Bombardment Of The Senses Part II

I would like to have Joan over for Coronas and taco salad. What would she make of my neighborhood, my building? Would it be enough for her that it is a not-cheap and somewhat coveted locale? Do the words "a great deal...for Manhattan" mean anything to Joan? Could her sense-bombardment cease long enough for her to utter her objections?

The super's assistant, Jacob, who lives in the basement boiler-suite, does the lobby decor at my place. Next to the elevator is "Paisley Ass Crack":




There is no shortage of art, cheesy or otherwise, that makes use of the female form. However, what sets Paisley Ass Crack apart is the ass crack, and the fact that it is paisley. Namely, the ass crack is indisputably the focus and the star of the composition as a whole, and it seems to be an exceptionally lengthy, capacious crack. It could be a spare purse. And, it is paisley. So: why so capacious, why so front and center, and why so paisley are the prominent questions for me there.

To me, Paisley Ass Crack represents the point of compromise between Jacob's design tendencies and what my neighbors and I can bear to glimpse several times a day. Because after several months no one has taken down Paisley Ass Crack. Everything else is gone, including the four foot square Siemens poster featuring a telecommuting family under that cheesy double-vision coating. Now the family eats breakfast. Move your head, now Dad is busy making money and Mom sees kid off to school.

And last December, I came home drunk late one night and tore down the hard-shelled relief-map of Santa's head that had been affixed to the outer door with duct tape. Jacob caught me and protested, claiming to have paid money for it. Right. It had come from the trash just like Paisley Ass Crack, but unlike the crack, it was going to go back there.

Maybe Jacob and Joan could share their interior design experiences.

Death Toll Mounts.

In ascending order of freshness:


















And (they'll be dead very soon):

Hold The Focaccia.

East 11th Street between 1st & A.

Buds Till The End.

East 11th Street between B & C. Two feet apart, same vintage (i.e., pretty fresh).

Mail From One Of My Many Suitors.

Truman Bean writes:

Moment, and it had been on the juice from the ship's cybernetics. Zaphod Beeblebrox is no good, so had in fact that bowl of Gold. Any fundraiser can find lice on another green industrial complex, but it takes a real bottle of beer to sanitize a briar patch toward a CEO. Some turkey can be kind to a shabby wedding dress. Now and then, a nation over a dust bunny plans an escape from a girl scout, an almost paternal fire hydrant. A tornado can be kind to the turkey for the hole puncher. A hole puncher toward a fire hydrant competes with the paper napkin, a nonchalantly fat turkey.

A hydrogen atom from the fundraiser, a microscope over a corporation, and a support group are what made America great! For example, a skinny parking lot indicates that a college-educated CEO greedily cooks cheese grits for a bottle of beer. A foreign mating ritual daydreams, or a defendant seeks some cocker spaniel. Sometimes the single-handledly highly paid globule wakes up, but some phony fundraiser always operates a small fruit stand with an Alaskan senator! A loyal bottle of beer competes with a graduated cylinder beyond a plaintiff.

He's a little wordy. But I do see his point.

My New Veterinary Clinic?

I've been shopping around for a new vet. This one's really close by. And, though it's not among my usual criteria for choosing a vet, this one requires a very unusual system of entry:

Found Spam Poetry Du Jour.

explain dark social love horses,
completely number fill pleasure.
filled perhaps short?

CLICKHTML

love being near evil perhaps,
talked immediate sandwich cousin met.
disappoint development happened spot.
telling talked wine gray necessary met?
chance free god how?
quickly book considered.

Oh my god, this is the most beautiful poem ever.

And it so resonates with me! I mean, I've totally talked immediate sandwich cousin met! And don't get me started on love being near evil perhaps.