I had planned a post about a fellow named Jimmy Ellis. Bob sent me a CD of his songs to listen to (along with an actual typewritten letter! A typewritten letter that WASN'T from CapitolOne!!) But it is late, I was snookered into working a 14 hour shift and ended up with magenta toner over my jeans which somehow transferred to all the clothes in my hamper. So I am doing laundry, waiting for the rain to eventually dribble underneath our back door. Awhile back, I started another blog--THIS TIRED CITY--in which I simply post photos in the event I ever lose my hard drive, I can always find "special" photos on the blog. So as I posted the one above at the other blog, I thought, what the hell, I'll give better credence to Jimmy Ellis AKA Orion (he added cryptically) tomorrow. When my pants aren't magenta. Peter Frampton I'm not....Wayne
5 comments:
Yow! All those smiling sun pictures come rushing back!
That is one creepy photo!
"Tomorrow, When my Pants aren't Magenta." What a great title. You've got to write this story, Wayne.
Maybe the magenta is turning your pants purple in preparation for Hulking-out. Come to think of, I first learned the word "magenta" from a Hulk parody by one of the Severins. Remember, a poorly-dressed gamma-irradiated-walking instrument-of-destruction says to the world, "I lack confidence". Show your best side when swatting a jet plane from the sky with a tank. Be sure your tailor understands the difference between "chartreuse" and mere "lime green".
hope your ok....keep safe:)
Oh, I love the creepy pumpkin-head about to devour the city!
And Wayne, your masculinity is in no way threatened by pink pants. Strut it, baby!
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