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“Watch out for that first step, its a doozie.”

by Vanderleun on April 1, 2019

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ghostsniper April 1, 2019, 2:23 PM

Remember the portable hole the black spy vs spy used to use?
When the white spy was after him he pulled the flexible hole out of his trench coat and slap it on a wall then jump through it then reach out and pull the hole in with him effectively disappearing. White spy would stand there scratching his head wondering where black spy went. Black spy also threw the flexible hole down on the ground behind him when white spy was chasing him. White spy fell down in the hole and black spy picked up the hole and took off trapping white spy in the ether.
It’s a mad, Mad, MAD world out there!

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Phillipa Crawford April 2, 2019, 9:37 AM

LOL I didn’t expect that.

Ghostsniper, Spy v Spy was a favorite. I hadn’t thought about the portable hole in a while. Now a co-worker wonders what I’m chuckling about.

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AesopFan April 2, 2019, 3:08 PM

I’ve seen a couple of articles about sidewalk illusionists.
This is one with some explanation of why it “works.”
https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2012/feb/01/3d-street-art

This is the gallery of the Master of Faux, Kurt Wenner.
https://kurtwenner.com/

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T Lindley April 3, 2019, 4:13 PM

That is a good old picture.

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The Old Guy April 10, 2019, 10:00 AM

How did the spelling get to be “doozie”?

I thought it was “Duesy,” short for Duesenberg, the best of the best.

The Old Guy

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Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020

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Van der Leun: The Normblog Bio of Your Host

“From a student radical/hippie/leftist of the Free Speech Movement/Vietnam Day Commitee era and a full-on Democratic Liberal in the decades after, I think I’ve evolved a politics that is neither right nor left but is, in its elemental nature, draconian. In the last 20 years, I’ve taken apart my beliefs with a sledgehammer. Now I’ve got to put the surviving parts back together with tweezers and other ‘shabby equipment, always deteriorating’.”

A Wicker Basket

Comes the time when it’s later
and onto your table the headwaiter
puts the bill, and very soon after
rings out the sound of lively laughter—

Picking up change, hands like a walrus,
and a face like a barndoor’s,
and a head without any apparent size,
nothing but two eyes—

So that’s you, man,
or me. I make it as I can,
I pick up, I go
faster than they know—

Out the door, the street like a night,
any night, and no one in sight,
but then, well, there she is,
old friend Liz—

And she opens the door of her cadillac,
I step in back,
and we’re gone.
She turns me on—

There are very huge stars, man, in the sky,
and from somewhere very far off someone hands me a slice of apple pie,
with a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it,
and I eat it—

Slowly. And while certainly
they are laughing at me, and all around me is racket
of these cats not making it, I make it

in my wicker basket.

— BY ROBERT CREELEY