Stop, My Beating Imagination!

what is this pantsless man doing with this newborn tiger? Where did he GET the newborn tiger? Did he pee it? I'm so weirded out. And who's hairy knee is that, stage left? Hmm, this image is like the accidental Las Meninas of Google Image results. Only the refractions of visual networks and interlacing meaning come from two skinny perverts and a fancy cat, instead of the Spanish Royal Family. But still. I think I'm onto something, and I think it's called a toilet, 'cause I'm puking.

We Haven't Forgotten You, Wiener Blog!

Oh Wieenie B. Listen. We haven't forgotten you. Like the wall next to a child's bed where he, OK, where she, alright where I, wiped all of my boogers growing up, you are a chronicle of the junk we had no place for, so we wiped it all on you. On your eager, beaming face. And in time, we will again.

Now that "Wish You Were Here," our June sketch show at Juvie Hall, has ended, we are gathering strength, like cicadas in the mud, silently watching our biceps grow and our brains throb, and getting some nice relaxing summer travel out of the way. So don't worry. When we emerge as beautiful butterflies in the fall, we will continue to wipe the residue of our useless brainfarts allllllll up on you.



Love,
Jules