Just Another Manis Monday

The pangolin in on which The Tutor (1) rode.  Please to notice The Tutor's very tasteful squamous Vienna shadbelly.  Don't look any lower though - the poor dotard doesn't 'rock' those jodhpurs like he once did.









(1)  Artist's rendition, as opposed to rendering, of The Tutor.

The Tutor Is A Pimp!

Subject:  Personal Appearance Inquiry

Dear Ms. So and So,

Please excuse this intrusion into your life, both personal and professional, but I have been asked to arrange an assignation between my dear friend, Griselda and one Mr. Anthony Bourdain.
Though many consider the fair Griselda as “Not impossible to ignore”, I do not have such fortitude.
For your entertainment and for purposes of due diligence, please find below a verbatim transcript of a most recent email exchange between yours truly and the not-at-all-stalker-esque Griselda.  Griselda’s mellifluous verbal poison is rendered in Red: to reflect the flaming crimson of her ardour.
Mine, in Black:  to reflect the despair deep in my soul for ever having met her.

To wit:


Griselda writes:

Why don't you be a love and email Bourdain's agent and set up him taking me to dinner for my birthday.  Don't mention my food allergies and potential for needing an emergency traecheotomy (too lazy to check spelling).


The Tutor responds:

Too lazy indeed!  Too lazy to formulate a decent sentence as well, it would seem.

".....email Bourdain's agent and set up him taking me to dinner...."

Don't mention your food allergies?  Are you mad?  Your allergies and the possibility of getting to perform a Bic pen tracheostomy on you would clinch a dinner invite for sure!
Great television!
I can just see him incising your throat with that dull knife he used to ‘hack’ off the heads of those scrawny chickens on that boat during his "Heart of Darkness" episode in "The Congo".  And then later, relaxing at the bar with a beer, he regales the Wait Staff as he reminisces about doing acid, shitting ant heads and practicing tracheostomies on his buddies in his smoky dorm room.
Meanwhile your colour slowly comes back and you "whistle" riffs from “The End” by Mr. Morrison and his Doors through your new Baron Bic (pronounced ' Beesh') fashion accessory.
Mr. Bourdain, if he is anything, he is badass!
Though I was a little disappointed he did not sample some grilled Lowland Gorilla during his “Heart of Darkness” episode - at least not on camera (The confiscated footage perhaps?).  Surely Gorilla would have been available at one of the “Street Meat” BBQ kiosks one finds all over The Congo?
On a sad note, “The Congo” episode reminded me of that terrible week in late summer ’97 when we, the World, lost forever, “The Good, The Bad And The Ugly” (Lady Di, Sese Seko and Mother Teresa.  Not necessarily in that order).
What is the manager's email?


Griselda responded:

You're rght. And him stabbing me in the throat would be hot! Here is my list of allergies:
Nuts
Shellfish
Bananas
Tomatoes
All grains
Citrus
Avocado
Egg yolks
Dairy
Corn
Carrots

At least tell him I'm a reasonably cute Ginger and I drink. And please can I proof your letter first? :-)


The Tutor responded:

Jeez!  Is there anything you can eat?  Lettuce and Fairy dust perhaps?  Nuts?
Does that include legumes(peanuts) and drupes(walnuts, pecans) as well as true nuts(chestnuts, hazelnuts)?
Will it matter if he discovers you are a fucking Scorpio? 


Griselda replied:

I can do NYC or New Orleans. Getting ripped at a Saints game then eating our way thru the French Quarter back to my house would be my preference. He probably isn't a sports fan, but even haters love the Saints, cuz they're badassI'll be right back with the email addy.
And btw, he is 6'4. *swoon* . High heels for me!


Griselda replied yet again:

Ms. So and So
events@thecongo.com

Do NOT include my email address. I don't want to be put on their stalker watchlist already.


Griselda replied some more:

And don't get cute and work yourself into my dinner date! He won't be impressed with your fucking UN passport!


The Tutor riposted:

Yes he would.  Everyone is; except Boutros Boutros-Ghalli, nothing ever impressed him.  And the ‘Taints’ are not badass: the New Zealand All Blacks are badass!
Haka!


Griselda responded:

Oh! The clothing optional dinner/sauna/pool place in NOLA might be a good shoot location! It's called The Country Club. I'm a member, so I can get him in


Griselda responded yet again:

And I'm not angling to be on the show. Please make that clear...that I'm not a fame whore. I merely want his company for dinner and wha's his "personal appearance fee"?.


And finally Griselda related:

Ok, I've rethought this and feel I should probably play up my willingness to have anaphylactic seizures for entertainment purposes. His, not the viewing audience's.

Therefore, I've reconsidered our New Orleans date night/food tour. We will start at a Saints game where I will consume grain alcohol and pretzels. I will then drive us to St. Tammany Parish where we will attend a shrimp boil amongst serious weirdos. (He will enjoy my drunk driving across the Lake Pontchartrain causeway. It's only a couple of feet above the water, unlit, with low guard rails. Think Congo River with better company. If I miraculously survive dinner, I will eat pralines for dessert. But dinner will likely kill me.

He should know I'm one of those "swift-onset" types. I'll be gasping and borderline unconscious in two minutes, tops. And there are no nearby hospitals, and even if there were, I would not be prioritized over gunshot wounds in the ER. Even though I'm white. Fucked up, innit?

Now, the good thing about me? I'm a cute anaphylctic. I don't break out in itchy scales or throw up. My reactions are more....Shakespearean. I get light-headed, I choke for air while shaking delicately, and then I pass out. Sometimes I panic when I feel it coming on, but that's only evident by confusion and a few tears. No sweating or screaming or any real hysteria. He can finish his drink before attending to me. If he needs to unbutton my blouse to check my heartbeat, I'm ok with that. I only have a few memories of maternal guidance....one was "elbows off the table, Mabel" and the other was "always wear nice undergarments because you never know when you might wind up in the hospital".

Now, about my Epi-pen allergy. It is apparently impossible to be allergic to Epinephrine, or so a dentist once told me, prior to throwing me out of his office. Latex gloves were the culprit. (Did I have "latex" on my list of allergies? Probably not. Seems I also omitted it that day at the dentist's).

Anyway, psychosomatic or not, I have an adverse reaction to adrenaline, and Bourdain can simply avoid that step. If he wants to jab me in the thigh, he can use something else.

More later. I have to move my car(s) now.


Ms. So and So, there was no more prose forthcoming.  I did not respond.
Isn't she just to have die for?
I love her th...................is(1) much!  Is Mr. Bourdain available mid-November, this year?  What remuneration would be requested for a “Personal Appearance”?  Who pays for dinner and any assorted incidentals?
References for, and photographs of, the fey Giselda available on request.

(1) Not to scale.

Thank you in advance, Ms. So and So, for your indulgence in this matter.  My conscience is now clear.

Regards,

Bilious C. Pudenda, aka TheTutor.




UPDATE
October 2016
If there are any fucking Yankees reading this, firstly congratulations!  Your country-wide Bicentennial Project of 1976 to ensure that at least one citizen successfully matriculates high school as lettered before 2010 has paid off.
Secondly, fuck off!

Bourdain

If you wanna hang out you've got to take him out; Bourdain. 
If you wanna get down, down on the ground; Bourdain. 
He don't lie, he don't lie, he bake pie; Bourdain. 

If you got bad news, you wanna kick them blues; Bourdain. 
When your day is done and you wanna run; Bourdain. 
He don't lie, he don't lie, he bake pie; Bourdain.

If your thing is gone and you wanna ride on; Bourdain. 
Don't forget this fact, you can't get it back; Bourdain. 
He don't lie, he don't lie, he bake pie; Bourdain.

He don't lie, he get high, he bake pie; Bourdain.

He go die!

Bourdain.

Apologies to J. J. Cale

Everyone remembers their first Kate Spade

The Tutor:  "Kate Spade died!"

Me:  "Who?"

The Tutor:  "You're obviously not a gayer".

Me:  "That is all well and good, but, who is she?"

BTS become first K-pop band to top US album charts

What?

It's fucking Kpopalypse Now!

The Tutor remembers drinking and singing Karaoke with a bevy of very drunk Japanese businessmen in the Jumbo Bar in Nakhon Ratchasima (1), Thailand way back in the day.  All seven drunkards sang, in turn, this song.
The Tutor sang that "We'll Meet Again" song that plays at the end of "Dr. Strangelove" - you know, when all the A-Bombs are exploding.  He swears the businessmen did NOT make the connexion.  I'm not so sure, we Asians are quite astute ya know.



(1)  The Jumbo Bar is a well appointed Thai-style brothel left over from the days when Nakhon Ratchasima was called Korat and was an American Air Force Base - during what the Vietnamese call, "The American War".

An Happy Death Now

Ole Blue Eyes - Chairman of the Board
Rolling Stones - Greatest Rock 'n Roll Band of all time
Elvis Presley - King of Rock 'n Roll
Michael Jackson - King of Pop
Bruce Springsteen - The Boss
Eric Clapton - Slowhand
Aretha Franklin - Queen of Soul
James Brown - The Godfather of Soul
Jim Morrison - The Lizard King
Beatles - The Fab Four

Sure.  Why not?

BUT!

ABBA were, are, and will ever continue to be, the most straightforwardly brilliant Pop Band of all time.
And no mistake!

Now I've just heard that on Friday last, the band announced they had gone back into the studio and recorded two new songs.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.


I think I just soiled myself.

Is it so?

How some have lost their way

The wild-eyed guitar prowess of Mr. Ted Nugent.

Who knew back then, Innit?

Only by Bradshaw and in 1860. Innit?

"Perhaps in the whole circuit of the Kingdom there is not another spot so calculated to awaken in the bosom of an Englishman feelings of pride and exultation, as the objects around call up in succession reminiscences of those martial and intellectual achievements by which the inviolate island of the sage and free has attained her present unquestioned supremacy amongst the nations of the world."

The Tutor

......... a few years back, mind you.

Innit?

Year of the Dog?

Time for some Bobby and Al

I was going to add:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xZKuzwPOefs

and

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pc3OnSQc48s

but The Tutor threatened GBH on me fine arse, so I thought the better of it.

Well, I know too!

The greatest song ever.

Innit?

Dance Now?

This tune is now verbotten in The Canadas

Fortunately, this tune is not..........

.........so far.
Who knows what's possible in a country that likes the Tragically Hip?
Ya gotta wonder.

Innit?

The Big Not So Easy

Okay, now, it must be understood that I hate the Yankee as much as the next gal, but for fuck's sake, the BritishCritters really fuct up but good here.
Innit?

What?  Ya think I'd post "Taps" or sommat?  Fuck you!

Better times, Innit?

Though I am truly perturbed I had to wait untill the last seconds to see my beloved Michael Caine.
Cunts!
I mean, them manly gun fights is all well and good ya understand, but Michael Caine, well, he's divine!

NGRAM Viewer

I blame the birth of The Tutor for the ever-increasing use of the word that best describes me. Either that or the birth of Rock and Roll.(1)
I am at pains to explain the sudden decrease in the use of the word around 1979 or so.  Surely it is not connected to the immaculate inception and ambrosial parturition of the one and only, me?  With the likes of me now in the world, I reckon the use of the word would be considered superfluous.  Innit?
Coincidentally, of course, the rate of usage resumed its inexorable climb in 1985 with the horrid inception and decidedly inelegant parturition of that dreadful Wham! featuring George Michael.
And rightly so.

Please to notice the concomitant juxtaposition of the terminus of the plot line, the searched word and my lovely chiropteran avatar.



(1) The latter over the former, I reckon.

Big Wheels and all

Now this is Rock and Roll

Innit?

Derivative

Now this, my friends, is a fucking photograph.
A PHOTOGRAPH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
If it were not for the fact that this poor Ruskie died in 1999, I would have babuschka'd this comrade's ass six ways to Tuesday in Stalingrad (and his little cat too) just because this photo is so hot!!!
Innit?

Now this:

This monstrosity is but a pale contrivance.  And the man with the koala is German!!!!!!!!!!

Like. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww-the-fuck-ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

Innit?

Yuriy Valentinovich Knorozov - Born 1922

and

Sven Gronemeyer - Born 1978

Both brilliant Mayanists. Though truth be told, the former is a tad more brilliant than the latter.  Innit?

I Fucking Love Drone-Strikes!

The Peshawar High Court in Pakistan has ruled that US drone-strikes are illegal, inhumane, violate the UN charter on human rights and surely constitute a war crime.  Successive American administrations disagree, stating that these 'arbitrary' and 'extrajudicial' executions of enemy non-combatants do not violate international law, and that the method of attack is precise and effective.
The Obama administration proffered this explanation on drone-strike policy in April 2012, concluding that it was "legal, ethical, and wise".
Those who are being targeted by drones in a foreign country are not protected under the general human right to life - it's war!  Targeted killing under the law of self-defence is not an action constitutive of "law enforcement" either so law enforcement standards of jurisprudence are not applicable.  The United States has every 'Right-by-Might' to fly its drones into any foreign country, especially one with which it is not already at war, and kill any person, or persons, it deems an 'enemy'.

So committed to the efficacy and legality of this sort of anti-terrorism engagement, I would think the great U S of A would have had absolutely no problem at all with the Royal Air Force and/or MI6 (MI5?) commissioning, in the 1980s and 1990s, the then extant versions of the Reaper or Predator drones to strike those Yankee Catholic fuckers in Boston and environs who supplied the fucking IRA cunts with treasure and succor during 'The Troubles'.
Legal, ethical and wise indeed.
And as far as some Librul feckers in the Revolted Colonies hueing, crying and whingeing on about the inevitable civilian casualties, I doubt that would manifest at all in earnest.  Not even in Boston itself.  Everybody, and I mean everybody - the Yanks especially - knows that if one finds one's self drone-striking IRA Terrorists in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, that any, hopefully massive, "collateral damage" could possibly only involve fucking Massholes.  Accordingly, if I might paraphrase Major General James Wolfe's assertion during the Battle of the Plains of Abraham regarding his Scottish soldiers, "they(Massholes) are hardy, intrepid, accustomed to a rough country, and no great mischief if they fall".



I'm not sure if that is Boston in the photograph since I've never been to Boston.  I can't be arsed to get my shots, which are free by the way up here in the Canadas, so I would not hazard to venture there.  Besides, it's in America - I might catch obesity and there's no pharmacological prophylaxis for that.