Posted on February 3rd, 2008 by Scraps.
Categories: Stuff, Comedy.
We have only watched the first two episodes, and it's not unusual for a comedy series to take even a full season to get its legs. So I'm certainly not writing off the series with these remarks. But for a purchase that seemed like a can't-miss -- Jeeves and Wooster played by Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie! adapted from the actual stories! -- I'm getting an uneasy feeling that I may end up watching more from duty than enjoyment.
Overfamiliarity with the original material is never a good recipe for enjoying stories transfered to television or cinema, and I'm obsessively fond of the Jeeves and Wooster stories. I knew from the start that one key element in the humor -- Bertie's narrative voice -- was unlilkely to translate, so I was prepared to let that go. All I really want is a reasonable approximation of the tone. And they've largely managed that. But they've managed it far better in the sequences when they're lifting dialogue whole from the original; rewritten scenes tend to miss a little, and the scenes created entirely new have been weak. And unfortunately, this means the best scenes have been the ones where I already knew all the jokes and incidents. (Not their fault.)
Some of the portrayals are better than others. I gather one of the odd features of the series is that the actors playing the supporting characters change from season to season; but in these first two episodes, at least, Bingo Little is perfect, and Roberta Wickham, Sir Roderick Glossop, Aunt Agatha, Honoria Glossop, and Claude and Eustace are all good enough. The imbecility of the Drones Club is perhaps played a bit broadly. Aunt Dahlia is badly underplayed, which is too bad, since she's my favorite supporting character in the series, and ought to be the most loudly and enthusiastically played. Hugh Laurie is a fine Bertie.
Which brings us to the huge problem that may well ruin the series for me: Stephen Fry's Jeeves. Fry is a very funny man, and I've always enjoyed him before. And I don't doubt that what he's doing here is funny. But it's not Jeeves, and I'm going to have a lot of trouble moving past that. Fry's Jeeves is smug. He wears a perpetual smirk, and radiates an air of superiority. Now, Jeeves as written would be hard to play for a funny man. Jeeves is largely expressionless and unreacting; the humor proceeds from the barest variations in his manner and tone. His verbal humor is as bone-dry as humor gets. Instead, Fry (and the writers) have turned up the volume, making Jeeves both more obvious and less likeable. He strikes me as more of a stand-in for a modern audience's class sensibilities than a real attempt to portray Jeeves as written, a failure of interpretation which unfortunately doesn't just affect Jeeves but the tone of the whole enterprise. Orwell noted that Americans who read a class critique in the Jeeves and Wooster stories were missing the point, but in this case they wouldn't be far off. Worst of all for the tone, they have made Jeeves sarcastic. Fry's Jeeves scores points with cutting remarks off Bertie's stupidity -- and that of his friends -- in a way that is simply cruder -- lower -- than Jeeves would ever stoop to. All of these smartass remarks are original to the television series, and, alas, none of them (so far) have been especially clever or funny: conventional put-down humor that sails over the head of the target. The literary Jeeves's dry remarks may contain implications, but he is not so baldly disrespectful, ever.
So, well. I'll continue watching, and at the very least look for my favorite segments. The singing of "Sonny Boy" was well done; I'm eager to see what they do with Gussie Fink-Nottle's address to the graduates. But I no longer have much hope that I'm going to love this series, and that's too bad, because my hopes were very high.
Posted on January 3rd, 2008 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Comedy, Books.
I can't remember why Gavin loaned me Donald Westlake's Jimmy the Kid. He probably thought I would find it funny, but there may have been more detailed reasons. Anyway, it was hilarious, and though it's taken me a couple years to get round to reading more of the Dortmunder novels, I am now obsessive about having all of them (there are thirteen so far, plus a novella), and, ideally, reading them in order.
Unfortunately, several of the early ones are incomprehensibly out of print (including Jimmy the Kid, the third one). I gather they're popular books; five of them have been made into movies, although only one of them appears to be good (The Hot Rock, made in 1972 from the first Dortmunder novel and starring Robert Redford. Among the apparently bad ones, alas, is Jimmy the Kid, which starred Gary Coleman).
Anyway, I've now read The Hot Rock, and it was nearly as funny as Jimmy the Kid. Like many first novels in series, it deviates a bit from the model that would later be established. For one thing, Dortmunder more or less wins in the end (by implication, anyway) -- though for all I know that's turned around at the beginning of the second book, Bank Shot (which was made into a movie starring George C. Scott). I may have to skip directly to the fifth book, Why Me? (made into a movie starring Christopher Lambert and Christopher Lloyd), because at least I've been able to find that one.
They're everything-falls-apart capers, a genre I love, and the plots are funny, but the best part is the dialogue. Westlake has perfect rhythm, perfect timing. The action is funny, but the scenes between the action are funnier. Westlake even uses a narrative device I dislike, changing points of view whenever it's convenient for him, and gets away with it because each point of view is eccentric and amusing and still human.
Thanks, Gavin!
Posted on December 31st, 2007 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Comedy, Quotes.
Gilbert Sorrentino, Mulligan Stew:
As far as noting "what my work and my life as a writer mean" -- how shall I speak of that? As I compose, I think sometimes of the lovely and yet terrifying phenomena of all the world: immense waterfalls falling, gigantic gales from the four corners of the earth carrying in their gritty teeth chunks of rough-hewn farmers' tables and beloved credenzas, dust and excreta from Iowa barns, the sweet simplicity of the voices of both Cohens and Kellys, laughter from gay, come-what-may places, girls with braces (glistening with their tears) on youthful teeth . . . how to speak of these things? How to speak of what the tiny, yet handsome vase from Java, the dew-touched day's eye trembling in it, means to me? Of a half-frozen sparrow, beak worrying a Carnation condensed-milk-can wrapper? Of the masculine rhythms of Dostoevski's anger and comedy and compassion? Of the memory of the memory of first love? How . . . ? How can one explain what it means to think continually of those who were truly great? Of the rough expertise of the air-conditioner repairman? Of American cities, wrapped in local mystery -- Natchez and Mobile, Memphis and St. Joe: raw towns that we believe and die in? Of The Last Supper and the wine on the table on that evening of mystery? How is it possible to articulate the surging emotions felt watching children in the playground, running, playing, gleeful on their divine seesaws? The images crowd together, mix with the emotions, judgment is suspended, one is drunk as one is drunk on wine, and laughter. One writes ceaselessly, one writes -- everything. The notebooks fill, the black ink of the recording pen sets down the rhythms of life itself, rich nuggets of symbol, image, both clear and mysterious, deep, lie buried, waiting for the moment when they will be rescued from their temporary home. Meaning is held in an almost unbearable tension on the dizzying edge of the meaningless, and there! There lies the quicksilvery truth that makes one's life as a writer meaningful and endlessly rich. The wearisome hours of staring at the white paper, the lonely white paper, the clock ticking inexorably on -- all of it is worth it as the haunting image of the emotion is wrenched free from the mulchy notebooks and transformed into sheerest beauty! But how does one explain . . . ? To recast one's life as purest art -- that is the program. That is what my life and work "mean". One would like to achieve full expression of one's inchoate and sinewy self. In one's self, in the dark shed of the untameable mind, lies the truth, waiting to be released into the line, the sentence, the story or novel. I strive for it continually.
Posted on December 14th, 2007 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Badness, Comedy.
"I, for one, welcome our new [variable] overlords."
Posted on September 17th, 2007 by Scraps.
Categories: Music, Lists, Comedy.
Abba: The vowels in their name stood for vowels in the group members' names as well.
The Velvet Underground: Introduced zeugma into rock lyrics.
The Monkees: I think the "y" in monkey is voiced like a consonant, don't you? Yuh. Monkey-yuh. Right? So they picked up a vowel here.
The The: Still cracks me up! The The. The The The The The. The.
Van Der Graaf Generator: The doubled "a" is surprisingly common among Dutch bands, but is eschewed by Frisians.
Van Morrison: Not actually a band, but a person. His real name is Van.
Ebn-Ozn: Lost two of their vowels in a lawsuit, sparking their satiric masterpiece "AEIOU and Sometimes Y".
Styx. Name doesn't look like it has any vowels, yet it does. Look closely.
AEIOU: The only band name to have all the standard vowels of the alphabet, in alphabetical order!
XTC. Technically not qualified for the list, but I didn't think I could leave them off.
Posted on September 1st, 2007 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Comedy.
(archiving another old piece.)
Personal to roadnotes: You were in my dream last night, telling me about how you could predict the future by the patterns you saw in the stubble in your hair as it grew back between shaves. Is this true? --Misia
(Scene: Casa deSelby Bowen. Velma standing, head up, eyes closed, back straight, razor held aloft. Scraps as supplicant, bearing can of shaving cream.)
Acolyte: What news, Lady?
Seeress: I see.... righteousness and recrimination.... petulance.... a stagnant pool of blather.... a sea of ellipses.... drama.... drama.... (clutching head) Oh! the spelling.... my eyes....
Acolyte: Lady, do not go there.
Seeress: You overstep, impertinent one. We cannot deny that which is velcroed to our very souls. Bring me the leering drunken stoat.
Acolyte: (troubled) Lady....
Seeress: The stoat!
Acolyte: As you will. (proffers stoat)
Seeress: (rubbing stoat vigorously upon scalp) Ach! It is worse than I feared. Asshats are on the march, partying unashamedly in the sacred soup of the discourse. Fenderheads menace all that is barely tolerable. Infelicity abounds. Correction must be dispensed.
Acolyte: (gazing in wonder) Are the Cranky Times upon us, Lady?
Seeress: Yea, it is so. But heads will adorn pikes ere morning. Come. (sweeps imperiously from room. muttering:) "Just your opinion" my fuzzy brown butt.
.
Posted on August 28th, 2007 by Scraps.
Categories: Music, Musicians, Comedy.
A music reference book credited Ezra Sims with a non-existent work, String Quartet #2, supposedly written in 1962. So he wrote a piece called "String Quartet #2 (1962)". It's for flute, clarinet, violin, viola, and cello. And was written in 1974.
Posted on August 26th, 2007 by Scraps.
Categories: Stuff, Comedy, Movies.
Following this week's release of our new Kevin Kline/Busta Rhymes musical starring the great Ed Asner, SKIP TO MY LOU, Cinema Virtuel studios is proud to announce our exciting schedule of releases for the next few weeks. Hold on to your popcorn! (But not too tight or a clump will pop out the top and get grease all over you.)
FRUITING BODIES (October 2007)
A gay ghost story based lightly upon the true events in Banff last winter. Directed by Cameron Crowe, written by Roger S.H. Schulman in his live-action debut, starring Martin Henderson and Bruce Willis, and featuring William Shatner in a career-capping performance as a rhombus.
THIS TIME FOR SURE (October 2007)
Don Roos writes and directs this wacky mistaken-identity time-travel romance. Kelly Macdonald can't tell rival scientists Tom Hanks and Brad Pitt apart, and neither can Christopher Walken and Jeff Goldblum (co-starring as the scientists' older selves)! Featuring Jude Law as the guy who can tell everybody apart.
LESTAT, C'EST MOI (November 2007)
Outcast French vampire of royal lineage with paranoid delusions imagines he has returned in the form of a giant centrifuge to avenge the reign of terror. A satiric farce masterpiece from Jeff Stockwell and Peter Farrelly, starring Mike Myers as the vampire and Catherine Keener, in a tour de force reminiscent of Alec Guiness, as Robespierre, Danton, and Maurice Chevalier.
Later in November we also have a football mystery, DEEP COVER; a western historical epic romance, STETSON'S STEPSONS; and a courtroom hostage drama, JUDICIAL RESTRAINTS.
Please address all queries to publicity director Mindy the Amazing Solar-Powered Skinner Box.
Posted on August 12th, 2007 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Comedy.
When I die, I want to reserve a large field -- Kansas, say -- and I want it roofed over, because I don't want a wet funeral. I want an honor guard from all five military branches, and a new branch created for the occasion and disbanded immediately thereafter. My casket should be made from the material of the Fortress of Solitude, filled with all my possessions and those of my neighbors, and it should be shot into space at the end of the ceremony. All living Nobel laureates should be present to pay their respects. The eulogy will be wriiten and scored for five-part harmony by Sufjan Stevens and sung by the Persuasions. The St Louis Symphony, conducted by Leonard Slatkin, will play a funeral mass specially discovered among the unpublished papers of Duke Ellington. A bountiful feast of my favorite foods will be prepared and ceremonially burnt. All attendant mourners will not cease from the business of mourning, which will include (but not be limited to) wailing, gnashing of teeth, and rending of garments. The leaders of all major nations will attend and declare everlasting peace; nations whose leaders shall be present will include Russia, China, India, Brazil, Germany, Great Britain, Canada, and Burkina Faso, because I like the name. A national holiday will be declared. No business will be conducted for two weeks following. Mass suicide in the face of the hopelessness of continuing without me will be discouraged but tolerated. Toads will rain. Ice will cover the earth.
Above all, it should be dignified. I hate ostentation.
Posted on July 6th, 2007 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Comedy.
from The Gospel According to Nathaniel, Chapter 4, Versus 1 through 12
--possibly apocryphal dedication, frequently cited by partisans in the Serial Comma Wars
And he condescended to come down among them, and stood disdainfully in the plain, and in the company of his technical assistants and financial advisors, and a great rabble of common people out of Flint and Akron and all the Midwest, which came to hear him, seeking handouts. And they were vexed with unclear thoughts and low aspirations, and were asking to be slapped around a bit. And the whole multitude sought to touch him, for they felt his superiority and wished to suck it out of him.
And smelling the rabble, he went back up the mountain the better to look down upon them, turned his back, gathered his hangers-on about him, and said unto them:
Blessed be you rich, for it is but a manifestation of your worldly virtue.
Blessed are you that eat well, for if you don't someone else will.
Blessed are you that laugh, for enjoyment at the expense of others is good clean fun.
Blessed are the arrogant, for the earth is theirs and they shall hold on to it most likely.
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after power, for they keep the arrogant on their toes.
Blessed are the merciless, for who said life was fair?
Blessed are the clear in thought, for they don't waste my valuable time.
Blessed are they who sow conflict, for they will reap the profits thereof.
Blessed are they who are persecuted for their greatness, for it is lonely at the top.
Blessed are you when men shall hate you, and when they shall separate themselves from your company, and shall reproach you, and cast out your name as evil, for they only envy you and your freedoms. Rejoice, and be excessively glad, and party hard. Now get me out of here; I hate crowds.
Posted on June 3rd, 2007 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Comedy.
My goal when I write is to change your life forever, though I will settle for fifteen years if the change is profound. I like to "shake people up," and I won't apologize for that in these apathetic times, when the latest fad in sedatives plays to the masses while the truth-teller fiddles alone. I write for people who think, who are willing to throw off the shackles of their preconceptions and accept mine, though I am finding such people rarer in this age of television, video games, and long playing records. I have never truckled to convention or fashion, and I am not about to start truckling now. There are those who are content to take the safe, well-trodden path, but I am not afraid to say that I would rather tread the new, or even not take any path at all, maybe just wander around. I think we owe it to the world to be honest above all, and therefore I don't censor what I think, making sure to say everything exactly as it first occurs to me. Some have judged me harshly for this. I understand that it makes many people uncomfortable to be faced with a true mirror for the first time, but I cannot be less than I completely am. I know I will be vindicated by history, and the courts. In closing, I believe we were put on this planet to make a difference, and I am grateful to have found my own way of improving the world.
Posted on February 3rd, 2007 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Comedy, Oracles.
Business spotted in Bay Ridge: Homeric Tours.
Posted on January 8th, 2007 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Comedy.
Greetings, fellow travelers; my name (if you must label me) is Scraps. Don't you despise these potted biographies? How can the complexities of a life be limned in a few short sentences? Do we think we know each other because we know a name, a few pale facts, a clutch of opinions? Still, if you must "sum me up," I suppose you could call me a seeker. Ever since I rejected my childhood in the Amerikan suburbs and divorced my parents, I have boldly sought and happily embraced the new, disdaining the ordinary, the merely conventional, the mundane trivialities with which the "hoi polloi" anesthetize themselves. I have no interest in trends, fashion, or television. A stark winter sky, the cry of a lonely bird in the morning, a few true words in a notebook: these are the things I live for. I am forty-two, trim, a bit weathered but sturdy, and ready for the next stage in this adventure we call Life. I hope you'll come a little way down the road with me.
Posted on December 5th, 2006 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Media, Comedy.
"After a lot of drink and passive-aggressive conversation, aided in no small part by biased counseling and stupid advice from so-called 'friends,' we have made the precipitous and petulant decision to break up our engagement, management partnership, and most of our furniture. We forget why we ever got involved with each other in the first place, and we ask that everyone respect our publicity and take care to place the blame where it belongs in this time of unparalleled tragedy."
Posted on August 24th, 2006 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Sports, Comedy.
New York Met Julio Franco is my favorite player. He turned 48 today, and is not only still playing but is still an important part of his team.
Julio Franco has been around a while. Julio Franco played with Mike Hargrove, you know. Not for, with. Julio Franco played with Toby Harrah and Andre Thornton. Julio Franco played with Bake McBride and Bert Blyleven and Steve Carlton.
Julio Franco played with Pete Rose.
Remember Neal Heaton? Neal Heaton played with Julio Franco. Neal Heaton is younger than Julio Franco. Brook Jacoby is younger than Julio Franco. Mel Hall and Joe Carter are younger than Julio Franco. Remember the great young Toronto outfield of the mid-80s? Jesse Barfield, Lloyd Moseby, and George Bell are all younger than Julio Franco. All three of them have been out of baseball for more than a dozen years. Jimmie Key is younger than Julio Franco. Tony Fernandez is three years younger than Julio Franco. Cecil Fielder is five years younger than Julio Franco.
Alvin Davis is younger than Julio Franco. So is Jim Presley. Spike Owen, Harold Reynolds, Darnell Coles, Mike Moore, Mark Langston, Mike Morgan, and the late Ivan Calderon are younger than Julio Franco. Danny Tartabull is four years younger than Julio Franco. So is Edwin Nunez. Phil Bradley is younger than Julio Franco, and Phil Bradley has been out of baseball for sixteen years.
Don Mattingly is younger than Julio Franco. Henry Cotto is younger than Julio Franco. Did you know that Bob Melvin is younger than Julio Franco? Cal Ripken is younger than Julio Franco. Larry Sheets and Storm Davis are younger than Julio Franco. Rich Gedman and Oil Can Boyd are younger than Julio Franco. Mike Greenwell is five years younger than Julio Franco. So is Bret Saberhagen.
Mark Gubicza is younger than Julio Franco. Devon White and Dick Schofield are four years younger than Julio Franco. Mike Witt and Kirk McCaskill are younger than Julio Franco. Ozzie Guillen is five years younger than Julio Franco.
Bo Jackson is four years younger than Julio Franco.
Kent Hrbek is younger than Julio Franco. So are Greg Gagne and Tom Brunansky and the late Kirby Puckett. Frank Viola is younger than Julio Franco. Mickey Tettleton is younger than Julio Franco, and so are Curt Young and Steve Ontiveros. Jose Rijo is six years younger than Julio Franco.
Ryne Sandberg is younger than Julio Franco. Billy Hatcher is, too. Juan Samuel, Von Hayes, and Glenn Wilson are younger than Julio Franco. Remember Joe Orsulak, Marvell Wynne, Sid Bream? All younger than Julio Franco. Mike Scoscia is younger than Julio Franco, and so is Steve Sax. Mariano Duncan, Mike Marshall (the outfielder), and Candy Maldonado are younger than Julio Franco. Fernando Valenzuela, Orel Hersheiser, and Tom Niedenfuer are younger than Julio Franco. Tom Browning and Nick Esasky are younger than Julio Franco.
There are at least six managers younger than Julio Franco: Ozzie Guillen, Bob Melvin, Mike Scioscia, Eric Wedge, Terry Francona, and John Gibbons.
Tony Gwynn is younger than Julio Franco. Andy Hawkins is younger than Julio Franco. Kevin Bass is younger than Julio Franco. Chili Davis, Jose Uribe, and Rob Deer are younger than Julio Franco. Matt Nokes and Dan Petry, too. Nelson Liriano is five years younger than Julio Franco. Manny Lee is six years younger.
(John Franco was still pitching last year at 45. He was the second-oldest Franco in the game.)
Steve Buechele is younger than Julio Franco. Oddibe McDowell is four years younger than Julio Franco. Terry Pendleton, Vince Coleman, and Andy Van Slyke are younger than Julio Franco. Willie McGee is younger than Julio Franco. Wally Backman, Howard Johnson, Daryl Strawberry, Ron Darling, Rick Aguilera, Roger McDowell, and Calvin Schiraldi are younger than Julio Franco. Lenny Dykstra and Sid Fernandez are four years younger than Julio Franco. Dwight Gooden is six years younger.
Jesse Orosco is not younger than Julio Franco.
I could go on, but I’m tired.
God bless Julio Franco.
Posted on June 8th, 2006 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Comedy.
....because my first reaction to someone asking for examples of fiction that includes Henry David Thoreau as a character is to wonder whether there's any Thoreau/Emerson slash fic.
Posted on April 16th, 2006 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Comedy, Cartoons.
An unusual number of Peanuts characters started as babies. I remembered the babyhood of Linus and Sally, but I had forgotten that Lucy and Schroeder began as babies. Lucy talks in a childish syntax in several early strips, including referring to herself in the third person; the others pretty much pass from babyhood to adult talk directly.
Snoopy changes more than any other character (though Charlie Brown changes significantly as well). In the early strips he walks on all fours and has no thought balloons. He also doesn't belong to anybody.
Charlie Brown has more power in the early strips. The beginnings of the loser Charlie Brown character are there in the early strips -- there are many jokes about him being disliked, including the famous very first strip ("Good ol' Charlie Brown! . . . How I hate him."), and his losing thousands of consecutive games of checkers to Lucy presages his suffering at baseball -- but there are as many in which he is liked (one of the most persistent comic riffs in early Peanuts is the extreme changeability of childish affections). There are many jokes at Charlie Brown's expense, but he gets off many good lines at the expense of others, including a whole series of gags in which he pisses off Patty (the early Patty, of course) and is chased by her while he laughs some line ("I do have my fun!"). There are also a series of strips in which Charlie Brown is tiresomely opinionated in an adult way, of which my favorite is one that will be entertaining to most science fiction or comics fans:
Violet: This poem, "Three Blind Mice," is the best I've ever read. Gee, I enjoyed it...
Charlie Brown: I've heard about it... Animal poems drive me crazy! I don't believe in them... How can people read that sort of thing? To me it's just a waste of time! Life is too short, and this old world is too full of trouble, and.... [Violet wanders off]
One of the odd things about the early strips is that the later characters are much more vividly delineated, so the early strips are mostly about gags and less about character. Charlie Brown's character starts to firm up around the time that Lucy enters the strip. Snoopy's personality doesn't really emerge for years. Patty and Violet have some distinguishing characteristics, but none of importance; most gags with one of them could easily have the other instead (and indeed many have both). Shermy has no significant character at all. It's no surprise that of the first five characters, only Charlie Brown and Snoopy remained of importance to the strip.
Posted on April 15th, 2006 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Comedy, Cartoons.
For my birthday, my parents gave me the first boxed set -- the first two books -- of The Complete Peanuts, eventually to comprise 25 volumes.
I've been overflowing with thoughts about these strips, and I'm going to have to break it up into several posts. The first observation: Wow, Fantagraphics has done a magnificent job on these books. They have gorgeous dustjackets, and the book covers are covered with cartoon figures: the first volume is all Charlie Brown, the second one all Lucy. There are introductions by Garrison Keillor and Walter Cronkite, and an excellent lengthy interview with Schulz from The Comics Journal.
Best of all, though, are the indices, which feature not just appearances of the characters but of countless gags and features important to the strip, and it's a revelation just how many of them there are, how many things we associate with Peanuts. Just from the first two volumes, index entries include first appearances of "blockhead", the bust of Beethoven, the security blanket, "good grief", checkers, coconut (distastefulness of), "fussbudget", kite-flying, "wishy-washy", mud pies, etc.
Golf is as important to the early Peanuts strips as baseball.
Did you know that Lucy wasn't the first to pull the football away from Charlie Brown? It was Violet.
Posted on March 22nd, 2006 by Scraps.
Categories: Lists, Words, Comedy.
Top five Ian Frazier lines:
5. I'm writhing around like a carp here.
4. Behind the intelligence, etc., is an attitude best summarized.
3. Then I pulled all of the other knobs, and nothing came out -- a metaphor.
2. Some critics have called him the white Paul Laurence Dunbar.
1. We are all deeply sexual beings.
Posted on April 3rd, 2005 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Comedy.
The house being renovated across the street features a sign advertising the builders:
Cavalier Construction