since you're a sucker for experimental weirdness, even perhaps carefully crafted homage to experimental weirdness, did you see beyond the black rainbow?

ooh. that's rich. thanks for the added context. any location for that article?

always jim mangrum and his boys from black oak.

ha! don' mine yore 'pinion. thank it's right fine. i'der suggest flirtin' with disaster as a companion piece to yore suggestions.

i too am/was hoping for a ben best return. unfortunately, the authority with which he delivered his lines were because of various lines he'd done prior, and thereby the cause of his absence in later seasons.

geisha boy

penguin classics is great for aurelius. if you like that, seneca's letters from a stoic sure sustains that sweet spot of looking forward without regret.

party tardy.
 
moon's day prior
 
watched sadie thompson. great comic performance until conversion from gloria swanson. just great stuff from barrymore and walsh, too.

no, no - it's a veiled, ethnic reference to a hockey penalty, which in the multiplicity of meaning can become a phrase indicating faux pas during fellatio. deep, ain't it?

it's its tits, isn't it?*

i read kirby as a kid via the marvel trade paperbacks from pocket books (fantastic four, the incredible hulk, captain america). the sheer locomotion that pushes the reader from frame, to frame, to exploded layout is something, for me, that permitted an immediate involvement (read: immersion) with the unconscious -…

this link has some other drawings of the science fiction land. imagine that this and doug henning's pile of crazy TM theme park had been built instead of, say, heritage USA. of course, in my named, possible timeline we, as a culture, may have missed jerry falwell shooting down a water slide in a suit, so clearly our…

the afterwords by mark evanier in each omnibus give excellent context about rickles and other zeitgeist inhabiting the Kirby world that wasn't natural Kirby.

details:

and here i thought we were gonna have a trip down memory lane with burn warehouse burn.

freya's day

re veep and dreyfus. yes, it's called billionairesss.

using the power of sophistry by way of a very limited public image due to forced concealment in room 237, i hereby declare that bowie's bratty young cousins nearabouts holloway tubestop barmy did dutifully release this article in 1983.

any of you read the new yorker article about the current rare bird egg thefts, focusing on the isle of rum? it somehow manages to be more depressing than the article in the june issue of national geographic about trapping songbirds for filthy lucre and sustenance, written by jonathan franzen.

good gawd! i loved my dad's three-wheeler. i chalked up many miles on that thing in the wilds of southern georgia. so dangerous. so fun. never wore a helmet. only smashed, didn't break, limbs; got a few muffler burns; and  disregarded pass/invitation to intercourse from a young gal who very probably turned out like…