Journals of Lord Malinov

the poetry of madness

difference

I sang again last night.  I began gently with "the future's uncertain and the end is always near" and then took a shot with "read your mind."  I was really able to let loose with Gordon's tune.  I gave a shot at some energized Queen, but quickly struggled with trying to raise my levels for the moment.  Singing has many tricky sides.  I will continue to explore.

As the hours waned and the comfy chairs threatened our consciousness, I stood and danced to some funky groove - between karaoke rejuvinators - as Cats gazed salaciously.  Deciding that further declines would circumvent any anticipated sins of the flesh, we settled with the barkeeps - two lovely ladies - and made our way out of the basement bar.  Reaching the top of the stairs, pelted with a chorus of good-nights, the serving wenches (pardon the negative connotations - I'm just trying to keep the language from getting dull) joined together in insisting that I dance for them as well, not only for "her."  Arms around each other, the foursome of excessive breasts left me little choice but to agree to some future performance.

How many thought that Gaston was a damn fool, chasing Belle when the local busty aprons swooned?  Fairy tale, I think it is called.  He said it was because she was the most beautiful.  I think the question required further investigation and consideration. 

Belle gave the Beast a chance, but she didn't give Gaston the same chance.   Perhaps Gaston was a beautiful prince with a slightly more subtle curse on him.  Maybe Belle could have saved him, as well. 

Maybe Belle should stop reading the same book over and over and read one of the other books.

Give me Jasmine any time.

Oh, yeah.  I have a friend with a sexy mama (dude, that's my mom) - even wilder since he's a grown man and so she's a perpetually sexy mama - theat most luscious of legendary womenfolk types.  Some time ago, Sexy Mama married a preacherman.  They have a nice house and that's about all I know.  My friend says, "my mama and the preacherman went to Shreveport.  Guess how much they won."

"A thousand would be impressive."

"For me, a thousand would be impressive.  What would you call one hundred, seventy two thousand."

The preacherman had $100 and played the slots.  He was almost through the coins when he won $21,000.  Then he dropped a few more coins and won another $151,000.

"We need to go to his church.  Either God really digs him or the Devil is trying to tempt him.  Either way, I want to stand by him when I gamble."

Is luck transferrable?  What kind of experiments do we need to measure this idea?

M

posted by: Malinov at 10:52 | link | comments (4) |
tales of passing time

Comments:

#1  23 January 2006 - 10:45

 

You built a waterbed?

Your talents are many....

solyluna

#2  23 January 2006 - 11:29

 

having assembled and reassembled my long-lost waterbed many hundreds of times, I had a pretty good notion of the basic structure

but my talents in making a waterbed are nothing compared to my talents in using a waterbed . . .

M

Malinov

#3  23 January 2006 - 18:25

 

I've been told that I'm a good luck charm.

Vegas?

solyluna

#4  24 January 2006 - 06:44

 

See you there, lady luck ;)

Malinov

Comments: