In Which We Are Arty

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Super Agent Fred gave me a charming pair of portraits for my birthday. They are a couple of powerful women who have challenged and overcome the limitations society has attempted to place on them.

They are top-notch bitches.

I realized this afternoon that my entire social life revolves around sitting in Peet’s cafe and scowling at people. I’m not complaining, and it makes me wonder, what’s really so bad about leprosy?

Sort of along those same lines, my dear, dear niece Amber has revealed she has plans for me should I ever find myself living out of a shopping cart under a freeway here. She has a lovely big house and assures me that I’m welcome there, which is so sweet of her, and there’s a big private loft above the living room that’s all mine. I see my future before me, the crazy old uncle locked in the attic, occasionally howling, demanding coffee and gay pornography. Actually, it sounds okay.

I know I mentioned in the last post the newspaper in Austin had warned that security lines were so bad at the airport they wanted you to get there three hours early. Obscene. I got there a couple of hours before my flight and my Uber driver dealt with the massive traffic outside by simply driving around it and then cutting through three lanes of idling traffic to drop me off. What a gal.

I have Clear, the pre-approved security, get-out-of-jail card and that let me jump to the head of the line and then the frazzled TSA agent just waved a bunch of us through an old timey metal detector instead of the Star Trek-y booth and boom, I was through security in less than 15 minutes. I spent longer in line at the coffee place getting a latte. Irony, it’s what’s for dinner.

guys I’d wait in line for:

Willie Gomez, who still refuses to publish nude pictures on the internet, selfish bastard.

Arty AND meaty, the best of both worlds.

Sorry, you’ll have to repeat yourself; all I can hear is your dick.

Soon it will be beach weather. Are you ready?

Deservedly cocky.

Some cliches are just too potent to ignore.

5 responses »

  1. Nothing wrong with locking relatives in the attic and feeding them fish fingers.
    Anyhow, I like all of your artwork – the box of cogs, and reels, and what have you, looks most curious….a closer look maybe?
    Sx

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  2. Well, what can I say?
    I’m impressed that they’re now numbering them (Mr Fourth down).
    I just made a sponge cake & tried, what I thought was an interesting spin.

    I place the cake upside on the bottle & it fell out, but it is delicious.

    Like

  3. Amber seems to have good taste in gay porn, and I’d bet she has some good stuff stashed away in that attic. But what would you do without Peet’s?

    The portraits of Yvonne and Eartha look great, and I can just imagine dear, departed Saki lounging below them, glaring malevolently at the latest trainee houseboy…

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  4. I’d bring you Peets and gay porn all day every day my love!
    What’s that noise upstairs? Oh… that’s just the Attic Uncle. Don’t make too much noise or he’ll throw rocks at you!

    Like

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