The Original Twin...(#999)

At the Church of the Solid Cinder
There was no Original Sin
But there was the Original Twin

So much smaller in stature
With eyes never opened wide
Little Joey Christ was equally crucified

Except for the Solid Cinder
All scripture is at a loss
Accounting for the miniature cross

Big Brother Jesus
Got all the press
Little Twin Joey always made a mess

Present at the Miracle
Of the Loaves & Fishes
Joey washed all the dishes

Smashing plates while
Turning water into mud
Joey's only words were Thud Thud Thud

Of Joey's official miracle
History gave no talk
Little Joey Christ made chocolate into chalk

But no devil is
This Little He
Who only believed in tomfoolery

As for me,
The scribe I be
May need hide in a vault

If only
To avoid
Becoming a pile of salt

**********************
**********************
**********************


This page would not exist without the approval of Father Frank, a/k/a Monsignor Oliverio

This page would not exist without the inspiration of Jack McCarthy & Raymond Peterssen

This page would not exist without the laughter of my two favorite Peetniks: rls and sh

Without the existence of my fiance, this blog would have perished four hundred pages ago

This reader–a/k/a YOU–may or may not blog-search for any of the above

This writer–a/k/a ME–will shortly resume usage of that terminal dot thingy

Peetniks is the copyrighted property of Peets Coffee

The Original Twin is the copyrighted property of the Lewis Carroll School of Logic

Have a nice day and a better evening

STOP...In The Name of.................. ............. Supreme 4-Letter Words...

S-T-O-P

...is the only four-letter word in the English language whereby...

Each letter of the word commences either a three-letter word
AND a four-letter word

or

Two four-letter words

S-top (+) S-pot


T-op (+) T-ops


O-pt (+) O-pts


P-ot (+) P-ost

Gosh oh Golly: it sure helps
when one of the four letters is

THE GREAT PLURALIZER (=) s

Falabella

Best Photos of the Day
artdaily.com
a/k/a
artdaily.org
7/28/13



A model presents a creation by Falabella brand in the Colombia Design gateway during the Colombiamoda fashion show in Medellin, Antioquia department, Colombia, on July 25, 2013.
AFP PHOTO/Raul Arboleda





artdaily.org ©

Sorry But #996 Is Very Very Personal

Tomorrow is your Day
Eleanor

Please whisper in her ear
Two words:
Go West

Whisper them again
And Again

I am waiting
With a double mantra:

Our Father
+
Hail Mary

In my defense
I'm just sitting on a fence

In Long Beach
But not
Long Beach, NY

In 90802
Just like
The Queen Mary

But Mother Eleanor
Just whisper to your daughter:
Go West

FIVE THOUSAND PEOPLE...

...Gathered in Central Park
To proclaim their freedom

In front of a man
With a bullhorn

On the count of three:
Five Thousand People
All shouted

NOBODY TELLS US WHAT TO DO

And they did so in perfect harmony
In perfect obedience to the man
with the bullhorn

Plagiarism

I woke up
And looked at Fred
Memory raced
Across my head

Jumped the bannister
The floor was down
Coffee’d up a costume
Today a clown

Found the foam
Inside a cat
In the cab:
Three seconds flat

Blew my nose
A very loud range
No one noticed
Nothing was changed

Then laced my shoes, oy vay
Five sizes too large in Westchester
Lace holes were so damn small
The driver had to count them all.



**************************************
PHOTO TAKEN

≈ 2008
Bayside, NY...
Northern Blvd
a/k/a Route 25A

$150 hotel room w/
Jacuzzi bathtub +
$10 pack of Pall Malls

Located...

East of former
Kiddy City
Slightly more east of
Dr. Eckleburg's eyes


Slightly less east of
The Mom's Apple Pie
Album cover creator's studio.
I was patron of the artist:
N.Caruso




That Long Island night in 2008,
Scott & Zelda were in my dreams
+
Massapequa was in my schemes


The next day, I lunched with McCarthy


**************************************

Today, I plagiarized the Beatles after finding my way downstairs


Tomorrow, on behalf of JohnPaulGeorge&Ringo, I am going to sue myself

Hap-be Lated Birthday, Mick Jagger

Two days ago was Mick Jagger's seventieth birthday

And--at least--seventy fingers would be needed to count
All the excellent Rolling Stones' videos...

Therefore, I went elsewhere
to find an appropriate video.

PERFORMANCE was an extraordinary 1970 film
made even more extraordinary when seen
under the influence of the chemicals of fashion


Mick Jagger
Memo From Turner


This youTube video has
a three minute preface
leading up to the song

And I will go to my grave believing
that the back-up singer whose voice
is heard in the preface...

Is the same back-up singer
on the Rolling Stones' Gimme Shelter

Her name is Merry Clayton
So..........Please ask:

"Paul, why will you go to your grave
believing Merry Clayton sang in PERFORMANCE?"

Because Merry Clayton attended Jefferson High School and...

Had I begun my career there twenty years before I started teaching at Jefferson...

Merry could very well have been one of my students

But please..........
hold off on that "taking it to the grave" business:

The Wikipedia link for Merry Clayton confirms that a
Jefferson student did indeed sing in PERFORMANCE

As for all those Rolling Stones' videos...

The absolute very first video of the Rolling Stones
for American teenagers was originally broadcast in October, 1964

They performed Time Is On My Side on the Ed Sullivan Show

And, once upon a time, Mick Jagger was only fifteen years old

Catacombs In The Bronx

On my first visit to the Catacombs
At St. Lucy's in the Bronx
I stood alongside a young couple

She wore a long sleeve dress
He wore a sleeveless shirt

He had a tattoo
Of a naked woman
On his muscular arm

Then Linda said
"Father is ready"
I followed her into the rectory

When we walked to the car,
Father Frank was holding Judy's hand

She was sixteen
Her brother was twenty-two,
Her sister was twenty-five

The pastor of St. Lucy's parish
Said the magic words:
"Do you want to eat pizza?"

His newly-orphaned nieces and nephew
Gave him a look that said:
"Does a bear shit in the woods?"

It was a meal to be remembered
For more than forty years

After we were seated
The executor of our mother's will
Was greeted by the maitre'd

His name was Vito
Or maybe it was Carmine
"Padre, it is great to see you."

The Padre introduced
the three other Oliverios

Carmine welcomed us enthusiastically
Or maybe it was Vito

Whoever he was,
He called over the waiter.
"You give me the bill for this table."

"Yes, boss."

****************************************

At St. Lucy's Church, in 1972
The name that was closest to God
Was Oliverio
As in "Father Oliverio"

But I will always
Always
Know him as "Father Frank"
Or--and this is simply better--
FATHER

Mortgage-Free Cats

There are catacombs
And there are cat-a-homes
Some are well-rigged
Some are built with twigs

To Be Continued

Kowtow to Cow Cow

A piano solo--with scratch accompaniment--



The one one && only only Cow Cow Davenport

Jamming w/ Peter de Vries...Part 2

FYI: The New Yorker, February 4, 1950

..Jam Today..
Peter de Vries

Music is a field in which I can't seem to keep up with the van. I no sooner cultivate a taste for Milhaud, Schoenberg, and Poulenc than I find the intel-lectuals talking about Bunk Johnson, Baby Dodds, and Cow Cow Davenport.
I got into a jam by attending a jam recently--one of these phonograph-record jams, or platter parties, to which each guest brings his or her favorite hot or blues recording. The level and tone of any such congregation depend on how many collector's items turn up.

A Westport couple my wife and I know, whom I shall call Chittenden, invited us
to this one, a Saturday night affair.

My wife left the choice of our "ticket of admission" to me, and I settled on a Benny Goodman swing version of "Sweet Sue," simply because it happened to be my favorite at the time. I had no doubts about the acceptability of the arrangement, which is by Goodman himself--though the platter qua platter is certainly no collector's item--and since I was fond of the record, I jotted my name on the envelope it was in, to make sure nobody would go off with it by mistake
after the party.

We arrived about ten o'clock, and, going into the living room, I deposited my offering on a table near the door. The phonograph had not yet been turned on, but the evening was well under way, with one large group trying to get a definition of "gut bucket." I eased over toward another, smaller knot and sat down beside a tall brunette, a student from Bennington who kept running her fingers backward down through her hair. The people around her were arguing about who the greatest trombonist of our day is. "Who do you say?" the girl asked,
turning to me.

God knows the only trombonist with whose methods and repertory I can lay claim to any familiarity is Homer Rodeheaver, the playing evangelist. I used to go with other Calvinist youths to hear him in Orchestra Hall, in Chicago, and I remember a little joke Rodeheaver used to pull about his instrument. He would work it up and down a few times and then say, "This is a Methodist trombone--it backslides." I dined out on that in my old Dutch Reformed days, but one look at this girl from Bennington told me not to try any funny stuff. "That's a hard question for me to answer," I said thoughtfully.

I was safe for the moment, but real embarrassment presently pounced like a cat. The two or three groups in the room merged into one, like batter on a griddle, when Chittenden began airing his views on true jazz. "You can safely rule out 98 percent of what's played," he said. Several nodded. "But the lowest point of all is probably swing. I mean there are people who seriously think that's jazz."

"Excuse me," I said to the girl.

Grinning deceptively and from time to time bobbing my head at what Chittenden was saying, I edged my way around the room toward the table where my record was. I backed up to it and stood there casually, feeling around behind me with one hand till my fingers found the disc. I slipped quickly into the vestibule and opened the door of the closet where my overcoat was hanging. Holding the record in both hands, and pushing it deep in among the wraps so as to muffle the sound, I broke it into five or six pieces, shoved them into a pocket of my overcoat, envelope and all. I wasn't a moment too soon. As I sauntered back into the living room, the Chittendens were calling for the tickets of admission.

I heard some pretty esoteric things that night: Johnny Dodds' Washboard Band, Bessie Jackson, the Chicago Bucktown Five, the Dixieland Jug Blowers--items spanning the quarter century and more that one must go back in order to stay abreast. Chittenden had a Jelly Roll MOrton on which he had taken out a floater policy with the Equitable Insurance people. Of course, the records were all acoustical; that is, they were made in the days when performers sang or played into a large megaphone. Such waxes are hard to listen to--a factor that tends to screen out non-connosseurs, whose ears have been spoiled by listening to high-fidelity electrical recordings. As collector's item followed collector's item, I reflected on the humiliation I had been narrowly spared; mine would have been the only electrical recording there.

"Where is yours, by the way?" Chittenden asked.

"I forgot it, " I said, trying, I hoped inconspicuously, to semaphore "will explain later" to my wife.

On edge from all the strain, I said loudly and nervously, "Let's dance." People looked at me, surprised to have encountered a notion as heretical as that at the Chittendens'. At Eddie Condon's, perhaps the "purest" of the places devoted to jazz, they haven't even got a floor.

The conversation became brisk and technical, and I dropped a remark that contained the word "colophony." I was sure at the time that it referred to modern counterpoint, but when I looked it up in the dictionary later, at home, I discovered it just means rosin. I resent this to some extent; rosin is a pretty flat thing for a word like "colophony" to mean. There was a sharp skirmish over what constitutes a true "dirty growl," and then the discussion settled on the relative styles of certain performers. As the haze thickened and the heat rose and the din grew, little was discernible to me but the sound of celebrated names. The girl from Bennington, still ceaselessly bathing her fingers in her hair, looked at me inquiringly after making an assertion I didn't get exactly, and I said, "Peanuts Hucko," which was the first thing that came to my mind.

"What?" she asked, bending an ear toward me.

"Peanuts Hucko," I said raising my voice.

She nodded consideringly. Emboldened, I said, "Slow Drag Pavageau," a reference I had picked up from another group earlier in the evening, and then threw in a few more names as they occurred to me from hearsay or reading. "Pinetop Smith, Mutt Carey, Big Eye Louis Nelson," I said to the girl and occasionally to other people. "Jimmy and Mama Yancey."

But all conversation must end. At last the party broke up and everyone spilled through the doorway on a bright tide of exclamation and farewell. Chittenden, who was going to drive some guests to their train, had got into his wraps, too.
My wife started to inquire after our missing platter. "Shh!" I said, trying to steer her away from Chittenden, who was nearby, and as we walked out to the driveway I explained that someone had sat on it and that I didn't want to make him feel too bad. From the cool, sweet cisterns of the midnight air my spirit drank repose, unaware that the payeroo was still to come.

I have said that I slipped the remnants of "Sweet Sue" into a pocket of my overcoat. That, as I fumbled hastily among the dangling sleeves, was what I thought I had done. Thrusting a hand into the pocket now, I felt nothing--nothing, that is, but a sick swoop. Who had acquired the remains of the record? I was not left to wonder long. A light clacking sound on my left was followed by a puzzled murmur from Chittenden, who was fishing fragments out of his pocket and peering at them.

"What--in the world--is this?" he asked, examining the shards in the moonlight.

"Good night, all!" I said, bundling my wife into our car. I climbed in behind the wheel and was off in a spatter of mud.

We rocked down Bayberry Lane in silence for some time.

"Why so quiet?" my wife asked, at last. "Sad about the record?"

"Yes, I am. I'd give anything if we hadn't brought that one," I said, remembering just then that the envelope with my name on it was in Chittenden's pocket, too.


_____________________________________________________________

The universe is like a safe to which there is a combination. But the combination is locked up in the safe.

Anyone informed that the universe is expanding and contracting in pulsations of eighty billion years has a right to ask, ''What's in it for me?''

_____________________________________________________________

Blogger's Note
Without the divine intervention of The Wiz, a/k/a Karl Hobbes, the two "Jamming" pages
would not exist.
Mr. Hobbes is the Chancellor of the Lewis Carroll School of Logic, a sub-division
of the United Stakes of Chimerica

Jamming With Alice & The Queen

“The rule is, jam tomorrow and jam yesterday-but never jam today."

"It must come sometime to jam today," Alice objected.

"No it can't," said the Queen.

"It's jam every other day. Today isn't any other day, you know.”




THIS IS END OF PART 1

From Father Frank To Pope Francis

TIME Magazine calls Pope Francis the Slum Pope...I call him My Hero

Pope Francis has shown the world his rebellious side, urging young Catholics to shake up
the church and make a “mess” in their dioceses by going out into the streets to spread the faith. It’s a message he put into practice by visiting one of Rio’s most violent slums and opening the church’s World Youth Day on a rain-soaked Copacabana Beach.

She Still Loves Father Frank

Former altar boy Jack McCarthy has an audience of one: Father Frank



SHE STILL LOVES YOU

I buy her roses
But when the florist closes
She still loves you,
I buy her dinner
But still you're the winner
She still loves you

I buy her sweet perfume
You say you need a room
She still loves you,

She turns her nose up
At my scent
Then she goes and
Pays your rent
She still loves you

SHE STILL LOVES YOU

No matter what I do

I'm enflamed with passion

I'm burnin' with desire too
She thinks you're hot
She still loves you

I give her jewelry
You give her tom-foolery

She still loves you,

I pay her compliments
Sweet and sincere
You don't even
Pay for beer
She still loves you

SHE STILL LOVES YOU

No matter what I do

I'm green with envy
I'm purple with rage
And I'm blue
She finds you colorful
She still loves you

Now I'm a courtly sort
You're frequently in court
She still loves you,
I'm standing here
Befuddled
With my cloak across
The puddle

She still loves you

I quote her Shakespeare
That she don't want to hear

She still loves you,
Reciting sonnet
After sonnet
But she doesn't
Seem to want it
She still loves you
SHE STILL LOVES YOU
No matter what I do

I'm enflamed with passion

I'm burnin' with desire too

She thinks you're hot
She still loves you,
She thinks you're cool

She still loves you

JACK McCARTHY


© Curling Smoke Music/No Never Mind Music (BMI)




Blogger's Note
The day Jack McCarthy sang for Father Frank was one of the happiest days of my life...
More about that day is featured on the bottom of this page

Ding Dong, The Prince Print Is Dead

No Lower Can You Get When Asphyxiated By The Net


Sources close to print, the method of applying ink to paper
in order to convey information to a mass audience,
have confirmed that the declining medium passed away
early Thursday morning.

The influential means of communication was 1,803....

Print, which had for nearly two millennia worked tirelessly
to spread knowledge around the globe in the form of books,
newspapers, magazines, pamphlets...reportedly succumbed
to its long battle with ill health, leaving behind
legions of readers who had for years benefited from
the dissemination of ideas made possible
by the advent of printed materials.




onionnews.com ©

The Canteloupe Pope

Pass the wine, people
Then pass the meat
From paupers to Popes
We all have to eat.

But sometimes food
Can be a noose
Was such the case
for Pope Paul Deuce?



He is known
As the Canteloupe Pope
But let us hope
The fruit did not
Contain dope.

Pure poetry here
Is not my intention
It is time for prose
With factual intervention:


Here was another pope famous for his chef, Bartolomeo Platina,
whose cookbook was the first ever printed on a press.
Published in 1470, it included an unfortunately prophetic section
warning of the dire consequences of eating melon on a full stomach,
noting that they were best as an appetizer.
Pope Paul II died from eating "two good big melons,"
poisoned or otherwise , the next year.

THE POPE PAUL II PARAGRAPH IS ON THE TENTH PLATE OF THE HYPERLINK.

..............Hap-pre Birthday, Zelda.............. ......Can You Read Me, Mr. President?.......

I wish you were in Dixie,
President Obama
Precisely: this Wednesdie
In Montgomery, Alabama

On July 24,
Nineteen Double Zero
That town gave birth
To a tragic American Hero

Of the female variety
Her name was Zelda Sayre
She died in 1948
But she is still here

...Here, There, & Everywhere...

Wherever the name Great Gatsby
Is spoken or rehearsed
Zelda is the person
Who spoke the name first

Full measure of her talent
Is without herald
Despite (Because of) becoming
Zelda Fitzgerald...

This Wednesday, Mr. President
I hope you find the time
But Blogiverio
Is about to break the rhyme



SUPERZELDA is a graphic novel about the woman
who was born at the birth of the Twentieth Century

THE FOLLOWING is an email which I hereby forward
to the President of the United States:

Please come help us celebrate Zelda's 113th birthday
with a fabulous special guest Tiziana lo Porto.
The party will begin at the museum at 2:00pm.
Tiziana will talking about her new book "SuperZelda"
and Capitol Books will be on hand to make sure
you have a copy for the author to sign.

The event is free, and light refreshments
will be served (including birthday cake!)
Don't miss this wonderful opportunity
to meet a true Zelda aficionado and visit...



Mr. President
If you are not too busy celebrating the birth of the next King of England...
The Fitzgerald Museum is on Felder Street in Montgomery, Alabama.
The exact address was the destination of the two steamer trunks
in this ≈1931 photograph of Zelda



If the museum does not give you a free copy of SUPERZELDA
please deduct the cost of the book from my next income tax refund

Better yet, Mr. Obama, if you cannot make it to Alabama
This Wednesday, please send this blogger as your representative...

Sincerely,
Paul Oliverio

P.S.
At the risk of shilling for Amazon, I now present a browse-worthy copy
of SUPERZELDA for your perusal.

I also include a book review from the Saturday Evening Post.
That magazine featured almost as many short stories by Scott Fitzgerald
as it did covers by Norman Rockwell.

P.P.S.
Please accept my apology, Mr. President, for the format (but not the content)
of the first hyperlink on this page. It was written during the antediluvian period
of this blog, aka "Godfather of Math-BC," as in Before Carol.

She has an Art Degree from Pratt University and has become my personal Zelda
but enough about me.

Shoe

A Pair Of Sweet Black Angels

A pair of Sweet Black Angels
Will shake your bones
The first angel is
From the Rolling Stones

Then there is another...
A jazzy blues burner
The second angel is
From Ike Turner

This Was Not Anything Less Than 1960's...

...most significant hour of American television



The date was September 26, 1960

Never before had Presidential candidates debated on television.

The Kennedy-Nixon debate was moderated by Howard K. Smith

Beyond securing John Fitzgerald Kennedy's presidential career,
the 60-minute duel between the handsome Irish-American senator
and Vice President Richard Nixon fundamentally altered
political campaigns, television media
and America's political history.

Kayla Webley
TIME Magazine


Say what you want about Kennedy & Nixon.
Think what you want about their politics and their fate.
Praise or condemn their legacy...

But you cannot deny that the first televised Presidential debate
was underscored by Dignity which is the most endangered principle
in modern television media and American culture.

This Is Not Post-9/11 Muppets Furniture

It is the artdaily.org lead story for July 20, 2013

Tony Cragg
Sense títol

artdaily.org ©

Tines To The Sky

Fork on the wall
You are so tall
With your tines to the sky
You captured my eye



A handle on America
Is not what I see
South America on your handle
Is what it actually be

As a utensil
You are not dull
You celebrate
America the Beautiful



Objects of the World was sculpted by by Gustavo Lopez de Armentia



Gratitudinal References
Diego Espinoza, an employee of the MUSEUM OF LATIN AMERICAN ART,
contributed invaluable assistance to this page.

I photographed the Fork on the wall of MOLAA's Sculpture Garden
during a joyous event last Sunday.

Carol Ann Robson co-wrote the poem.
Someday soon, our tines will intertwine.

"This Is Not A Lawyers Joke"

...LAWYERS STRIKE FOR BETTER PAY AND JOB SECURITY...



(Reuters) - This is not a lawyers joke. Italian lawyers have gone on strike
- again - and they say that in their struggle for better working conditions
and pay they are looking for inspiration to none other than Mahatma Gandhi,
the little lawyer who liberated India.

................If You Do Be in Dubai................ ..................With Intent To Buy..................

Mona Hatoum
Over My Dead Body

Christie’s, the market leader in the sale of art from the Middle East,
announces a new online initiative to further complement and extend
their successful Dubai sale format and...accessibility for buyer...

Photo: Christie's Images
Source: Art Daily


artdaily.org ©

This Is Not A Rotisserie...

...It is a museum piece...


The frozen carcass of a 39,000-year-old female woolly mammoth named Yuka
from the Siberian permafrost is displayed for an exhibition in Yokohama
(suburban Tokyo) on July 12 at a press preview before the opening.
The carcass will be shown to the public at Pacifico Yokohama
through September 16......AFP PHOTO / Kazuhiro Nogi





This was the Best Photo of the Day
for the 7/14/13 edition of Art Daily


artdaily.org ©

Aristophanes & The Clouds

Photographer = Daniel Schwartz

Book = GREECE IN POETRY
edited by SIMONI ZAFIROPOULOS



Publisher = ABRAMS (1993)

Book Designer = C. A. ROBSON

Idiot responsible for
Stray strand of hair = ME

At this time, I cannot provide a hyperlink for the book designer
BUT if you attend our wedding, you can talk to her directly.

Caution, however, is advised if you talk to the person identified
(by pronoun) immediately below Carol.

Murphy Gets A Blast At Auction

BECKETT'S FIRST NOVEL "MURPHY" ACHIEVES $1.4 MILLION AT SOTHEBY'S

But how much more pleasant
was the sensation of being
a missile without provenance
or target,caught up in a tumult
of non-Newtonian motion.
So pleasant that pleasant
was not the word.

Samuel Beckett
Murphy

$1,400,000 ≈ £962,500

The Ultimate Lever

Vanity: You are the lever by means of which Archimedes wished to lift the earth.

-Mikhail Lermontov
A Hero of Our Time

Translated by Vladimir Nabokov

If perchance Archimedes could re-create this feat in 2013,
something would have to be done about his hair.

Ringo & The Rockin' Rooster (CR #972)

If the Rockin' Rooster had become a drummer
by listening to no one but Ringo Starr
this Vermont farm scene would be re-created
in an exhibit room adjacent to what is featured
in the following Photograph



IN LOS ANGELES, GRAMMY MUSEUM EXHIBIT EXPLORES THE LIFE OF RINGO STARR


Ringo: Peace & Love, the first major exhibit ever dedicated to a drummer, ends March 2014

The exhibit includes:

• The drum kit he played on The Ed Sullivan Show

• The drum kit he used while recording Let It Be and Abbey Road

• Ringo’s Sgt. Pepper Suit

• The Red Jacket worn during the filming of The Beatles' rooftop concert

• Personal letters, photographs and documents from the Starkey family
and Ringo’s days with the Beatles

It also is an interactive exhibit, where visitors can take a drum lesson with Ringo.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••


The cartoonist is HARRY BLISS

Ringo's exhibit info is from Art Daily


artdaily.com ©
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••


The Rockin' Rooster crows Coochy Coochy
And no farmer is forsaken

A splendid time is guaranteed
For all who thus awaken

In lieu of cock-a doodle-do
As the Coochy Rooster
Flaps his wing

You will hear
Ringo sing

Again you hear Ringo
In the page's upper half

When you click on the word
•••••••Photograph••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Adan & Eva, In The Beginning...

He is ADAN
She is EVA
He is thinking green
She is a believa

They met under
A coconut tree
In the shade
As you can see

**********************************************************************************

There is no if
And or but
All Eva wanted
Was the coconut

The shadow knows--
So they say--
A woman will always
Get her way

The saga of ADAN & EVA continues here

Blogger's Notes
Adan & Eva is the copyrighted property of CarPeo Incorporated,
an affiliate of the Lewis Carroll School of Logic.

CarPeo Inc. is indebted to rls.

Who Drank My...???????? (CR #970)

...Featuring the Manic Mutts...Directed by Patrick McDonnell...

If this were an Italian cat, he would be featured in a Felini film entitled Cat on a Hot Tin Villa

Pure ONION NEWS

.....ZOO VISITORS WATCH MATING RITUAL OF ICE CREAM SHOP STAFF.....



ST. LOUIS—Describing the behavior as bizarre yet captivating,
dozens of visitors to the Saint Louis Zoo reportedly looked on in fascination Saturday as the ice cream shop’s staff engaged in their unique mating rituals.
According to eyewitnesses...

...............Between Oscar & Onion............... ARIANNA HUFFINGTON'S Newest Book

The shoddines of this image is inversely proportional
to Arianna Huffington's interview skills


THANK YOU F.O.D.



Blogger's Note
OSCAR & ONION refers to the previous page and the next page, respectively.

Not Once But Twice

Sometimes water
Sometimes ice
Assuming form
Not Once But Twice


How dare me quote me...
When I can quote Oscar Wilde

You Only Live Twice
or so it seems,
One life for yourself
and one for your dreams.

You drift through the years
and life seems tame,
Till one dream appears
and love is its name.

And love is a stranger
who'll beckon you on,
Don't think of the danger
or the stranger is gone.

This dream is for you,
so pay the price.
Make one dream come true,
you only live twice.

A quote so profound...
they named a movie after it



Final verse--
undented, unstruck
Presents your ear
with a stroke of luck
(This far, YES:
I've got 'ya)
Through the pipes
of Nancy Sinatra

I'd Rather Have Both (CR #966)

MUTTS©

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¿¿What did you Snow...and when did you Snowden??

Don Asmussen ©