What a luncheon! Stick some ice in my ass! When did I leave? Wednesday afternoon? And it’s what now? Friday early evening? What a pricking luncheon! Feast on my boulevard! I’m going to HAVE to take the Footage (and you, dear eyed reader, and you) to Caesar’s Appendix in Bloomsbury. The menu (“Is Sir’s meal finished?” “Finished? I’m only on Page Four!” I actually said that! And the question too, OK, yes, but the lad was scarcely 30 seconds out of Slovenia) set lips smackin’ like it was bathtime at Abu Ghraib – I have no idea if that is offensive, sense-making or neither, and I don’t much care. I don’t read or watch or surf (surf! as a verb?!) our culture’s News baths. I’ve always been a strict Murdochian in such matters – the Chinese know what they’re doing.
Anychuckles, the length of the repast just departed rather renders the title of this ‘eblog a slittle bittle misnominal. Anychuckles. Ha! Toot!
I’m sorry – I’m almost entirely drunk.
I promised limericks. Here are limericks. The first is the cleverest thing I’ve heard in ten years. They’re all Pensen’s I think, by the way. Or Pensens. Oh, except the last one. That’s not a Pensen. That’s by James Tend. You know James Tend? Well. As Pensen says, “He’s a luftmensch, and most definitely NOT a liftmensch.” Make of that what you…

“Bad peace beats good war” is a Ro-
man saying by whom? Do you know?
As wise Gertrude Stein
Did not quite opine,
“Cicero! Cicero! Cicero!”

Hot damn! And again!

“Bad peace beats good war” is a Ro-
man saying by whom? Do you know?
As wise Gertrude Stein
Did not quite opine,
“Cicero! Cicero! Cicero!”

There was an old god called Jehovah,
Who tripped on the white cliffs of Dover.
He ruffled his hair,
Saying, “Did I put that there?
I must re-examine my oeuvre.”

And now, boys and girls, Mr. James Tend! Not a liftmensch.

- hydrophobia
- Niobe, a
-
-
- Gobi-er.

I know.
Teddy B.