1 minute, 45 seconds, edited for fun, from a 53+ minute conversation.
At some point, soon, the full dialogue, in split screen, will be up on Bloggingheads, in case you're wondering how all this might fit together. But maybe you'll say this says it all, and what more do you even need to know? Fill in the context yourself.
February 15, 2014
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11 comments:
I met my wife in a bar. It was fun. And she's wonderful.
Kudos to your stylist...That haircut is fabulous!
Spin around so we an see your skirt fly up.
The Day After Valentine's Day and the Storm Drains are Clogged with Used Condoms, Wriggling in the Current like Small Translucent Jellyfish; Wistful Prostitutes with Chapped Lips Slumber in the Backseat of Buicks After the Busiest Night of the Year. The Florists take the Remaining Red Roses and Arrange Them into Fresh Funeral Bouquets; Somewhere a Man Alarmingly Discovers that it Now Burns when He Urinates. Rats, Wet from the Rain, Eat the Remnants of Gooey Chocolates from Pink Cardboard Heart Boxes Left By the Gutter; Bed Bugs Find Themselves on Satin Sheets. Shoobee.
Betamax3000,
That was brilliant.
You're looking hot, Althouse. If you don't mind me saying.
The Morning After Valentine's Day and the Itching and Irritation has Already Begun: For the Occasion She Had Shaved Her Pubic Hair for the First Time, and Now Awoke to a Strange Man Passed Out Face Down on a Strange Bed, Snoring, His Jeans Around His Knees. On the Nightstand an Empty Bottle of Cheap Champagne, Two Empty Glasses, a Half-Full Pack of Cigarettes and a Torn Condom Wrapper: Romance.
Water: She Needed a Glass of Water. Wrapping Herself in a Blanket, She Quietly Stepped Over Her Blue Party Dress Strewn on the Floor and Made her Way into the Kitchen: on the Counter the Remains of Take-Out Chinese, White Plastic Take-Out Bag, White Plastic Forks and another Empty Bottle of the Same Cheap Champagne. Unbidden, The Thought Entered Her Mind That She Could Silently Take the Steak Knife from the Dish Strainer by the Sink and Stab Her Snoring Visitor Repeatedly in His Bare Back -- He Would Never Even Know What Happened -- Then Take His Car Keys and Simply Leave All of This Behind: She Vaguely Remembered a Mazda.
She was Briefly Taken Aback By the Idea: Where Had THAT Come From? Crazy Thought, Crazy Thought. Then Again, She Was Crazy, So it Made an Innate Kind of Sense: Heavy Psych Medications and Champagne Don't Mix. Crazy Thought, Crazy Thought: She Still Absent-Mindedly Sang This to Herself Sing-Song in her Head as She Repeatedly Stabbed the Oblivious Snoring Man in His Bare Back with the Steak Knife from the Dish Strainer that Was By the Kitchen Sink. Indeed, He Never Even Knew What Happened: Last Train from Sleepyville, Leaving the Station. More Blood Than She Expected, But it Wasn't Her Blanket, So. Time for a New Town, Anyway. If She Remembered Correctly the Mazda was Blue.
I Live in Althouse's Attic, Metaphorically. Writtten Strangely Early in the Morning.
The McDonald's with tablecloths and waiters but the standard menu sounds like the only way out.
Irony fairy vs big chocolate.
Dumb Bloggingheadsbucks.
You're aging well, Ann.
meade is obviously good for you.
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