Real Trance Music

Back in the day, The Tutor pronounced it, "Oxy-Genie"  and it was composed and performed by "John Michael Jar-eh"
Meh!
He be such a White Anglo, Innit?

Forty!

The VD - aka Pudenda Non Grata - aka Aquarians Love To Fuck, today enters her 40th year on this, our beloved planet.
Best you follow the following advice:

Why I Love Google

The above photograph accompanied a recent BBC World article on the Mini Skirt.  The person pictured is not named in the piece, but I was sure it was Natalie Wood.  To confirm my suspicions, I "Image Googled" it.
This is what Google found:

Oh dear
Dear, oh dear, oh dear.

The Shy Type?.......C'est Moi!

Those were the days my friend

We thought they'd never end

We'd sing and dance forever and a day

We'd live the life we choose

We'd fight and never lose

For we were young and sure to have our way

La la la la...

Those were the days, oh yes those were the days

Now the old fecker requests that I wear vintage Mary Quant with either mary jane flats or zippered white go-go boots whenever we venture out into polite society.

And..........AND!!!!?

The nostalgic nonce wants me to redo my hairstyle to better reflect the aesthetic of the swinging sixties.  I've a choice:
I can have a Beehive like Dusty Springfield;
- a Flip like Elizabeth Montgomery from Bewitched;
- a Bob like Diana Ross during her Supremes days;
- a Joan Baez, when she was dating Dylan, mess;
- or the Sassoon inspired Twiggy cut.
Fuck them all.  I want La Seberg Coup or nothing!
Without that shorn-hair look to complement my not-so-haute couture ensemble, I can envision the following dialogue from passersby:

The Average Person:  "C'est vraiment dégueulasse."

Me:  "Qu'est ce qu'il a dit?"

The Tutor:  "Il a dit que vous êtes vraiment "une dégueulasse"."

Me:  "Qu'est-ce que c'est "dégueulasse?"

I'll have to run away, à bout de souffle.

So go on, go on, come on, leave me breathless
Tempt me, tease me, until I can't deny

This dégueulasse feeling (dégueulasse feeling)
Make me long for your death
Go on (go on), go on (go on)
Yeah...




UPDATE
Only you, ALT-F, would ever attempt to connect Jean-Luc Godard's Breathless with the Corrs.  Here's a challenge; connect Polanski's Repulsion with Lesley Gore's Sunshine Lollipops and Rainbows.  Speaking of whom, either one of the hairdos of Ms. Gore or Ms Deneuve would suit me quite nicely too.
Bilious C. Pudenda - The Tutor




UPDATE II
You're on!
I quite like Catherine Deneuve's mane - and demeanour - in that movie.  I'm amenable to that.   I can identify with her.
Lesley Gore?  Not fucking likely.
Pudenda Non Grata - ALT-F - Vagina Dentata

Memories?

There was a time when The Tutor and I could do this.

But not now, alas.

Here's The Buzz

Since The Tutor did this, I've no idea what goes on in his boudoir at night - or during the day.
An update:

The Tutor:  "I've a new pet!"

Me:  "Really?  You replaced me that quickly?"

The Tutor:  "Funny!  Yeah.  It's a mosquito.  I've named him 'Bloodsucker'.  Quite ironically I might add."

Me:  "Bloodsucker?  Ironically?  Him?  I get it."

The Tutor:  "The little beast flies about my head each night as I try to fall asleep.  His tonal discharge is oddly comforting.  I reckon Bloodsucker considers me to be a walking/sleeping Singles Bar for mosquitoes.  He figures a female will eventually find me and then he's 'In like Flynn' faster than you can say 'listen to my sexy 17kHz tone baby!' "

Me:  "Comforting?  I can see that.  You know the males only live for two to three weeks.  It's gonna be a short relationship followed by separation, heartbreak and the inevitable sad recriminations."

The Tutor:  "No time to lose then.  Bloodsucker needs to get laid!  And quick!"


Last I saw, The Tutor was outside in the back garden with his sleeves rolled going all Boko Haram on the swarm to catch a 'female' when it alights on his bare arm.  What neither of us know, however, is whether these haematophagous fuckers seek a bloodmeal before or after mating.  If it is after, poor Bloodsucker is going to have to swap gametes with a damsel already up the duff.  I hope he's into that sort of thing.

My Life

L'Origine du monde

It seems half of France is using the French edition of Google Image Search to discover the various locations on the Internet of the image of performance artist Deborah de Robertis 'performing' while sitting under Gustave Courbet's, L'Origine du monde (Origin of the World) (1866) hanging in the Musée d'Orsay, Paris.  The French Google Image Search dumps the frogs off at my latest post and the cheese-eating surrender monkeys are either too thick, or too lazy, to scroll down through my blog to discover the post that contains the photograph for which they are searching - my 'Queer as Cunt' post, HERE.

See HERE for the artnet news story of June 5, 2014
Please to notice how the Yankee editors of artnet news censor the photograph, but not the painting.  Oh those Yanks, Puritan prudes toting guns! 

See HERE for the reason why people were searching for that same wonderful sheela na gig in February 2016.

FRANCE Google Screen Capture

Then there are the large number of folks from Ukraine and South Korea being directed to my site by their particular Search Engines after querying the words, 'Woman Cunt'.


UPDATE

GERMANY Google Screen Capture

It seems the Krauts are doing it too!

Notice how the Google Image Search page is structured differently depending on whether you are German or French.  Go figure.  Innit?


UPDATE 2
I've no clue why this and my 'Queer As Cunt' blog posts have become ever so very popular of late.
Vulva Envy I reckon

The New Novel

Me: “Wanna hear the opening line of my new novel?”

The Tutor: “Sure. Let’s have it”

Me: “There was not a sound about me save the susurrus of my feet and froufrou of my silk dress as I trod upon the corpses.”

The Tutor: “Catchy. What’s it going to be called?”

Me: “I’ve not decided. I’m vacillating between: ‘À la Recherche du Mal Perdu’ and ‘Thé danses du Khmer Rouge’.”

The Tutor: “The title’s in French, but the text’s in English?”

Me: “No”

Dearest Cunt

As per my promise, below please find my witty retorts to your audacious queries. Your pixellated nonsense - barely articulated crude grunts, by the way - is rendered in bold red; to reflect the vivacious nature of your alleged Anglo-Saxon(1) ardour. My responses, rendered in bold black; to reflect the Stygian nature of  my Über(wo)mensch soul.

Anonymous Fair Anglo-Saxon said...
So far, so good.  Fair Anglo-Saxon you say?  Ha!  Yins are probably a fecking Ginger - in hopeless denial about it too I reckon.
Dearest Aquarians like to cuddle - aka "Vagina Dentata",
It's fucking 'love' to cuddle, not 'like' to cuddle.  Is your reading comprehension that fucked?  Do you perhaps consider the two words/concepts to be synonymous and therefore interchangeable?  Do you not know there is a difference?  For instance, I like Michael Caine, especially as he was in Zulu, but I love him in The Quiet American.
See the difference?  In case you've not seen the film, our Hero smokes a lot of opium and occasionally 'Irrigates the tight Mekong Delta' of a lithe Asian tart.  I can forgive him for making the two-backed beast with a Vietnamese-er though - 'cause that was all that was available and our man's got needs after all.  We Burmese have a special word to 'describe' the Vietnamese, but I would not be so indelicate as to reveal it here. 
I like my women like I like my coffee, er feisty…
Fuck off.  Coffee's for cunts.  And feisty?  I'll show you feisty when I go all Rorke's Drift with an Ulfberht on your sorry Anglo-Saxon ass for comparing me to caffeinated women.
I don’t think a doctor’s coat or scrubs would work as well as the ‘naughty nurse’ outfit.
Are you fucking mental?  Naughty nurse?  I am unsure from whence you hail, but if from the UK; that's just puerile Victorian bollocks.  And if from the Revolted Colonies; that's so Puritan flappy gee.
Still, from your photos I suspect you would look good in a plastic bag.
Jaysus fuck, ya moron, it's 'burlap sack', not 'plastic bag'!  Get your fuct anglospheric idioms right will ya?  Plastic bags, when re-purposed as accoutrement, especially the Tesco or Whole Foods variants, make me perspire.  Women should not be made to perspire - it's unwise.
Horses sweat.  Men perspire.  Women glow.
Very artistic and tasteful by the way.
Thank Ray Caesar, not me.  I merely usurp his vision for my own purposes of a curious conflation of utter self-loathing and sublime narcissism.
You wouldn't be in the market for a moderately wealthy ‘sugar daddy’, would you?
Define 'moderately'?  The Tutor, my current 'sugar daddy', purchased me from my father back in '05 for two goats and a bushel of shiitake mushrooms.  And they weren't your average ordinary goats either, they were those weird tree-climbing fuckers they have in Morocco.  Fuck me, those things creep me out!  Read my archives to get an idea of the dynamic between The Tutor and yours truly and then make him an offer - no goats.
I also spent an inordinately long time in ‘big school’ and unlike your delectable self I have a couple of proper degrees.
Proper degrees?  'big school'?  Fuck you!
My MD is not recognized in the Americas because I can't be arsed to file a petition - paper-work only - to get it!  Besides, why the fuck would I want to treat North American fat-fucks who deserve to die?  In the UK, I can ram 50 kilos of cold, flatulence-inducing proctological video equipment so far up a Brit arse I'll be able to tell if the cunt flosses his/her teeth or not - and get paid to do it!  The NHS recognize my credentials.   My BSc and MBA are well recognized the world over, the former from a Canadian 'big school' and the latter from a Yankee 'big school', so fuck the fuck right the fuck off!
Education is overrated don’t you think?
No it's not!  From whence I come, education can mean the difference between living a very short and brutish life eventually succumbing to starvation or getting the fuck out of there and into the pecuniary embrace of a neurotic westernized Caucasoid who believes 'love' is something other than a marketing concept invented to sell piña coladas(2) and snow tyres.  Your world view is so fucking Western-centric - it irks me to no end it does.
Unless it leads to a well paid job as a senior professional that is.
Fuck off again.  What is wrong with education for education's sake?  An elderly ball-bag sagging septuagenarian who does shit for money while keeping his collar white?  That's what the phrase 'senior professional' means to me.
When you have simmered down could you send me the other three links- just for the pursuit of my research into advanced pulchritude you understand.
What other three links?  Simmered down?
What the fuck kind of phrasal verb is that?
What about just 'calmed'?  There is no need for the preposition 'down' at all.  Besides, ending a phrasal verb in a preposition is something up with which Sir Winston and I will not put.  Advanced pulchritudinal research is it?  You electrum-tongued devil, I bet you say that to all the girls?
I thank you kindly. Furthermore your blog title doesn't mention ‘cuddle’ at all.
You noticed that?  Good for you.  Cunt!

ΦΥΧ  ΟΦΦ!

(1)  I am, of course, being kind, and a tad charitable I might add.  You Sassenach cunts are no different than those autochthonic Celtic cuntribbits of pre-Roman times in Blighty - only content when in your natural state of being drunk and fighting with each other.

(2)  I must admit though, I loves me some piña coladas and snow tyres are rather prudent here in the Canadas - for eight fucking months of the year prudent.  I do love swooning about and being whisked away on horseback and made love to on a secluded beach amidst crashing surf.  I especially enjoy the extra bonus of getting sand in the crack and sand fleas in my ears. 

À La Recherche Du Cunts Perdu

To the enuretics at CUNTS CORNER!

NOTA BENE
If you, dear reader, are the resident Alpha at CUNTS CORNER, please to scroll to the ultimate paragraph.  The dross that lay between this and that contains no revelations not already known to you.

I was told that if I was to alight at CUNTS CORNER, I'd find a cream of exquisite cunts worthy of my profound and literate wit and raillery.  Instead, what do I find?  I find a shower of toadyingly sycophantic, probably sexagenarian, slack-scrotumed, Caucasoid milksops with nary a cogent neuro-synaptic transmission between them - fucking acetylcholine-dodging, feculent and feckless homunculi!(1)
To be fair though, perhaps the many sparks of piquant that may have been birthed in these alleged feeble minds were unable to transit the Event Horizon (a barrier begat by the gravitational pull of their super-massive, yet extremely fragile, egos) to fly free and entertain me!  And let's be honest, these egos, I might add, have no legitimacy for existence in the first place.  I have witnessed no intellect which could be even remotely distinguished from that which I would normally find in a troop of peri-pubescent Boy Scouts - and 'Special Needs' Boy Scouts at that!(2) Nowt but Lilliputian intellect and Brobdingnagian egos to be found here!(3)
Where were the bon mots?  The wit?  Scintillating palaver?
Well fuck me from behind with the combined pee pees; in parallel, not series, of the lot of them - the badinage was fucking bad!  Where were the confident and cocksure Western white boys I was promised would be here?
I hesitantly arrived at CUNTS CORNER the other day, all dewy-eyed and bushy-tailed, innocent as shite, and inadvertently posted a 'Cunt Nomination' in error.  An error to which I admitted and for which I subsequently apologised.
All I was trying to do was create a Ray Caesar, Bat Girl avatar for myself.  And what was the result of my neophytic transgression?  I was immediately set upon by a legion of liquored-up Beta and Gamma males, and, it would seem, a vermiform Delta Minus (that 777 cunt).  Falling, as they were, all over themselves in a rush to pixellate very unfriendly dullardry to, and at, me.  Frankly, I was terribly hurt.  AND then when I steel myself; gird my ever so inviting loins and foster the courage to defend myself with brilliant coruscating invective and spumescent vitriol - and in the most beauteous of prolix circumlocutious prose imaginable - the little fuckers scurry about like roosters-come-capons declaiming how horrid and beastly I am, and have been, to them.

Once more unto the breach, dear VD, once more;
Or close the wall up with our Girlish dead!
In peace, there’s nothing so becomes a girl,
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tigress;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.

And that fender777 git, what a piece of shite he is, ventures out from the aegis that is the Alpha's codpiece - a very large and no doubt girthy one I should imagine......sigh - to throw a lexical spit-ball at me now and then when he thinks the coast is clear and he is safe to do so.  That little 777 twerp threatens that I should enjoy my short-lived unfettered freedom to pixellate now 'cause when his mom - the person with whom he lives and by whom he is dressed - comes home, I'm gonna get it!  I'll be deleted and banned.  What a fucking cuntbutler.  Nay, a fecking piscine staccato cuntribbit.  Period.  Full stop.  End of.  Lord t'underin' jaysus b'y, but flappy gees like that really get on my very shapely and perky teats!(4)  This merkin operates under the assumption that a deletion and banning from CUNTS CORNER is some sort of penultimate punishment - the ultimate being just the opposite; being left to freely contribute to this cloaca. Nyuck, nyuck, the fuck, nyuck.  Like as if my entire self-worth is predicated upon my ability to gain acceptance into this alliterative corpulent Caucasoid cunt clique.  I'll have you know my self-loathing does not require your approbation.  In fact, unless I perceive in short order, a measure - even a modicum would suffice - of the vile miasma of Caucasoid intellect I was promised, I'll be off on my own volition like a whippet after a hare.  I will not deign to waste my wit(5) on Thalidomide stump-sucking cretins.


How can the resident Alpha tolerate this sorry state?  The commentators here are a wank-circle populated with ignominious imbeciles.  Low-status Caucasoid males who every now and then muster the courage to charge out and strike at me.  All in valiant attempts to supposedly defend the Alpha.  And in doing so, they fall prey, one by one, to my weaponry and then run back to shelter as their mother's little helper.(6)  The funny thing is, the Alpha is in no danger.  No one is in any danger, actually.(7)  All y'all need to do is cut the Gordion Knot that binds the jet-engine of your intellect to the ox-cart of your ego and let your genius race off unencumbered.
Do it.  You'll thank me.


(1) I suspect I am going to have to re-evaluate the validity and efficaciousness of my sources.
(2) And believe you, me, I've fucked and fellated my way through many a Boy Scout troop.  I know about which I speak.
(3) And to further this Swiftian metaphor, but as a simile now, I reckon the Alpha is hung like a Houyhnhnms.  Well fuck me from behind with a Modest Proposal, I's quite proud of that one.  Ha!  Clever, doncha think?
(4) And the Girls are not water-balloon blimps either, they're quite pleasing to the eye and hand - car seat texture.  Size?
Meh!  As the late Frank Zappa would say, 'Anything more than a mouthful is a waste.'  Innit?
(5) I admit, I am clever, very clever, but not actually funny.  Alas it is an albatross I have long born.  I've lived with this shame for near-on 36 years now.  I am not bitter.  Now in the unlikely event a particularly bright fucker has bothered to read this crap and has arrived at this note, I suspect she would have noticed I balderised that idiom; a cross I have long born. To her I would riposte,
Oh well a'day what evil looks
Had I from old and young.
Instead of the cross, the albatross,
About my neck was hung.'
(6) Yes, I know, I've mis-paraphrased the Stones tune.  Fuck off!  Sue me!
(7) Except that 777 eromenos. I mean to capon-ise that little worm - if I haven't already done so.  I mean to immasculate him!  Ha!   How's that for a neologism - a conflation of the words immaculate and emasculate  As I'm sure you're not aware, with this malapropism I imply, and from which smart folk will correctly infer, that being separated, either physically or figuratively, from one's pee pee is the decidedly pure state of existence for which one should strive and indeed yearn to embrace.

I feel a little bit of Nilsson Schmilsson is in order:

You're breaking my heart
You're tearing it apart
So fuck you!



I can only hope that the Alpha is astute enough to realize that the wordsmithy above was wrought and keened with my tongue, (or a cock, I can no longer differentiate between the two for some inexplicable reason), placed firmly in my delicate, Asian cheek. I mean no Lese-majeste, and with all due contriteness, present in the lordotic position to accommodate your droit de seigneur. I await your favours with anticipatory glee and damp knickers.


UPDATE

Jaysus fucking christ!
The Alpha at CUNTS CORNER is just as thick as his minions!  He keeps 'banning' me and I just keep re-registering with a different name and email account.  Fuck!  What a dullard!  Then again, perhaps the manly man values his circle of idiots and their dullardry over my wonderful palaver - quantity over quality as it were.  It appears he can't have both - not because of me, but because of them - they's very sensitive it seems.
Fair enough I figger.

UPDATE II

Okay, he's now disabled my Google Chrome vector to his awesome site.  I went in using Internet Explorer instead - what a maroon!  I'm bored now though.  I can't have the imbecile hovering about his Internet Access machine for the next 8 hours waiting to delete me when I appear - that's just cruel.  Innit?  I hope my readers will understand if I leave the retard alone now.  It's like beating up on a cripple.  It's just not nice to do.

I love This

L S D

Is this cool or what?

I hate the tune, but the video is an half century ahead of it's time.

Innit?

The Tutor would've slept with all the chicks in this video, except for the one in the lime green pants visible in the video from 2:19 to 2;33 or so, and then again from 3:06 to 3:16 - she's like, wasted on the LSD for sure.(1)
Innit?



(1)  I'd muck her out though.

Take Five

I once slept with a guy simply because he correctly pronounced the names, "Goethe" and "Camus". (1)

I don't know what I would do if I met a guy who could do this.......

I love Al Jarreau.  Innit?



(1)  He was rubbish.

Foreplay

The Tutor remembers who, exactly, he was sleeping with when he first heard this tune.  She went on to become, a decade or so later, a VP at Mellon Bank Corporation(1) in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.(2)  The Tutor only slept with the crème de la crème.
Obviously.


Hence me?

Right?



(1)  Now since 2007, I think, known as BNY Mellon.  I could be wrong - on account I just don't give a shite about the "goings on" in the New Military Industrial Complex.  Innit?

(2)  Where The Tutor blessed Fisher Scientific - Instrument Service Division - (part of Allied Corporation at the time) for a short time before realizing he was destined to be self-employed in The Canadas in order to meet me.

Later that same year, by the time this tune was released, The Tutor was already ministering to another damsel - who, by the way, did not go on to become a 'mover and shaker' in the World.


P.S.
The Tutor knows some cunt from The Big Easy who does not adore Boston!
Can you believe it?
Well fuck me from behind with a Tea Party, but is this NOLA Cunt a cunt, or what?

Make The World Great Again

When  Mr. President (1) is finished being The President of the United States, I think he should endeavor to become Mr. Secretary-General of the United Nations.  If anyone can put 'teeth' into the original U.N. mandate, it's himself.

Innit?



(1)  Morons love him, and if you don't, you're also a moron.  

Stop Right There!

As far as Non-ABBA songs are concerned, Bohemian Rhapsody is my absolute favourite, but this tune is a close second.

Iron Man?

Iron Man?
Indeed!
The fucker is still alive!

The Tutor was in the audience for all of these concerts.  He was on acid so he has no memory of them, but he was there nonetheless.

That is enviable.

But!  His friend saw Iron Butterfly live in LA in 1968.

Now that is enviable.

Memories?

Ha!
Twelve years before I was born, but heh?  Good Innit?

You Decide Innit?

I love the original Flower Child, Mr. Leitch, but Buffy wrote it after all.  Glen?  Nowt but Rhinestone Cowboy if you ask me.  The Tutor tells me that the damsel at 1:37 in the Donovan video looks just like his first love.

Ain't that sweet

P.S.  Did you notice the Toronto thing?  The Tutor done got borned there.  Innit.

From the Jaws of Victory

I don't often listen to Meatloaf.....but when I do, so does the whole fucking neighbourhood.

As far as the wolf request, I would proffer too.....but only if the lupine whelp is a non K-Pop, stout-hearted Flowerboy of attested means.

A Degenerate and Deviant Palæophile

A little to the left of The Tutor in this photograph - out-of-frame - is the Dome of the Rock.

The Tutor still prefers to use Lotus 1-2-3 rather than Excel.

It's painfully obvious The Tutor is a morally perverted lover of all things old. (1)




(1)  Except me, of course - I'm a cute, young thing.  So he's also a different kind of  P - phile.  Innit?

Which is best?

Say what you will about Ms. Montana, but she sure does cover this tune like, real good.

Time for some Bob

Je suis arrivé

Mamma Mia!  Here We Go Again

First.

Where the fuck is Meryl?

Right!

Well, truth be told, it ain't pure, utter shite

For instance: 1:33:15 to 1:36:45

Missing from the original, but the Granny's cover ain't too bad.

Innit?

Out On The Wiley Windy Moors

Happy birthday, Kate and Emily

Why commit suicide if you can watch this video?

I wasn't very old lo those 30 years ago today when that cunt, Christa Päffgen, fell off her tricycle and subsequently carked it.  Physical decay is what she sowed and physical decay is what she reaped.

Though truth be told, I quite prefer this version over the other one.

Hang me girls on The Rock, Jock

Nu?

What really happened to Miranda, Irma, Marion and Greta?

I reckon Rolf got the first three and Ned the fourth (1) 

(1)  You know, with her being a tad too old for Rolf and all.

Innit?

Who Knew?

Innit?

Fish are nibbling at me 'thingy'

I woke up in a muddy ditch this morning after a particularly raucous bender last night.  The Tutor tells me I was the second-best sylphic siren at the party.
Second best?
Time was, I was the best.

It seems I was lucid enough before my watery romp to don a necklace of violets - symbolic of my faithfulness, loyalty and devotion to Gin and Tonic


P.S.  Engage the link below to fully appreciate this decidedly non-Asian version of my intricate beauty.

 https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/94/John_Everett_Millais_-_Ophelia_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg

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!

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.