January 6, 2009
When I say
that I can’t keep my pants on, I don’t mean to imply that the ladies keep throwing themselves at me. The problem is that I have virtually no butt.
But while we’re on the subject of me and the ladies, I’ll mention yesterday’s dream. Two women and two men (one of them yours truly) were in a room, and the women just told the other guy and me that they were stepping out and when they came back we would know whether they intended to sleep with us or not. They left, and the other guy was already sitting on the floor, naked, waiting. I don’t remember if I was naked, but I started spreading out my sheet or towel or whatever it was to be ready, and then I woke up.
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12 Responses to “When I say”
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Luckily for me, I do have a butt. The padding came in handy the other night when I slipped and fell flat on my back on an icy path.
I was foolishly chasing after Lena, who had gone tear-assing after a tom cat she spied prowling her territory. The worst damage inflicted may have been what offense I gave any tender ears in hearing distance when I let fly a stream of blasphemy.
Lena returned half an hour later, fur all puffy but none the worse for wear and perhaps even feeling better for the experience.
P.S. That opening teaser has a faintly Ivor Cutler-ish sound to my ears.
Seems to me we should be seeing some butt pictures pretty soon.
It would seem to me that bruises are always meant to be shared!
Cooper, the rather disturbing side to your dream is that it seems so familiar – was I the other guy?
I mean, I have been sharing my ass with you in recent days – I guess I ought to leave you to explain! I’m almost too embarrassed.
Cooper – I have the same pant/butt problem. It’s tragic.
Reminds me of Redd Foxx or Richard Pryor, or some similar someone, on a recording years ago of a story told whom I remember saying something like “How he hold them pants up? He got no ass.”
Must have been Pryor, in a prior or latter part of the story, he said something like. “She had a monkeyfoot ’round her neck and a three legged monkey. The monkey didn’t fuck with her, but he fuck with everybody else. I sit down in her house and the monkey start fuckin’ wit me and I want to look like I’m pettin’ him but I’m tryin’ to poke him in the eye so he go off and leave me alone. And I say, “Miss Rudolph, please! Please do somethin’ about the monkey!” And she say “I don’ need to do shit ’bout the monkey, the monkey live here, you visitin’, niggah.”
Yep, Rick, that’s Pryor. The story was “Tiny Feets”!
That was awhile back. My mom loved Richard Pryor, when I was a kid, on some game show. She’d laugh ’til she’d cry. I’d have to laugh watching her laugh. He could be so funny without an ounce of profanity. I doubt she ever heard any of his recordings. I can’t imagine what she might’ve made of them had she heard or what affect that might have had on her opinion of him.
I suppose I could leave Phil’s mystery hanging, but I won’t. He’s a very fine photographer (you have seen a number of his photos from Crete if you visit CF often), and occasionally he himself shows up in his photos in settings almost begging for accompanying text (narrative). I have used 3 of his photos now (both with and without him) as bases for drawings.
There is now, for those who are interested, a drawing here that features a “no butt” element.
Elemental butt.
“Redneck tan and no butt at all.” Love the little story. Love the drawing. Digging the whole ‘little story’ series.