A good headline for an article about poisonous soup would be “From the ladle to the grave.”
Incidentally, what the hell is going on with me and puns today? Maybe this is some reaction to going freelance. Some kind of final pun flurry before my brain accepts that I no longer have to write headlines? Or maybe I’m actually slowly losing my mind?
Here’s the first seven minutes of my interview yesterday on the Diana Falzone show on Paltalk. A word of warning, don’t turn the volume up all the way at the beginning when it starts playing and you don’t hear anything because suddenly the music will start and it will blow your eardrums out your ears and they will splatter on the walls and then you will have no eardrums and without eardrums you [pause while I figure out what exactly will happen]
Without eardrums, you will have no rhythm section inside your ears.
Also, as the music came on, Diana said “I like to dance to the music” and you can see for a split second I kind of considered it and then thought better of it, my moves being so good that I would probably make her look bad in comparison which isn’t really a nice thing to do. It is her show, after all.
And special note to ToddRod: Yes, I am wearing The Shirt. But I’d only worn it twice on TV prior to this. (Once on Red Eye and once on F&F.)
I would draw one of two pieces of clothing on a clothesline. One would be somehow chatting up the other and would be saying, “What do you say we take this off-line?”
But that wouldn’t be the end of my clothesline cartoon oeuvre. On the contrary, it’d be just the beginning!
I’d also draw one of some kind of clearly inebriated garment on a clothesline. You know, like a drunk jacket, let’s say. Or a wasted t-shirt. Or a pair of blotto bloomers. Or a three sheets to the wind shift dress. Or hammered hemp skirt. Or a borracho sombrero. Or some knackered knickers! Maybe not the sombrero! And the person hanging this drunk garment on the clothesline would be saying “you need to dry out.”
But see, this is why I don’t draw cartoons for The New Yorker.
Bill Schulz could draw cartoons for The New Yorker if they needed doodles of two pigs in the throes of non-consensual lovemaking. It’s his signature doodle and you won’t find a better representation of said scene on the Eastern Seaboard.
look at all the newish and improved content! what’s that you say? you don’t see it yet? patience, my little soft tacos.
I actually heard someone on TV say this while discussing whether women should go sleeveless to somber events. There are a lot of things I could say about this, none of which I have time to say right now. I’m sorry. I’m giving you blue blog.
Remember when I gave up my Valentine’s Day plans to spend Red Eye with you? No? Well anyway, here’s an older one.
Last weekend I went out to dinner with a group of five girls and as is inevitable when you’re dealing with those numbers, a camera was whipped out and everyone grouped together for a photo and instantly each girl pivoted and then jutted out a hip and bent a leg and then it came around to me, on the end, and I kind of thrust my mid-section toward the camera and then arched my back and then that felt wrong so I tried to pivot and undulate in another direction, as if negotiating an invisible limbo stick, and then I just gave up and smiled while my arms hung limply at my sides and my body was inclined in whatever direction is the least flattering.
You see, tragically, I never learned to pose. Somewhere I made it to the ripe old age of [but age is really just a number, now isn’t it] without learning how to do that hip-jutting leg lifted hand-on-hip thing that every other woman who wants to appear svelte and sassy learned. It’s as if I’ve never been to a bachelorette or grad night party! Am I not saucy?
So I repaired to the mirror and parked it there until I could figure out how to do it. I think I may have thrown my back out and at times I looked like a reject from a Fosse production, but should a red carpet unroll in front of me, or five girls and a camera, I’m ready.
The last time I spent that much time in front of a mirror trying to teach myself how to do something was when I was determined to learn how to raise one eyebrow. It’s one of my signature awesome-yet-weird things I can do with my body. I can also wiggle my ears. And I have a very squishy nose. Okay, those might be the only awesome-yet-weird things I can do.
Oh, duh, I can make myself burp! Took me till I got to college to find someone willing to really spend the time to show me how. Other people were always like “oh it’s easy, just swallow some air and then do this [burping]” but it’s really not that simple at all.
Also, I forgot to watch or record Hell’s Kitchen last night. I’m very very upset with myself about this.
Go here to watch tomorrow. http://www.paltalk.com/dianafalzone/
We’re going to be talking about dating and relationship stuff.
Then we’re going to make out with each other and give away a car!*
*It’s possible I’m making that up.
First I flip through “for pleasure” but don’t actually read any of the features. Then I go to the obits to make sure no one I knew or who was young died. Then I glance at the births to see if anyone I know had a kid and to make sure lots of people younger than I am aren’t popping out babies because if they are, there might be something wrong with me. Then I start looking at the alumni notes beginning with about ’85, I’m not sure why. I scan to see if anyone I know is doing anything interesting. Then I make sure no one younger than I am has published a book. Then I look at the photos to see if anyone I know has gone hiking, gotten married or visited the campus (photos are always only of these things). Then I think about emailing or calling classmates to ask them if they saw that so-and-so did this or that, but I don’t actually do this. This whole project eats up somewhere between six and eleven minutes.