone for years now), now its time for the hard battle.
I want to start a franchise of Tea-Houses, no I don’t want to run them, I just want to sell my business and marketing plan then sit back and reap the dollars, fuck the snob-hippy-crowd.
I am wearing black sans-a-belt slacks (a comfortable poly-blend) a white silk Guayabera (traditional Cuban cut), with my white bucks today.
Tattoo John phoned my last night, as you might remember; he left without saying good-bye a few months ago. As it turns out he was abducted by right-wing death squads and only after days of gnawing at his ropes while wearing adult diapers and being forced to watch reruns of Pat Roberson’s Faith Hour and Amos and Andy, was he able to escape. He called me from a safe house outside of Chillicothe, Ohio where he is being debriefed by one of my crack teams, or teams on crack, whichever the case may be. On the plus side he has the money he owes me, something about having a good friend’s big toe cut off helps them to realign their priorities.
Its warm out and the AM whores are back in place; today I saw a pretty one on the way to work, which is odd, pretty ones are often cops. As whores go, I tend to prefer the meth-heads to the crack addicts. Sadly, all I had in my wallet were two coupons for a free Big Mac and an Oil Change at Jiffy-Lube. Damn the luck.
I was in meetings all fucking day yesterday. However, I do have to say, that now I have a better idea of how fucked-up everything is. So, the day wasn’t a total loss.
I am going to make Indonesian curry beef and lemon-hot pepper couscous, for supper tonight, because sometimes a man just feels like eating with his fingers.
While taking myself off pain pills inversely increases my pain, it does serve to make me horny, and sharpen my caustic wit.
My gay stalker sent me pictures of my ass, snapped at a local watering hole last week. He is right; my ass does look good in Bugle Boy jeans. Round like a cherry.
Pastor Bob took a week off, to finish his work on a 1/3 scale replica of the Santa Maria that has been project over the winter. Working on it, late into night, at a secret bunker complex located under his home. He plans to sail himself and his family from here to the mouth of the Mississippi over the summer. In some way he thinks this will help prove his theory that the Spanish acting under orders from the Pope, are responsible for the decline of the native beaver populations and subsequent increase in venereal disease (sometimes, I find its best not to ask). I should also note to you the reader, that the Pastor is currently co-authoring a new book with Dan Brown.
I am not going to the Derby this year. Which is cause for much sadness, yes, in fact, my head hangs low. However one of my rich friends did invite my flower and I, to Zionsville, Indiana for a Derby party with free finger sandwiches and Mint Juleps. I fucking love me some Mint Juleps and I know all the words to “My Old Kentucky Home”. However, I have to teach once again this weekend, so I don’t know if my bride and I will be in attendance.
Later that same day, Baba Ganoush Girl called and invited myself and my Precious China Doll to a Syrian Cinco De Mayio party Friday night. . Falifal Tacos, Goat and Yogurt Burritos, cold beer, and good company, who could ask for anything more? Possibility of teaching a class Saturday morning hung-over: 90%.
The neighbor girl came over to our home last night at 10PM, to ask me some legal questions, I should point out that while this conversation took place, she was holding two b-cup white bras in one hand for reason that as yet are unknown to me. Yes, this really happened.
Today’s Bill:
SONNET 34
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak
That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.
Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.
Thought for the Day:
Training is everything. The peach was once a bitter almond; cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education.
Mark Twain
I remain, the maxi-pad of your bleeding heart:
JQP esq.
posted by John Q. Public esq. at 1:20 AM
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