The curse of the baroque pearl



Mr. H insisted on dragging me off to Antarctica or Canada or Maine or wherever the hell we went. We went on a boat. There was weather on this boat. I am making a face about being on the boat. A puss. The paparazzi imortalized this moment several times over. I share it with you lest you think my life is such a heady whirl of glamour that I am unapproachable.

On the plus side, I saw some dogs. Many dogs. Dogs like me, and I like them.

We also saw an 80-year-old man who likes to talk more than he likes to listen. He told us a story about Saint John Paul and some intrigue surrounding Catholic priests and the government of Central America under General Samosa. Did you know Troy was found seven layers down? At the bottom of a seven-layer bar there lies a graham cracker crust. I know this because I was there. Turkey in the straw, Turkey in the hay. You used to have to take a boat across the Dardanelles. And now I guess you still do. How could so many people die in such a small area? One and a half million people on the beach in France. OK, it felt like a million. You could have driven to Paris. It was so close.

Posted 1:47 PM by Licketysplit