Old school – NEW world

Bridging the gap . . .

Tag: fakekarl

fakekarl . . . so desu

well fakekarl has resorted to using PICHA’S . . . of the REAL Karl . . . h-m-m-m . . . as has been said, ” . . . picha worth 1000 words . . .” HAI, so desu . . . Ouija planchette is spelling DEMODE . . .

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You Say It’s Your Birthday . . .

Yeh, it’s my birthday . . .

Today is/was my 66th birthday, and to celebrate I went to J.C. Penney’s and bought some white cotton t-shirts (50 USD gift card) – gonna make some hand-screened stuff with my graphic designs – and then my daughter and I went to the Paiute Palace Casino. If you go to the casino on your birthday, you get the equivalent of your age in complimentary USD $$ . . . so I started out with $66 and cashed out twice, once with $52.00 and after lunch with $55.60. Oh, and we had a sandwich in the Tu-Ka-Novi Restauranttu-ka-novi is Owens Valley Paiute for food or eat house. I had a pulled pork sandwich with fries, and my daughter had the “Palace” sandwich (roast beef, jack cheese and Ortega chili on sourdough bread – toasted) with a very nice salad. With beverages, the total was less than $20. The portions were more than generous and the pork was the best I’ve had in a restaurant, amen, the end. 5 stars for the pulled pork sandwich.

A bit of advice, fakekarl . . . go to your local casino and breathe in the smoke-tinged atmospherics . . . lose yourself in the moment as the cherries and bars of the quarter machine rotate behind the glass in front of you, and the electronic fake bells and whistles vie for your attention.

BDAY

Stress is DEMODE . . . imagine yourself sitting in a dim room, at a table, in a straight-back chair, your right hand on the little magic slider (planchette) of a Ouija board . . .

OUIJA

and repeat this phrase,” New York is a bushwa town . . . New York is a bushwa town . . .” as it spells DEMODE . . . planchette (French) translates to “small plank” in English.

OUIJA

a parrot-y. . .

Aunty P. here . . . just read the newest fakekarl post . . . WTF?? And I don’t mean Whiskey Tango Foxtrot . . . I mean WHAT THE FUCK!! fakekarl has become a parody of fakekarl . . . contrived and NO satirical wit . . . not any more . . . the fakekarl “parrot-y” with PICTURES . . . OMFG . . .

AUNTY P

I finally wiggled my way free of that silly-ass box . . . what Vidali forgot was that I’m like a life raft, I have one of those little canisters things that breathes life into deflated egos and such . . . so like Popeye, I managed to push the magik button and VOILA!! here I am, tight, smooth of skin (no wrinkles, except for the important ones) . . .

. . . and, I just found out that there are compromising photos of me, taken when I was suffering from oxygen deprivation!!

AUNTY P

. . . NSFW.

AUNTY P

Blood of the Land . . .

Aunty is back . . .

KARL

Asuka Ichinose shows-off Aunty P’s most fav “beaver tail” under-armor . . .

KARL

Today is the 14th or 15th of September . . . checked the iPod calendar and yes, it’s the 15th . . . lately things have been a bit out of order. . . partly cos the moon was dark and the air is filled with this smog-brown smoke from some stupid fire or fires out in the forest – makes the eyes scratch-y and the throat feels like it has a case of the strept-o-coccus (rasp-y and RAW) . . . BUT I do know that I closed my eyes and said to the keyboard as I made ready to seek knowledge in the “blog-o-sphere” . . . “THERE WILL BE A NEW POST” on the fakekarl blog and not the “Heart of Gold” thing that I’ve been reading faithfully, over and over . . . and . . . over for the past two weeks or so . . . AND when I opened my eyes and the page finished loading . . . IT WAS THERE ! ! ! . . . it was like eating a piece of sourdough toast with melt-y butter (margarine) and strawberry jam . . .

KARL

Well, I know Karl is like a god, or . . . maybe he IS god . . . but WTF, I think it’s ” blood of the “LAMB“, not “blood of the Land . . .

Yeh, I was of the Cath-o-holic persuasion until I turned 11 and then one fateful Friday I refused to go to catechism . . . the priest and my mother stood and called for me until they realized that I had become a child of the cornfield and all was lost. Oh, I still ate a tuna or grilled cheese sandwich in the school cafeteria (religious abstinence – no meat on Friday), but only because it was a hard habit to break . . . OH, and CONFESSING . . . I used to go into the confessional and do the “Bless me Father, for I have sinned, it has been TOO many days since my last confessing, these are my sins . . . “ and then there would be a L-O-N-G silence in my dim cubicle . . . and . . . and finally the priest would say “ . . . did you have impure thought my son??” The priest always thought I was a boy . . . h-m-m-m-m. . . “I’m a girl father, girls don’t have impure thoughts . . . “ And he would say things like “ Have you coveted your neighbors wife or taken the Lord’s name in vain or . . . do you eat meat on Fridays?” Well I eventually admitted that I had said some “bad” words and maybe I spend more time washing between my legs than is necessary . . . uh . . . and then I would get an Act of Contrition and 4 or 5 Hail Mary’s with an Our Father thrown in for good measure. Penance . . . on the hard, unpadded wood kneelers, then holy water absolution on the way out the door to freedom!

Crap . . . I feel violated by all the religious recall . . .

KARL

X-O-XO

Night-y night . . .

Sent from my iPod Touch

Mwah, mwah, Dah-ling . . .

Holy crap, I was just reading “Karl’s Little Rule Book” . . . you know who I’m talking about . . . anyway, I have a confession to make . . .

. . . true, I’m, confessing . . . “Bless me Father, for I have SINNED . . . ” the last time I went to confession I was 11 years old . . . and after a very awkward silence the priest said, “And what are your sins, my son?” . . . more silence in the darkness . . .

CONFESS

My three most fav blogs are (not in order of preference) nubbytwiglet, seaofshoes and stylerookie . . . and none of them are of the male persuasion . . . oh, and gotta throw agent lover in tha mix . . . yeh, almost forgot fakekarl . . . I have this theory about fakekarl (Karl Lagerfeld’s Guide to Living) and that is: fakekarl is . . . but IF fakekarl really IS Karl Lagerfeld, then I just pee’d my jeans! (actually Levi 501’s cos the “skinny” kind won’t stay up – no hips!!) . . . the links to all these cool sites are stuck at various appropriate places throughout the post . . .

None of these blogs are about TV or movie personalities or politics or religion; they’re about fashion (clothing) and LIFE . . . NEVER boring . . . nubby always has great links and I end up spending too much time checking them out – but there’s always good stuff at the end of the two hour rainbow.

Karl is that really you? The REAL Karl has a limited edition Diet Coke with his undeniably cool silhouette on the “aluminum” container . . . uh . . . not available in the démodé U.S. of A.

CONFESS

. . . now THIS is a photograph of the REAL Karl (Lagerfeld for those of you who aren’t in the KNOW . . .)

here’s a link for those of you who need more titillation . . .

I check out agent lover mostly cos she is one HAWT plentiful BABE, big chest parts and all . . . and she’s always showing the good stuff under her face (you know wat I meen!!) . . . couple pics of her and I never need to worry ‘bout my pants falling down!

Hmmm . . . if I tape couple of her pics on the inside of my glasses I could wear the “skinny” jeans!! I know she’s (the Lover) from the L.A. area . . . how I know this? She went to the “Bug Day” at the Los Angeles County Natural History Museum, I SAW the fotos . . . duh. I did a performance piece at the “Museum” back before the turn of the century and I visited the Insect Zoo . . . at feeding time!

CONFESS

This is a velvet ant . . . think about how many of these you would need to make a jacket . . .

Actually learned about seaofshoes one day whilst checking nubby’s page . . . SOS is by way of Texas – Texas is sort of like Cleveland Ohio, a very under-appreciated part of the U.S. It’s overlooked and the people that live there like it that way . . . don’t need all them damn Californicators moving in and spoiling the neighborhood with their pineapple pizza and such degenerate foodstuffs . . . yeh.

CONFESS

Yeh, and stylerookie . . . she’s one lake-shore dweller that just writes GREAT stuff. (My first serious post-puberty crush was on a girl from Chicago) . . . met her – the crush – in Santa Fe NM back in the 1960’s and the world was never the same.

CONFESS

. . . snagged this pic from the Chicago Tribune . . . yum!!

Zaytune Mediterranean Grill (Chicago)- Hummus and warm pita ($2.25-$3.75) are enough for two to share as an appetizer, and if you dine in, soft drinks are refillable. You’ve got three entree options: a wrap ($4.95-$5.95) filled with falafel or your choice of meat, a salad bowl ($5.95) and a grill platter ($7.95) served with rice, veggies and meat or falafel.

Sooo . . .ladies keep up the great work, without you my life would truly be boring . . . out here in this “food desert” . . . 15 miles to the nearest “SUPER market” . . . uh huh.