Madame Mac Méod (future Mata Hari) éxécutant des danses brahmaniques dans la bibliothèque du Musée Guimet de Paris *13-3-1905

This is the behind-the-scenes account of the deeds of one Harvie Winestein, late of Hollywood, one among the many who shall be renamed maneless, though that thought trigger the hairs in your fundament. 

Man’s favorite sport, according to valedictorians, is knocking up the better half. Legend has it that Winestein proved this to the nth degree. But legends have a half life.  We now know less than we used to, and are forced to invoke fuzzy logic and high-school chemistry.

Setting out in the tub of our redemption to do the autobiography of this Harvie, also known as Shaggy Dog, and the Creature of the Black Habit, we met with a headwind to choke a horse. The best we could muster was to cover our asses as the ice closed in. 

When Harvie was casting for Been Her, he let out so much line that his leader got entangled, and the backup tripped on their shoelaces. 

His wife travelled with him to exotic locales to reenact scenes from the great books, according to the decision of the wise ones, western as well as eastern.

It was in the fall of the year that the Hairy Ainu abducted Saint Pocahontas, as she and her retinue made their way along the route now known as the Scallop’s Gonad. It was a major victory for the Ainu in their battle against Saint Peter, who had been sent by the devil to put a twist on things.

The victory celebrations went beyond the believable as you can imagine.

Xenomanes didn’t arrive until  festivities had petered out. There were few survivors. Their divergent versions of shed little light.

How Jimmy became the most popular boy in town

How the devil did Saul Paul get into the gospels? He showed his hand when he put away childish things. But except you become as little children, said the son of god, you shall not enter the kingdom of heaven.

Where there’s heaven, there’s hell. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Can you say exactly who you are?

Try to judge man as a hole. Not just what sticks up out of the ground. And judge woman as half and half. Not just what’s out of site. Nurse your wounds and doctor her figures. 

Wait. I thought I heard something. 

No, it was just a digger on the graveyard shift, whistling in the wind. 

Yes. I heard something.

No, it was just a worm turning the screw.

Odd jobs for your phonograph

In his grand tour to seek solace for what he deemed his preternatural itch, Panurge visited the spas of the world . Under the patronage of Pantagruel, his entourage comprised Xenomanes the navigator, Canute the archbishop of Cannes, Broomhilda the matriarch of Brest, Walloon of Bedford Stryversant the countdown of Monty Cristo, Jasper John the planter of seedy evacuations, and the farmer who shall remain nameless whose brother had just died. Not to mention the concubines and dancing girls.

They all want the same thing Santa, my ironing table

As the official organ of the department in charge of the security of the fatherland, mother fucker, we have been assigned the credentials by good god almighty — bow you head and bless yourself — to root into your fundamentals, just to see if there are any hints of deviation. 

First off we would like to sound out your frequencies. Could you hum along to this recording of the dispatch of the tattooed man by the hairy woman.

Watch what the webcam shows. He was first on the scene and on her like an amoeba. “If you can’t join ’em, lick ’em,” he said, half in jest, but half not. Join ’em with an em dash and an en space. Lick ’em lickety split, first across the post.

As you may be well aware, all the serious critics of our project have disappeared. We make no bones about it, they were but small potatoes. Those who rooted around have also disappeared. Are there any further questions?

He was busted looking at dirty pictures. He chanced upon the girlie magazines in the gutter outside the maternity ward. He who jeopardized his family jewels now seeks a handout. 

The International Committee on Taxonomy of Viruses’s classification includes fifteen taxa: realm, subrealm, kingdom, subkingdom, phylum, subphylum, class, subclass, order, suborder, family, subfamily, genus, subgenus, and species, to be applied for viruses, viroids and satellite nucleic acids.

What to do about a dirty mind? A mind in the guttural sense of the mud. This was the marching order, for the king had sniffed a pox in the wind.

We launched on D-day, as is written in the Book of Hours. When the H-man cometh and women deliver. T minus ten seconds.

She posed as the model for the figurehead of my ship in the year of our lord, I got to scratch my head. 

Avoiding shocks. Use fibre or bakelite pliers to remove cartridge fuses.

Have you put it all together yet? 

Who was scuba diving in a Hindu temple when Edgar Rice Burrows poked to the surface? She was deeply into the Maharishi, if we can say so without irony.

And the phase of the moon at the time of the incident, taking into account the third degree of precession but ignoring relativistic effects?

Evidence points to a singular culprit orbiting a culpable singularity. Of which there are multitudes.

Unless you have something profound to say, you should just say it. If you have something profound, register the copyright and collect the residuals before you utter a word. Once bitten, twice shy.

Spawn of the unknown

And the Ubuntu left a bad taste. It was the crapshoot for the end of time. Snake eyes. The widow maker blousing in the upper gonads.

When Saint Jane went undercover as a playboy bunny. Just as the mad scientist was about to strike Sir Galahad arrived with his carbuncle.