April 19, 2010
Aw. hang it
I feel bad about Rick’s and Danny’s friend Hugo, so here is a song for Hugo. And Hugo’s friends. From David Johansen. Yeah, him.
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comments:
- Joel Bernstein: I know right?
- Rick Neece: Being nice is a dainty way to put it.
- Rick Neece: Hey Cristopher? Who cried “uncle” first, at the end of your ten-year stand-off? To quote my...
- Michael Smith: Ours is the kitchen.
- Amy Mabli: That’s what happens when you give the dogs the bed.
- Deron Bauman: Sweet Jesus.
- Michael Smith: Don’t we all.
- Pam: I have a story coming out soon in a ‘little mag’, Chicago Quarterly Review. An old friend recently...
- Pam: And I thought, somedays, that my work was meaningless…
- Pam: I remember Eggleston at the Art Institute in Chicago a couple years ago. He was elegantly dressed in a dark suit...
- Christopher Walken: Hey Clusterflockers, Realize y’all are hurting. I’ve been a really close friend of my...
- Marco: This works pretty well in mobile, more so in iOS
- Michael Smith: It was not the intent of management to imply all sissies are “namby pamby”. Management was...
- Rick Neece: I take umbrage with the term “namby pamby.” Some sissies are fierce.
- Carole Corlew: Shelia. Happy no big deal day. I would start your very own post but this phone is in semi rebellion.
“When I hear Old Blue Bark…”
Hugo had the deepest, bassest, most throat-filled “woof.” When he barked, dogs for miles around heard it, hunkered down, I imagine. In his latter days, when he was vexed by the other knights around the table at his house, he would stand up from his tuffet, (if a round mattress four-feet in diameter could be called a tuffet), he’d bark once, silence everything, turn ’round, lie back down on his side, his back to everyone.