Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Danse of the Houseboys

I'm terribly afraid the houseboys may have found some of R Man's pain pills and taken to self medicating themselves, the naughty pusses. Certainly the interpretive danse festival they insisted on putting on in the hopes of raising his poor, battered spirits seemed, well, excessively odd, even for the boys. Gustavus Schivangus, for instance, kept getting all twisted up in the drapery scrims they were using as backdrops. I finally had to use the garden shears to cut him loose.


  1. What are the show times and is there a two-drink minimum?

  2. Miss Janey hopes Mr. P was careful with those garden shears. No one wants a eunuch house boy.

  3. Micahel guy-poo,
    I'll put you on the guest list.

    Mlle. Janey
    I'm always careful with the houseboys.

  4. Are you soloflexing more often, now that R Man is out of commission for a while?

  5. Looks like he's found himself a big truss too.


In Which We Take a Trip

  I was reminded of the following story by this charming illustration I stumbled across on Tumblr.  It is a sheet of blotter acid from back ...