I couldn't wait!!

If I could pace myself, like a champion racehorse, or a dying man trying to get all of his final words out, I could post every few days, instead of every few months...

But I can't! It's like it's Christmas, and I'm Santa Claus; I had to share at least one more photo from my Old Money and Vintage Porn collection. How could I not?!


I'm not sure exactly who this man is, but he certainly looks like someone, if you know what I mean. He's got the kind of swagger that only comes from the knowledge that you could have someone fired and possibly blinded if they looked at you cross-eyed.

Hot new project!!!

Have y'all heard of "Old money and vintage porn"? Probs not, because it's sort of a cool new thing. Don't get freaked out, though, it's exactly what it sounds like: the collection and appreciation of the personal pornography of yesterday's social elite.

I thought about starting up a blog to display the photos I've found... but then I remembered I've got this one already, and two would be a lot to take care of.

Check it out:

It's as if he's screaming, "Make me beautiful, Ansel Adams! I own you!"

Get a load of this: I’m not allowed to sleep under my desk.

I asked my supervisor today if she had ever read The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. She said she had, and that she very much enjoyed the book.

A little side note here: I haven’t read the book myself, technically, but only because I’m not really a reader. I’ve had it read to me, however. It’s amazing what that guy at the suicide prevention hotline will do if you pretend to cry.

Anyway, she said she enjoyed the book. I asked her, then, what she thought of the concept: camping out in a museum. She said she loved the idea, and as a kid had always thought that would be a wonderful thing to do.

I’m inclined to agree, and I told her so. I told her that even if you didn’t like going to museums, or if all the local museums had photographs of you taped up by the doors, it would still be pretty fun to try the concept out at your place of business, wherever that might be. I said you could just sleep under your desk like a little fort, and if they turned down the heat over night, you could shred trash and stuff your pants with it. When it was too warm for pants, you could have awesome, Risky Business-style solo dance parties. Also, you could shit in the drinking fountains, because, if you tape the handle down over night, even a reasonably large shit will wash away by the morning. Of course, when you do that, you have to get used to drinking out of the sink.

There’s a lot to consider, and I thought it was a fun topic of conversation. I wouldn’t have brought it up if I’d thought she was going to be such a killjoy, but I guess I shouldn’t have been totally surprised. (I try toreserve the term “totally surprised” for situations like getting bit by a shark while you’re in the tub, or catching the flu from a bat.) All she could come up with was that she didn’t want to find me sleeping under my desk anymore when she came in early. As if there’s a better spot.

So that’s out.

All aboard the funmarine, we're watching a MOVIE

This is a word-picture I had made by a local artist. I gave him the text of every buyer review I could find for the DVD of "The Sweetest Thing," starring Cameron Diaz (and several other talented, beautiful women), and told him to make something with those words that represented the film.

I was expecting something like a heart, or a pair of traveling pants, but what I got was, in his words, "a penis with a nail sticking out of it."

Crude? Insulting? Yes and yes, and he wouldn't know a good movie if it knocked him over and hammered a nail into his you-know-what. If I had ever been planning on paying him, I would have changed those plans there and then. (I'm more of a dine-and-dash art patron in any case, but the sentiment was still there.)

My solution, at first, was to just hang the illustration backwards. Then I realized that it was, after all, mine, and it could be whatever I wanted it to be.

So what we have here is no longer a nailed wiener, it's a funmarine! ("Funmarine" is just a contraction of submarine and fun. Funmarines were also featured in Down Periscope, and Das Boot.)

On this funmarine girls do... whatever they want, just as long as they follow their hearts and stay true to their friends! Now that's what I call art!

All aboard!

Just going through my old notes

And I found this one:

"Instead of describing things as 'phallic,' use the word 'penile.'"

Say what you will about the perils of youth, but I was a smart guy in 2008. If I could only talk to that kid today...

What's on your mind, Dandy? How do you come up with this shit? Where were you going with that "penile" thing? Do you know how special that was? How are you doing with the ladies?

Yes sir, that was one sharp, mysterious young man. I fucked that up pretty seriously, though. I don't mean to imply that I ruined myself with drugs—I don't do drugs, I drink. And I only drink what I make myself in the garage. I'm not an idiot.

No, I killed young Dandy up here (I'm pointing to my head). Did you think that such a clever, innocent psyche could survive six months of thinking through the lens of what I would do if I were forced to take up Frodo's burden? I feel lucky that the attraction to under-four-foot men lasted as briefly as it did. Everything beyond that was a freebie, and the youthful inventiveness wasn't part of it. After thrusting my digit into The One Ring, there was no going back. (And I'm sorry if that sounds penile to you, but it's the truth.)

I'm not down about it, though; it's not all bad. Being less creative has led to me getting arrested way less often. I mean, the very next item in my notes was "See what my neighbor's neck skin smells like." That's an experience I would happily forget, and the aftermath wasn't a great way to spend my birthday.

If I didn't publish this, no one would have.

RC Cola, soda royalty and the self-styled King of Pop, died today at 105.

RC’s fame ate away at the essentially private Cola. Its initially minor eccentricities escalated into grotesque changes to its packaging and flavor, ultimately leading to accusations of pedophilia. RC maintained that its relations with kids were healthy—it was simply attracted by their "purity and innocence."

The same qualities were attributed to it by its loyal fans, believing RC Cola to be a beverage whose fine flavor was distorted by a malicious press. But as its packaging changed, rumors about RC grew. It began to appear in public wearing a koozie, and seemed to be asexual.

RC was due for a grand re-release next month, but there were still wild stories: one claimed that RC was suffering from fecal contamination. Like so much else about it, the rumor may have been true, but it was probably just razzle-dazzle. It is survived by its parent companies, Cadbury Schweppes and Dr. Pepper/Seven Up.