(don’t) touch my elbow!

mes amis–

long ago, in a distant land of youth and jeuness, my gal pals at half straddle and i invented faux (but also perhaps real?) titles for the troupe’s eventual shows. i recall one of those titles was touch my elbow. descriptions and jokes about the show were oft accompanied by a slow and awkward touch of the elbow to any and all listeners brave enough to endure a conversation with yours truly (!)

today i was reminded of that title when a most rudine fellow on the street snarled out “oh, hey, beautiful lady–you are beautiful.”

(i mean really! at my age?! hmph!)

salty peppers have the most fun

naturellement, i ignored these statements and continued chatting with my theatre protege friend. we waited for the light to switch and as it did i felt a gross soft hand reaching out and cupping my elbow!!! i turned and looked and there this specimen leaned against a traffic sign. specimen isn’t even the right word. more like speci-yuck! a pair of vile, wiggling eyebrows met my own indignant ones. i declared, “don’t touch me!” later i reflected, kippy you should have spat in his face. but then that foolish desire to let it go overcame me. meanwhile, i was telling a tale to my theatre friend and couldn’t get narratively blindsided due to some horn dug. disgusting.

sarebbe stato meglio se fosse in italia al meno!

in other news, i recently heard about a woman flipping over when she tried to ride a motorized scooter up an mbta escalator in boston. she was from the south shore: no shock there. zing! j/k…poor lass. i wonder if she had a bad stomach ache or was perhaps heeding the calls of a heightened match of truth or dare. anyhoo, i love me some boston pride.

i love that dirty water

just recently some comments i made about the beantown accent in an upcoming articolo were censored. it was simple stuff. i was merely explaining to non-cognoscenti how the boston curly cue accent falls into two broad–yet distinctive–categories. those from the north shore pronounce the town of Dorchester as “Doah-chest-ah,” where as those from the south  pur, “Daw-chest-ah.” but being censored is childs play for this kippy and i must soldier on!

speaking of soldiers, did you hear about the two fellows who were stopped in seattle with contraband candy, ie kinder eggs? my friends this is not a joke but serious stuff. for kinder eggs are criminally delicious! the part that makes me most confucious is how i can easily buy a kinder egg at any third rate deli in new york city. (then again, the law often has creative applications here in gotham).

as if candy isn’t enough, there’s a toy inside!

as for creative laws. if you have a penchant for love and sweet tooth for sultry dealings: i suggest you read this. spolier alert  and a sample bit of text: “After a while, it dawned on Olympic athlete Lakatos: “I’m running a friggin’ brothel in the Olympic Village! I’ve never witnessed so much debauchery in my entire life.”

hubbah hubbah! i’ll bet those young olympians are good looking bunch. i hope they have the manners to not cup a stranger’s elbow!

a better weapon than erogenous zone

a bientot mes amis,
kippy

http://espn.go.com/olympics/summer/2012/story/_/id/8133052/athletes-spill-details-dirty-secrets-olympic-village-espn-magazine

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