Friday, August 31, 2012
Just listen to this!
I've always loved this song since I heard Walter Brennan sing it eons ago. I love how the crowd hoots and hollers their approval. I'm far from a country fan but once in a while there's an exception (like Marty Robbins singing "Devil Woman": but that's for another day).
Thursday, August 30, 2012
This could be the start of something big
Just this. . . the merest hint of something I'm working on now. I haven't forgotten you, Harold! I've just been in mourning over the complete lack of interest I've had from publishers for my novel about your life, The Glass Character. But this experience far exceeds the success or failure of a mere book. It will live in Greatness.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Gummi Baby: unliving or undead?
I admit I tend to harp on one subject until I can't stand it any more. It's part of my relentless nature and necessary for surviving all my self-generated difficulties.
But these! These things, these "reborns" (sometimes called "unborn" or even "unliving") got me onto the subject of "the undead", though not in the usual zombie sense of people staggering around with raggy clothes and painted faces.
I am drawn to this subject, and yet repelled. Yes, sometimes I wish I could hold a baby again. Hell, ALL the time! My grandchildren are my life now, I'd be bored and/or dead of despair by now without them, but my eldest granddaughter is turning NINE on October 31.
I was there in the delivery room when she was born, an amazing experience that can never be exceeded in power and wonder and love. But it will never happen again. In a sense, it was the very peak of my life, but of course I didn't know it.
My first novel had just been published, I was the thinnest I'd been in many years, and people kept asking me, "What have you been doing? You look ten years younger!"
Never mind the rest of the story, but let's say I'm lucky to be alive now, if very fat, and much, much older, most of my dreams sadly packed away.
But these babies! I can see how someone, stricken with grief, might latch on to one of them. They don't poop, never cry (though as the info below explains, some of them "coo" and make baby noises when you throw a switch somewhere). Some are heated and/or even appear to breathe and have a heartbeat.
The newest category, and one I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around, is "full-body silicone babies". These are molded out of that rubbery stuff you make sex toys out of (not that I'd know anything about THAT), not to mention fake breasts and full-size sex dolls. It's hard for me to get a bead on what the exact difference is between these and conventional vinyl Reborns. I know that the original reborns were baked in the oven, and I don't think you'd do that to silicone unless you wanted a big puddle. The artists who make the Reborns don't say much about the silicones (which I suspect are a new thing that's catching on now) except to be defensive and rather negative. I suppose they're poured into a mold of some sort, but it's hard for me to grasp how you'd make that mold. I have horrible visions of newborn babies being encased in plaster of Paris.
One traditional Reborn site said that "silicones" have the squishy texture and cold feel of a Gummi Bear. The real plus however is that you don't have to look at that awful cloth body when you change them. I always hated that about dolls: it interfered with any feeling that I was handling a real baby. Plus you can bathe them and make their little arms wave around and splash in the water cuz they're so rubbery.
I HAVE to get off this, I know, but I'm stuck in it now and feel like I'm walking around in the Ninth Circle of Hell. So, more knowledge from Wikipedia:
Supplies
Starter kits are equipped with basic reborning necessities such as limbs, faces, heads, paint brushes, eyelashes, weighting pellets, genesis 'heat set' paints, cloth bodies, cable ties, nose drill bits, fake tears, thinning shears, cosmetic foam wedges, cotton dipped applicators, and glue. Genesis 'heat set' paints are an odorless, non-toxic paint that dries when the artist chooses by applying heat. The nose drill bits are used for creating and perfecting the nostrils of the doll. Acetone or a paint thinner medium is needed for removing the factory paint from the doll. Hair is an optional choice to add to a doll. Fine mohair, human hair, or wigs are usually used, but it is found in a variety of types. Rooting tools are utilized for this process and are available in numerous sizes 20,36,38, 40, and 42. The smaller the number the thicker the needle which will grab more hair and leave a bigger hole in the head of the doll. Eyes for a reborn doll are offered in a variety of brands and sizes.[6]Process
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Vinyl doll kit shown side by side (unpainted parts & painted "reborn" doll). The doll has a "chest/belly plate".
The outer layer of the vinyl doll is given its skin tone by adding dozens of layers of flesh colored paint. If heat set paints are used, the doll parts must be heat set by baking them inside an oven or by using a heatgun after each layer of paint is applied. Lighter skin tone dolls can take 15 to 30 layers. The effects of the blue color wash combined with the outside layers of paint creates the appearance of veins, and gives the doll its newborn mottled look.
Manicured nails and opening of the nose holes are other details that are added during this process. The next step is to apply hair. The hair can either done in one of two ways; wigging or microrooting. When microrooting, hair is added strand by strand. This can take up to 30 or more hours per head. Once the hair is finished, the original vinyl body is weighted with a soft stuffed body filled with pellets. The weight corresponds with its age to achieve a real effect.
Various additions also can be added to give the doll an even more life like appearance. Reborns heads are often weighted, so that owners have to support the head like one would a real newborn. Purchasers can have magnets attached inside the mouth or head for attaching a pacifier or hair bows. Electronic devices that mimic a heart beat, or make the chest rise and fall to simulate breathing are common. Reborns can come with an umbilical cord, baby fat, heat packs to make the reborn warm to the touch, or voice boxes that mimic infant sounds. For preemie dolls, they may come in incubators with a breathing apparatus attached to their nose.
(Emphasis mine.) If you found one of these lying in a crib, motionless, not breathing (unless it had one of those pump thingies installed inside it), wouldn't you think you had a dead baby on your hands? If this thing is really as rubbery as they say it is, wouldn't picking it up be like scooping up a giant jellyfish?
I think technology has gone too far, both in filling gaping needs with inanimate objects, and in preventing those needs from really being filled because there are such satisfying and manageable substitutes available on eBay. Ones you can buy and sell, not bother to feed or change, and toss in the closet when you get tired of them.
What mother was ever so richly blessed?
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book
It took me years to write, will you take a look
Order The Glass Character from:
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001K7NGDA
Barnes & Noble
Thistledown Press
Monday, August 27, 2012
The Resurrection of Peter
“Emma. Hi,
Emma! Haven’t seen you in a long time!” Gretel was wearing the strangest
outfit, bright paisley like she’d never worn, a sort of muumuu, with a straw
tote bag.
“Hi, Gretel. I
think.”
“Oh, it’s me
all right. This is just my New Look.”
It’s hardly a
look at all, thought Emma, wondering whatever happened to the Old Look, and
what made her change it.
“You look the
same,” Gretel said in a flat tone. Looking the same wasn’t quite “it”, she
supposed.
“Haven’t
gotten my instructions in the mail yet,” Emma said, trying to be ironic.
“Oh, that’s so
funny! You’re such a funny person! Well, goodbye then!”
“Wait, Gretel.
I need to ask you something.”
“You know,
Peter. . . “
“Yes, Peter.”
They had both known Peter. His sudden death had been a wrench, for both of them
she thought, but now she wasn’t so sure.
“Ever since he
passed, you know. . . “
“Passed?” She began to titter. “Was he in school
or something?”
“No! Don’t you
remember? When he. . .”
The ultimate
vacation, Emma thought.
“Look, I mean
when he died.”
“Died?”
“Died.”
“Died?”
“For God’s
sake, Gretel! You know what I’m talking about.”
“Oh, that.”
She fumbled around in her straw bag for a minute. “I thought you’d heard about
it.”
“Heard what?”
“He’s back
alive again.”
Stunned
silence. A sick feeling gathered in her stomach.
“Back alive
again?”
“Of course.
Haven’t you seen him? He’s walking around.”
“How, by
remote control?” Her sarcasm seemed to be flying over Greta’s pointed little
head.
“Sort of, but
it’s better than that. He can go under his own steam by now.”
“But he’s dead!”
“Sort of. But
not really. You can get renewed now, sort of like a library book. You must know that by now."
She stood
there stunned, things whirling around, as Gretel just walked away without even saying
goodbye.
She started to
comprehend then why everything was different, why she was sort of seeing through some people, mostly really
old people, but some of them children. They had a strange sort of translucent
quality, but they were still walking around.
And they
always seemed happy. Emma thought about Bible study a million years ago, before
the Bible was universally banned, and how Jesus had raised Lazarus from the
dead. She had always wondered if Lazarus really wanted to be raised, his body
half-rotted. Would he have a new body, somehow, or walk around like that
forever?
But then that
meant she could find Peter!
Peter wasn’t
her lover, never had been, but he had been there during the blackest, the most
despairing time in her life. He would just show up at Starbucks with his
baseball cap and his smile, cheerful as Bugs Bunny. He was in worse shape than
she was, but they joked about it, guffawed about how awful life was.
“I heard about
a woman who committed suicide. But before she committed suicide she got out the
vacuum cleaner and cleaned her whole house top to bottom so it was absolutely spotless.
Then she hung herself.” They had both howled with laughter.
Then they just
lost touch. Like a sick cat, he had crawled under the house somewhere. She had
known he was deteriorating; one conversation they had wasn’t a conversation at
all, but a monologue on her part. He’d start to say something, then dry up
after a couple of words and look at her in bafflement.
What bothered
her was the fact that it didn’t bother him.
She kept
sending him emails long after she suspected he had passed (and NOT “in school”!).
She couldn’t help it. She’d think she saw him in a crowd. But it wasn’t him.
Because the emails didn’t bounce back to her, she assumed they were hitting the
target and he was just too busy to reply (knowing full well he had kicked the
bucket long ago).
Back alive
again. Strange things
had been happening lately. She had mentioned her grandfather to a friend of
hers, how difficult it had been for him to let go.
“Is he still
dead?” the friend asked.
Would she see
Peter again? A wild stab of hope made her heart beat faster.
She became aware of how the light went right through people, and began to count them. It was an
awful lot. She wondered just what had happened to everyone. Back alive
again? Is he still dead? Did you will this, wish it, or did someone impose
it on you like poor Lazarus wrapped in his rotten gravecloths?
It was too
much to hope for, but in her next turn of mind, when she did not pass Go but
began in the middle again, she saw him. She saw a ball cap bouncing up and down
the street first, then a smile.
Then they were
sitting in Starbucks, but she noticed he was sitting two inches above the
chair. He didn’t seem to really drink the coffee, but the eyes were the same.
“So, Peter. I
hear you’re back alive again.”
“It would seem
to be so.”
“How does that
happen?”
“I don’t know
that, any more than cells know how to multiply or the earth knows how to turn.”
“But is it. .
. beyond your will or something?”
"This is a place beyond will."
"This is a place beyond will."
"Her head was whirling. She hated the idea of not being able to die. Death was one of the things she looked forward to the most.
“Peter, I’m
sorry, but it sounds as if you’re a fucking zombie or something. The Undead.”
“Hey, I like
that! Undead, but not really alive.”
“Look, Peter,
there are only TWO states: dead and alive! Which one are you?”
“No. There is
the dream state. There is the hypnotic state. There is the hypnogogic state.
There is the catatonic state. There is the trance state. There is the
transcendent state. There is the resurrected state. I could go on and on.”
“But those are
only in your mind, Peter.”
“Tell me this.”
He leaned forward and looked at her with his old intensity, and for one moment
she really believed this was Peter. “If I were just a body, I mean lying over
there with my heart beating but no consciousness, would that be ‘me’?”
“I don’t. . .
“
“So what is it
that makes me me?”
“I don’t know,
your brain?”
“The brain is
just half a pound of juice with some wires running through it. Dissect it, and
you see some curls and buds and bulges like normal internal organs. There’s nothing there.”
“So where. . .
“
“Ah. You’re
about to ask me where Consciousness resides.”
“I guess so.
Peter, why aren’t you drinking your coffee?”
"I've evolved beyond coffee, I guess." He chuckled to himself.
"I've evolved beyond coffee, I guess." He chuckled to himself.
“You’re not
alive. Get away from me! You’re not really Peter. Are you a ghost?”
"Beyond ghost. We've been refined. We don't have to go around haunting old buildings and Civil War battle sites any more."
"Beyond ghost. We've been refined. We don't have to go around haunting old buildings and Civil War battle sites any more."
“But who DOES
this? It has to come from somewhere!”
“Haven’t you
noticed you don’t have any privacy any more?”
“Oh, Jesus,
Peter.”
“Oh, so you’re
saying your Smart Phone turned you into a ghost.”
“Everything is
changed, changed utterly.”
“So what if it
all just shuts down, the power grid and that?”
“Yes! Smart
girl. THAT is what it is all about.”
“What?”
"Bodies that need no sustenance when the Time comes. That time when the whole ecosystem collapses, gives way in a great Biblical flood and rips apart the rest of the world with an all-consuming fire."
"Bodies that need no sustenance when the Time comes. That time when the whole ecosystem collapses, gives way in a great Biblical flood and rips apart the rest of the world with an all-consuming fire."
“You’re
scaring me.”
“Of course.
But I never knew that. . . “
“Now we can
live under any conditions.”
“You must be
dead, Peter. You MUST be.”
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Is Baby "alive"?
(Blogger's note. I did not write this. I swear. Yes, I know I have a morbid imagination and, yes, a melancholy turn of mind. But this is beyond even me. This is fact. This is taken from the internet, so it Must Be True. Hunker down, now, it gets bad.)
Instructions
How do I Troubleshoot a Baby Alive Doll That Won't Eat?
How to Insert Eyes into your Reborn Doll
I will do my best to explain to you how to insert your Reborn Baby dolls eyes the correct way.
I will do my best to explain to you how to insert your Reborn Baby dolls eyes the correct way.
Things You'll Need
Eyes
Doll
Aleene's Original Tacky Glue or E-6000
- After heating your Reborn baby doll in a oven at 265 degrees for 8 minutes (using a oven thermometer is always suggested ) your vinyl doll will be easier to work with. Working with your hand on the head squeeze the face and look inside the head. This will push the eye sockets out to you. Carefully cut the eye caps made of vinal in the shape of the eye. You will then be left with a hole where the eye should be.
- Take you eye balls, I know that sounds weird, but you can order any style glass, plastic, any color I usually order from Secrist or Bountiful Baby's. Anyway make only a slight rim of glue around the outer edge of the eyeball. Using either Aleenes Original Tacky Glue or e-6000 I like them both and cannot pick a favorite, actually I use them both. As I will explain. Let the glue dry for approximately 5 minutes. If not when you place it in the socket it will be sliding around. When 5 minutes is up place the eye in the socket. With the face facing you find the correction position for the eye. Hold it tight with your finger for approximately 5 minutes. If this is the position you want place a heavy item, I use a heavy wrench into the dolls head resting on the eye ball. Let it dry.
- Continue with the second eye following the same instructions. When this has dries I take the Tacky glue and over flow it on the eyeballs from inside the head. Turn your doll facing you if any glue is seeping through take a toothpick and remove excess glue. Let dry and your eyes are set.
The Baby Alive doll, made by Hasbro, simulates functions of a real baby such as eating, crying and going to the bathroom. This provides a way for children to learn about personal care. The Baby Alive doll requires four AA batteries to operate successfully. If your doll stops eating, you can try figuring out what's wrong and
fixing it.
fixing it.
Things You'll Need
- 4 AA batteries
- Baby Alive Owner's Manual booklet
- Phillips head screwdriver
Instructions
Reference your Baby Alive owner's manual. This includes instructions on how to change the batteries as well as other tips.
Give the doll a drink. Place the power switch in the "On" position. Fill the bottle provided with the doll with regular tap water. After each feeding, you must give the doll a bottle to ensure that the food will not get lodged in the doll.
Clean out your doll. Feed several bottles of tap water to the doll while holding it over your sink. Tilt the bottles from side to side when you give them to the doll to get food out of the corners.
Replace the batteries. Turn the power to the "Off" position. Unscrew the battery cover with a small Phillips head screwdriver. Remove the batteries and dispose of them properly. Add four new AA batteries to the compartment and replace the cover. Place the power in the "On" position to test the doll again.
Contact Hasbro if you still cannot get your doll to eat. The company will be able to help you in determining if you product is faulty or assist you in purchasing a new one.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Fifty shades of black (a story of bondage)
She knew this was the last chance she was going to get to
visit her favourite spot. Already leaves were curling under her feet, evening
brought on a hint of frost, and she had put on the usual five or six pounds
around her hips, a layer of bear-fat for the coming winter.
This special place of hers was called Burnish
Lake Burnish
Lake
It was really just a big pond, and this dock – it was more
of a boardwalk, really – went on forever. Besides the ducks, all there was to
see around here were water lilies. She could imagine how the frogs must sound
after dark.
The child in her came out when she saw those ducks, and she
wished she had bread with her, knowing full well that feeding ducks made about
as much sense as feeding bears (which she had done once. Cheesies, which the
big guy had really relished, until he grabbed the plastic bag out of her hands and ate the whole thing.) Then they would truly swarm, revealing the rather
nasty side of ducks and of birds in general, just dinosaurs reborn with all
their primitive saurian instincts intact.
They were mostly female mallards, she guessed, with a few
half-grown babies – juveniles – but no drakes. She looked and looked for the
gorgeous iridescent green heads, but did not see one. What, no sultans to keep
the harem in order? Guess not. She threw a few stones at them, meanly, watching
them “waaak” and scatter.
She had her reasons to be mean, and her reasons for wanting
to come out here alone and get some fresh air. She hadn’t had fresh air in a
while. It hadn’t been her idea to go to the hospital, and in fact most of the
time she felt just fine. Better than fine! She was exhilarated, and people were
telling her things like, “You look ten years younger. What have you been
doing?”
Yes. She felt special, more special than she had ever felt
before. She wasn’t really going to act on those feelings, was she? But Burt
thought she might.
When you’re in a certain state, you don’t know what effect
you’re having on others. You’re oblivious. So even though she stepped on every
sentence to the point that no one was willing to talk to her, even though she
slept barely two hours a night, even though she had lost fifteen pounds (good!),
even though she was one step away from sending out the mass email that
would change everything (or was it Facebook?) – she didn’t think they needed to
take that kind of drastic measure.
Something wonderful has happened, the email would
begin, and I wanted to share it with all my closest and dearest friends. I
have received some information recently that is very special, and very
exciting. I have suspected this about myself for a very long time, but now it
has been confirmed by a Higher Source. I have been granted the ability to
That was as far as she got. So what the hell was wrong with that?
Or of thinking she saw Moses one day in the liquor store? If you think he’s
Moses, he IS Moses, her writer friend said to her the other day. She
wanted to see Moses again, to talk to him, to ask him just how he got that
water out of the rock.
Burt kept saying she wouldn’t let him talk, that he couldn’t
even get a word in, and that was ridiculous. Burt kept saying she was being
abusive, that she was acting like a bitch, but didn’t she have it coming with
all the rotten things that had happened to her as a child? Probably. But it
bothered Burt to be called a cocksucking fuck-face in front of people.
So it was the hospital for a while, again, and
medication, again, and more psychiatrists to beguile. She had been
seducing psychiatrists (verbally, of course) since the age of fifteen, so she was awfully good at it
by now. Most of their patients were so dull, she supposed, that her clever
banter and sparkling irony must have been downright stimulating, if in
a rather embarrassing way.
She hated to leave those ducks, but she had to go to the
bathroom. She noticed there was nobody else around, just nobody, and thought it
was odd. Then she remembered the dates
on the sign. She was the very last
visitor to Burnish Lake
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She hated the bathroom here, so primitive, almost a privy.
It was just a big plywood box with hardly any light, only a useless burnt-out bulb, and no windows. Just a slot for ventilation, up too high to be
of any use. She used the smelly toilet, noticed there was no sink but only hand-sanitizer. Disgusted, she squirted some on her hands and rubbed it in.
Was that why the sliding bolt lock wouldn’t move, because her
hands were so slippery?
Then she remembered there
was a much larger sliding bolt on the outside of the door, for when they locked
everything up for the winter. To keep
out homeless people or whatever. But this was the inside lock, stuck. She wiggled it gently, then a little harder, then
wiggled it some more.
Panic began to rise in her. Her worst fear, worse than
falling or being raped or even of dying, was of being trapped, locked inside an unfamiliar
building or unable to get out of some suffocating place. The worst feeling she
had in the hospital was the sound of a big heavy institutional door clanging
shut behind her. It seemed to happen every time.
She wiggled some more. Banged. Then shouted. Then shouted
some more. But then she remembered that no one was there.
She screamed and screamed. Her throat began to grow raw. And it was getting dark out. The little ventilation slot was greying now, and the whole stinking room was turning into a black box.
She screamed and screamed. Her throat began to grow raw. And it was getting dark out. The little ventilation slot was greying now, and the whole stinking room was turning into a black box.
She would die in here, alone, in a shithouse in the woods. They’d look for a
body for a while, then give up. What would they find in the spring? Then she realized that
by throwing herself so violently against the door, she had probably bent the bolt so badly that the lock was irrevocably jammed. Only a hammer or screwdriver would
get her out of here, and even if there were somebody around, how would they get
it to her?
It got dark so fast. She was tired. There was no air
in this place. Panic turned to despair. She was like one of those stupid hikers
who goes on a dangerous trail and doesn’t tell anyone. Who knew about Burnish
Lake
It had nothing to do with the poetic word “burnish” anyway,
but was the name of some hopelessly dull cocksucker of a statesman who’d been
dead 100 years. Nobody gave a fuck about him anyway.
She had to fall asleep eventually: her quota was four hours
at least, and she didn’t want to set herself back to her Healing the World
campaign, in which people from all over the globe would come to her so she
could lay her hands on them.
Bullshit thought, probably, but maybe not. She still didn’t
see what was so wrong with it. Lots of those East Indian women all wrapped up
in white gauze had people just flocking to them, and nobody said they
were crazy. She had stopped a few people on the street and started to explain
it to them, and they had pulled away, but weren’t most people full of it
anyway? The average IQ is 100, her writer friend said to her, and they both
laughed.
She had to sleep. She curled up on the dank floor, and all
the meds she was on eventually pulled her under.
At the very bottom of the murky tank of her sleep, footsteps
crunched on the grass outside, leaving deep imprints. Someone was humming to
himself. He was a little bit happy, mind, but a little bit sad, too. This was
always the final thing he did, the very last ritual before closing up for the
year.
There was a fiddly noise, a wiggling. A little bit stuck, it
was. He’d fix that. He gave it the special wiggle it needed to move. He had a
way with this lock.
There was a thin screech of metal on metal, then the
sure-handed slide and thunk of a bolt as it dropped into place. Satisfied, the
man turned his head and looked around the place one last time, then headed over
to his pickup.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Fatter 'n a hamster's ass!
I swear, this isn't as incoherent as it seems. It all ties in with the grand show of vintage cars I took in on Sunday, my favorites being those immense, bulbous tanks from the 1940s. There was something imposing - almost disturbing - about these things, a great upthrusting nose like the prow of a ship, giant (bosomy?) swellings at the front and a falling-off at the back so extreme that in some cases the rear tires were completely invisible. How these things navigated road-bumps without severe damage is beyond me.
I remembered this Popeye cartoon, one of the good old vintage ones from the '40s (which means, of course, that it has a mililtary flavor to it). The car in it is a splendid example of the 1940s tank. Most of all I remembered that exploding tire scene, was almost traumatized by it as a child, and now I see why. It seems to build and build, expand and expand until you know what's coming, a sort of screen-filling red-drenched orgasm that blows all the main characters into next Thursday. They blast through several billboards before colliding with a clothesline, leaving them all clad in someone else's underwear (Bluto in a frilly corset), adding to the bizarre erotic effect.
Sex in cartoons? Are you kidding? Not that Popeye squeezing his spinach-can until it spurted into his mouth had any sort of Freudian significance at all.
It was nice to find this dear old thing - strictly through a Google search, I never would have tracked it down any other way - because I've been obsessed with those bulbous, surreal '40s vehicles lately, particularly the custom-made ones that pushed all those features to a fetish-y extreme.
The kids could slide down this one, except their short pants might get caught on that pointy rear bumper. It's hard to see the rear tires, though they do just peep through seductively. A little trap-door thingie over the rear tire is also just visible. Else how'd you ever change the thing?
A lot of these extreme cars were custom-made by a guy named Westergard. I think I caught a glimpse of one of those cars once, and it was breathtaking, but didn't quite look real.
This is some sort of convertible, I guess, but I'd be too scared to get in it. It just looks intimidating.
Now we get to it. This car has a FAT ASS. It has haunches on it that are as cobby and waddly as a hamster's. It looks overweight. It looks like it has big overstuffed seed-pouches both fore and aft: a hamster squared!
Hamster!. . . Car!. . . Hamster!. . . Car!
Does this thing even HAVE rear tires? Does it just sort of drag itself around, creating horrendous sparks behind it and making an awful screeching noise? It seems to sit level on the ground, belly down, kind of like a. . .
Yes.
Would you call this a station wagon that's been left out in the sun too long? A pregnant trailer? What the fxx IS it? Like Popeye's tire, it looks as if it's about to explode from internal pressure.
Then again, maybe it's just a hamster on wheels.
Cars were more animal-like then, but this one seems so hunkered-down, so crouched. It would have to scuttle around on its belly like a badger. And the squinty little eyes on it: disturbing. It must have run, or no one would have gone to the trouble to have this Westergard guy build it for them. But it just looks so wide. How did you navigate turns in it? How could you see out of these tiny little window-slits? How much gas would it guzzle in a day?
I don't particularly trust hamsters at the wheel, but some of their antics are kind of amusing.
But just look at this majestic thing, jeez, it almost has a face on it, with a fierce toothy frown and great upjutting phallic nose. It's a straight-ahead sort of thing, a get-out-of-my-way car. Come to think of it, it seems like something from another planet. But breathtaking nonetheless.
Any resemblance to a hamster's ass is purely coincidental.
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book
Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001K7NGDA
Thistledown Press
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book
It took me years to write, will you take a look
Order The Glass Character from:
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001K7NGDA
Barnes & Noble
Thistledown Press
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