Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl, with yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to… wait a minute. Where are the feathers? Where’s the DRESS? Something is clearly amiss in Gotham City, and we must find out more. Let’s eavesdrop on the scene and see if we can learn something juicy to share at the church picnic on Sunday, gossiping away at the horseshoe pit while the hypocrisy marinates and the potato salad botulizes…
Sparky the Little Dog, lower left: “I’m thinking this is something that Mama Cujo wouldn’t let me watch if she knew I was doing this, which makes me want to watch it even more. I sure hope nobody rings the doorbell right now, because even though I’m really enjoying this Mrs. Robinson moment, I won’t have any choice but to go bark insanely at the UPS man. Damn my natural instincts.”
Keko, the Ming-vase knockoff just above Smutty Sparky’s hormonal head: “I fail to see why Lola is always getting all the attention in this house, with her tawdry and rebellious acts. What about me? Does nobody realize that the plant shoved in my blowhole is just as dead as my soul? What does an imported accessory have to do to get some water around here?”
Sparky: “Why can’t you just go drink out of the toilet? That’s what I do.”
Keko: “You also tongue your exit portal. That’s not a lead that I wish to follow. Besides, I don’t have legs. If I did, I’d hop on a city bus and throw myself in Lake Erie. I’m so parched that every time I belch the Gobi Desert increases by another acre.”
Beulah, the nondescript planter to the northwest of the depressed and dehydrated Mini-Ming: “Keko, honey, dial it down a notch. You need to get over this obsession with your dead puffball. Neurosis is a gift that you share with yourself, not with others. Unless you’re Woody Allen. Then you get to film your neuroses and win an Oscar for it and marry your daughter. Sometimes the karma scales are a little off-balance.”
Keko: “Beulah, you’re just bitter because you’ve put on some weight and I’ve managed to retain my factory figure.”
Beulah: “Oh, please. I was born this way, it’s not a choice. Besides, if we’re going to start comparing appearances, then…. Wait a minute. Has anyone else noticed that Lola has a tattoo of Oscar Wilde on her back? That means she’s either deeper than we all thought, or she blindly follows what others tell her to do even if it’s something she doesn’t really want, or her tattoo artist didn’t know what he was doing. Suddenly, I think I understand the American political system.”
Armand the Armoire at the back of the room: “Don’t kid yourself. No decent-thinking person can understand American politics. It will never make sense until stupidity is removed from the equation, and I don’t see that happening as long as breeding is unregulated in Alabama. But back to me. Since all the liquor in this house is stored in my bowels, I feel compelled to report that the gin inventory has dramatically decreased in the last two hours. I normally try to be discreet concerning who plucks what from my interior, but this might explain why Lola is envisioning herself as Gypsy Rose Lee as she squirms about on the chocolate cake that she has mistaken for an ottoman.”
Frank, the robust planter on the right: “Um, folks, I also try to be discreet, but I have a line of sight that the rest of you are not quite privy to, and based on the pendulum I spy, I think it’s fair to say that Lola was not the name on her birth certificate.”
Ludmilla, the stocking being manipulated on Lola’s left leg: “You don’t have to tell me. I’m about to be wrenched toward the man-compass as we speak.”
Lola, startling everyone with her sudden sign of life: “Covfefe.”
Sparky: “What the hell does that word mean?”
Keko: “It means impeachment.”
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
“while the hypocrisy marinates and the potato salad botulizes…”
What is here that is not to love?
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Thanks, Cindy! I just try to leave a trail of truthful breadcrumbs behind me, everywhere I go. Of course, this means that city officials try to fine me for littering, but we must persevere… 😉
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Oh crap. I’ve laughed so hard I’ll probably fall off my covfefe later today, or trip over one, or stub my toes on one, or…
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“I’ve fallen off my covfefe and I can’t get up.” That basically summarizes everything that is going on right now… 😉
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The pendulum? That is wishful thinking. Or faulty eyesight. Great fun , this one.
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Thanks, Margo! I think we’re all a little bit guilty of wishful thinking… 😉
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Covfefe. The gift that keeps on giving.
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Just like compost… 😉
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LOL, OMG – I was laughing so hard during this my belly aches. Thanks Brian. 🙂
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Thanks, Terry! You know it pleases me when I can tickle your funny bone. And I mean that in a purely chaste way… 😉
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I strained my eyesight (further) trying to see either the tattoo OR the ‘man pendulum” (which phrase will stick in my craw forever and color any future acquaintances I may make with such).. bwahahahahaha! Additionally, isn’t that a juvenile photo of the budding (in many ways) June Allison? Before America was tricked into thinking ‘she’ (given the man pendulum I can’t see) Junie was ‘the girl next door?” And I’m confused by the circley shadowy thing on ‘her’ left thigh? I thought it was artistic highlights or something, but there’s nothing there to cast such a shadow. Unless her pendulum is circular in origin and then all ‘she’ has is my sympathies. It must be a bitch to get underwear that fits..
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You know, I tried to research this photo using the Google “picture search” option, which is usually a quite satisfying endeavor but in this case just kept telling me that this was a snapshot of “Pre-Code Hollywood”. I’m not really buying that, since the picture is too crisp for something taken before 1933. (Yes, I’m a geek when it comes to historical timelines.) So, it could be June Allyson, I think you might be on to something with that angle, but I wasn’t there and I can’t really pontificate. (If I HAD been there, I certainly would have watered Keko, the poor thing.)
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I personally think “Keko” is a pre 1970s dried floral arrangement. Maybe you remember the days when one could buy arty pieces made out of dried straw flowers (sometimes dyed psychedelic colors – America didn’t let go of the 60s without a fight, did it?) and some probably bug riddled drift ‘wood’. I had one or two of those things in my youth, carefully sealed in plastic domes. After a time they shed like a vet destined cat….
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Impeachment… I like that
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As should all decent people… 😉
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I’ve met Armand – he may claim to be discreet but he ALWAYS blabs when I take a tiny tipple
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Damn Armand. The little twit ruins everything, all bitter just because he had a torrid love affair that went terribly awry when he was 23 and he can’t move past it…
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😂
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Why did I wait several days to check my email? WHY?! I could have read this so much sooner!!!
You spoke to my heart with this one — trashing Woody Allen, lifting up the Kinks, bringing it all in with proper covfefe.
You’re my Tuesday hero. ❤️
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Oh, I’ve always wanted to be someone’s Tuesday Hero! I’m pretty sure I scribbled such in my Sonny & Cher official diary when I was seven… 😉
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) So, it could be June Allyson, I think you might be on to something with that angle, but I wasn’t there and I can’t really pontificate.
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