Just past midnight. Just woke up. Went to bed early. Laura and I were "romantic" just earlier than that, and she has since gone to her room, I have thusly affected her so... Now I'm wide awake spazzing about money, the night's events, and how I may as well write something in this new blog I just started. We watched "Last Tango In Paris" earlier. Funny how you see things when you're 19 versus when you're 47. For instance, the opening credits with all the Francis Bacon paintings. I remember how I thought Bacon was such a genius when I was in art school. Now his paintings strike me as cartoonish ads for art that you might find on cereal boxes. Peaches, our cat was on his wits end with Brando's French. He was actually curled up on the sofa next to us with his paws over his ears for half the movie. I can't say for certain, but... hey, the little guy just has good taste. Butter, really.
So the Toulouse Lautrec Limericks... I sell books at the 25th Street Garage fleamarket. There's this cool couple that often wears "swing" style clothes that comes by. While they were in my booth one of them started looking at a book on Lautrec, the other a book on Limericks (that's right, the girl was looking at Lautrec and the guy at Limericks) so voila, two great tastes that go great together. Since I put up this blog all of what, 15 hours ago, I've gotten in a few new submissions:
Here are two more TLLs from sister Tsaurah Litzky:
Monet pitied tiny Toulouse,
thought him a sex-obsessed goose,
Gaugain found Toulouse bird-brained,
not enough nipples, too many tearstains,
Henri, counting crotch hairs, didn't care.
There was once a midget painter, Henri,
who had a prodigous pee-pee,
the girls so happily surprised,
when he moved inside their thighs,
squealed oui-oui, mon amour, oui-oui!