Well, dear readers, we had a lively and sparkling chat last evening. There were many shocking revelations revealed, many dirts dished, and many secrets shared. The chat started off slowly but within fifteen minutes we had a roomful of people chattering away madly and it was simply too too.
I shall keep these here notes short today because a) I slept late, and b) everyone is on vacation anyway. Isn’t it nice that today we get to be lazy loafers or, at the very least, lazy patent leather pumps? We don’t have to do anything but lay about the house in our lounging pajamas and sip champagne and play croquet on our manicured lawns whilst recounting the story of The Randy Vicar and the Croquet Mallet. What fun we shall all have behaving like the cultured pearls we are. We are pearls, do you hear me, and we shall not cast ourselves before swine, whatever the hell that means. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, we are pearls and therefore we shall post our pearls of wisdom all the livelong day and night whilst we sup on pheasant under glass. Have you ever supped on pheasant under glass? Isn’t it difficult to get to the pheasant since it’s under the fershluganah glass? Damn them, damn them all to hell. We shall have petite fours and slightly larger fives. What the hell am I talking about?
Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because I am told that once we do so we will be too too.
You see, we are all too too, having clicked on the Unseemly Button. Now we are all members of high high high soci high society. Well, did you evah?
Yesterday I watched a motion picture entertainment entitled Terror in a Texas Town, one of the strangest westerns I have ever seen. It stars Sterling Hayden and Sebastian Cabot (how’s that for a western cast) and was directed by the excellent Joseph H. Lewis. It was shot on a shoestring and looks it. The score, after the main title which, if my ears don’t deceive me is the same music heard in Stanley Kubrick’s The Killing, the score (by Gerald Fried, who wrote the score to The Killing) consists of a guitar and trumpet playing notes which occasionally go together and which sometimes do not. Mr. Hayden plays a Swede whose father has been killed and his attempt at doing a Swedish accent is positively surreal. The villain is so low-key you keep wondering why someone doesn’t just off him. Sebastian Cabot, the man behind the villain and all the evil-doing is quite good. In the final shootout Mr. Hayden uses a whale harpoon instead of a gun – if that doesn’t tell you how weird this film is, nothing will.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must lay about the house in my lounging pajamas, I must sip Diet Coke whilst supping on cucumber sandwiches and clear soup. I must play whist and I must have a tryst whilst running about in the mist hoping I’ll be kissed by the downstairs maid who’ll be pissed, and yet I shall insist and she’ll hit me with her fist, well, you get the gist. Today’s topic of discussion: If you could go back in a time machine and rub elbows and sup with anyone of your choice, who would it be and why? I’ll be back in a bit after I figure out how to eat pheasant under glass.