Here's a brief profile and a link to one of the people who nominated me for a Superior Scribbler award. One of the by-laws for accepting the Scribbler honor requires that I pay homage to each person who pimped me.
In a perfect world I would keep him as a pet. Small, yet remarkably lifelike, Remo writes like a machete slashing though the underbrush. His take on the world is as sweet and sentimental as napalm in the morning. After reading his comments in my blog, some have been bold enough to call us the Nick and Nora Charles of the internet. [Actually, that would be three people, all over 75.] The first time I read one of his entries, he had me at "high and tight." As the years have passed, I've thought about taking my dry cleaning and heading for Arizona to get my ticket punched. Thankfully, the restraining order has kept me at a safe distance.
Here's how he nominated me [I'm already verklempt]:
Hmm. One left. Damn, I'm screwed no matter what I do.
I give you Mrs. L --LINK REMOVED BECAUSE YOU'RE ALREADY HERE
Seriously, I'm giving her to you. I can't handle her anymore. Mrs. L is the woman sitting in the passenger seat giving the finger to the Cop who just pulled you over. Anyone who is willing to leave her dry-cleaning on the front door in a cheap attempt to entice police to commit unlawful entry is one Nutella short of a full jar. Rumor has it she was once married to a rich oil dude who mysteriously fell overboard at sea, leaving Mrs. L a lucrative career in advertising and marketing, which she promptly squandered by sleeping around with almost-famous people and exhorbitant repairs to the POS Jeep Cherokee she refuses to sell. If I was ten years older, I'd be on her doorstep. If I was ten years younger, I'd be her poolboy.
Film at Eleven.
Coming soon -- the YAK woman