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!
Friday
Tuesday
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?"
Me: "Who?"
The Tutor: "You're obviously not a gayer".
Me: "That is all well and good, but, who is she?"
Monday
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".
Sunday
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.
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.
Tuesday
How some have lost their way
Who knew back then, Innit?
Friday
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."
Wednesday
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.
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.
Friday
Tuesday
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?
Friday
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?
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.
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.
Thursday
Derivative
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 ♥ America
Once, while stumbling along on the Clapham High Street, London, England at 3 AM, after imbibing a few cans of White Ace - 59p at Tescos - I noticed I was being followed by a questionable-looking miscreant. I slowed and then stopped quickly, wheeling around to confront him with my best intimidating stance. Slowly noticing I was now standing not far from him, he brought himself to a swaying stop and managed to bawl and yelp, "Oi Chink(1), come over ‘ere and suck me cock."
I covered myself in sick.
I reckon he was altogether put off with the idea of irrumating me after that and staggered away like he had just shit himself. And he probably had.
A few months later, in Boston, Massachusetts, US of A, I found myself negotiating the bank of the Charles after one-too-many Pabst Blue Ribbon Tall Boys - $1 at Sidebar on Bromfield Street - I espied a slimy Masshole following me, apparently. I stopped and turned to face the Yankee fucker. He stopped as well and mangling the Queen’s with that vile, atrocious accent of theirs, grunted, "Hey pretty girl, come ovah heah and suck my cock."
Now that's nice, 'pretty girl'? What girl doesn't like being called pretty? I, of course, smiled and proceeded to oblige.
He covered himself in sick.
What’s not to love about America? The cunts can’t hold their liquor, but at least they sure know how to treat a lady!
(1) I am not Chinese. I am Burmese.
I covered myself in sick.
I reckon he was altogether put off with the idea of irrumating me after that and staggered away like he had just shit himself. And he probably had.
A few months later, in Boston, Massachusetts, US of A, I found myself negotiating the bank of the Charles after one-too-many Pabst Blue Ribbon Tall Boys - $1 at Sidebar on Bromfield Street - I espied a slimy Masshole following me, apparently. I stopped and turned to face the Yankee fucker. He stopped as well and mangling the Queen’s with that vile, atrocious accent of theirs, grunted, "Hey pretty girl, come ovah heah and suck my cock."
Now that's nice, 'pretty girl'? What girl doesn't like being called pretty? I, of course, smiled and proceeded to oblige.
He covered himself in sick.
What’s not to love about America? The cunts can’t hold their liquor, but at least they sure know how to treat a lady!
(1) I am not Chinese. I am Burmese.
My Computer Is Sad
There is no theoretical reason why a ‘machine’ system couldn't develop consciousness. Whether it would be practical or not is another matter. You can only seriously believe ‘machine consciousness’ is theoretically impossible if you think there is something magical about neural systems that repudiates the laws of physics - or if you're a Cartesian dualist. All the scientific evidence suggests that this is not the case. There is nothing, however, preventing one from placing ill-considered confidence in Cartesian dualism excepting possibly one's possession of robust qualia and the skeleton key to Mary’s Room.
"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I've watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.
Time to die."
"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I've watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.
Time to die."
Jutes Can Fuck Off!
Vagina Dentata said...
Those filthy Swedes of IKEA offer meatballs(1) in their UK outlets? All we get in The Canadas are:
RIKTIG ÖGLA - an adult intimacy aid.
And.....
FYRKANTIG - something on which to gnaw while engaging a RIKTIG ÖGLA, vigorously.
(1) Swedish Meatballs? That reminds me of a conversation I had with a geography-challenged Canuck-fuck who, not surprisingly, traced her ancestry back to Engerland.
Her: "Is Greece in Sweden?"
Me: "Yes. Souvlaki is just Swedish meatballs on a stick."
The poor dolt was also unaware that Ireland was an island. I didn't have the heart to tell her that there are actually two Irelands; Northern Ireland and Real Ireland.
Some Cunt said...
VD, may I suggest that the Canoook of supposed Engerlander ancestry may actually have been of Jutish ancestry. It seems that Jutish sperm is in demand in those Sceptic Isles. Apparently the Jutes are good looking and dependable. Now I've been knocking out blond, blue eyed brats for four decades and I only learn now that I could have been paid for my 'spasms'. Unfortunately for the women involved, and unlike the Jutes, I'm not very dependable. Check out the following link and weep.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2667262/Why-British-women-giving-birth-Viking-babies-conceived-Danish-donors.html.
Vagina Dentata said...
".....'spasms'....." ????
You mean pushy, pushy, grunt, snore?
Or perhaps as a potential blonde, blue-eyed brat progenitor: pully, pully, grunt, snore?
British women have no taste. Now leave me be or I'll go all Rorke's Drift with an Ulfberht on your sorry Jutish arse.
Wanker!
Some Cunt said...
Leave you be? Perhaps in the next life.
Vagina Dentata said...
It is through your egotism and earthly desire that you have created the causes for your incessant future becomings, or Samsara. You'll be plagued by cycles of rebirth and redeath.
By virtue of my dutiful and life-long ascetic practices, I have finally attained sanctity and liberation, or Moksha. I will be free of this cycle upon my next death. There is no next life for me. So, I think it best you go for it now.
Innit?
Some Cunt said...
Pray tell where is the empirical evidence for your esoteric and mystical philosophy? ‘Show me the data, show me the data’.
Belief in an after life is nothing new, of course. Man has always yearned for rewards in another life because the corporeal one is so hard. But belief, in anything, doesn't necessary make it so. How can consciousness survive the death of the brain? Now there is a conundrum. Socrates himself postulated oblivion when we die. How can a dreamless sleep be bad? However, it is clear that the Platonic Socrates did actually believe in an afterlife where he could dispute for an eternity. His reasoning for the existence of an after life is not very convincing, at least to the modern mind.
On an unrelated topic. I have been known to produce ‘seed’ at work. This was at the behest of the boss and strictly directed at developing new protocols.
Therefore, if I'm not mistaken, this makes me a professional wanker. A word to those who would like to follow me in my sticky footsteps. Do not forgo the use of a wide necked vessel. It saves on the floor cleaning, innit.
Vagina Dentata said...
The Platonic Socrates?
Meh! He was a tosser.
Now the Socratic Plato, well, there's a manly man. He knew Greece was not in Sweden and didn't care if Ireland was an island or not. I mean, it's bloody Ireland for christ's sake - the autochthones there were still swinging in the trees, evolutionarily speaking, at that time!
And as far as dreamless sleep goes, it can be really bad. If after a two-day bender consuming buckets of TESCO cider one has neglected to re-balance one's electrolytes prior to the inevitable crash-communing with Morpheus, one's precipitous depletion of potassium ions gonna gets youse some wicked crus and thigh cramps.
As for your precious data, vis a vis cycles of rebirth and redeath, how's this:
http://keeppy.com/attachment.php?id=15656
Innit?
Those filthy Swedes of IKEA offer meatballs(1) in their UK outlets? All we get in The Canadas are:
RIKTIG ÖGLA - an adult intimacy aid.
And.....
FYRKANTIG - something on which to gnaw while engaging a RIKTIG ÖGLA, vigorously.
(1) Swedish Meatballs? That reminds me of a conversation I had with a geography-challenged Canuck-fuck who, not surprisingly, traced her ancestry back to Engerland.
Her: "Is Greece in Sweden?"
Me: "Yes. Souvlaki is just Swedish meatballs on a stick."
The poor dolt was also unaware that Ireland was an island. I didn't have the heart to tell her that there are actually two Irelands; Northern Ireland and Real Ireland.
Some Cunt said...
VD, may I suggest that the Canoook of supposed Engerlander ancestry may actually have been of Jutish ancestry. It seems that Jutish sperm is in demand in those Sceptic Isles. Apparently the Jutes are good looking and dependable. Now I've been knocking out blond, blue eyed brats for four decades and I only learn now that I could have been paid for my 'spasms'. Unfortunately for the women involved, and unlike the Jutes, I'm not very dependable. Check out the following link and weep.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2667262/Why-British-women-giving-birth-Viking-babies-conceived-Danish-donors.html.
Vagina Dentata said...
".....'spasms'....." ????
You mean pushy, pushy, grunt, snore?
Or perhaps as a potential blonde, blue-eyed brat progenitor: pully, pully, grunt, snore?
British women have no taste. Now leave me be or I'll go all Rorke's Drift with an Ulfberht on your sorry Jutish arse.
Wanker!
Some Cunt said...
Leave you be? Perhaps in the next life.
Vagina Dentata said...
It is through your egotism and earthly desire that you have created the causes for your incessant future becomings, or Samsara. You'll be plagued by cycles of rebirth and redeath.
By virtue of my dutiful and life-long ascetic practices, I have finally attained sanctity and liberation, or Moksha. I will be free of this cycle upon my next death. There is no next life for me. So, I think it best you go for it now.
Innit?
Some Cunt said...
Pray tell where is the empirical evidence for your esoteric and mystical philosophy? ‘Show me the data, show me the data’.
Belief in an after life is nothing new, of course. Man has always yearned for rewards in another life because the corporeal one is so hard. But belief, in anything, doesn't necessary make it so. How can consciousness survive the death of the brain? Now there is a conundrum. Socrates himself postulated oblivion when we die. How can a dreamless sleep be bad? However, it is clear that the Platonic Socrates did actually believe in an afterlife where he could dispute for an eternity. His reasoning for the existence of an after life is not very convincing, at least to the modern mind.
On an unrelated topic. I have been known to produce ‘seed’ at work. This was at the behest of the boss and strictly directed at developing new protocols.
Therefore, if I'm not mistaken, this makes me a professional wanker. A word to those who would like to follow me in my sticky footsteps. Do not forgo the use of a wide necked vessel. It saves on the floor cleaning, innit.
Vagina Dentata said...
The Platonic Socrates?
Meh! He was a tosser.
Now the Socratic Plato, well, there's a manly man. He knew Greece was not in Sweden and didn't care if Ireland was an island or not. I mean, it's bloody Ireland for christ's sake - the autochthones there were still swinging in the trees, evolutionarily speaking, at that time!
And as far as dreamless sleep goes, it can be really bad. If after a two-day bender consuming buckets of TESCO cider one has neglected to re-balance one's electrolytes prior to the inevitable crash-communing with Morpheus, one's precipitous depletion of potassium ions gonna gets youse some wicked crus and thigh cramps.
As for your precious data, vis a vis cycles of rebirth and redeath, how's this:
http://keeppy.com/attachment.php?id=15656
Innit?