ELIZABETH TAYLOR AND HAIRY CARNIVORES

Recently two readers remarked that the Hello Kitty essay written on Tuesday was disturbing, and seemed far too much like a dating site profile. The third reader present during discussions didn't say anything, perhaps because he's a habitual user of medical marijuana, and may have had a hard time focusing.

One of them had several times suggested that a Hello Kitty backpack was sufficient reason for parents to keep their children far away from me. He's got a filthy mind, and does not realize that I know far more dogs than children.

I am not enthralled by the repulsive offspring of other people.
Most Americans give birth to spoiled brats.
Odious priggish troglodytes.


Let me quote from Elizabeth Taylor in Cat On A Hot Tin Roof by Tennessee Williams:

"One of those no-neck monsters hit me with some ice cream. Their fat little heads sit on their fat little bodies without a bit of connection... You can't wring their necks if they got no necks to wring. Isn't that right, honey?... Think of it, they've got five monsters and number six comin' up."


Feel free to think of me as either Elizabeth Taylor, or Tennessee Williams.
I gladly identify with those two excellent human beings.
They had everyone else's children pegged.

I like dogs and cats, though.

Anyhow, they opined that there was too much of my own self-regard in the Hello Kitty post, and not enough about the original target of my ire, OR ms. Kitty.

"Please DON'T tell us how you really feel!"

I pointed out that there was no e-mail address or contact data there, so while that sneering article may have seemed to have an element of dating site bait, it was instead meant ironically.

Before I could clarify my statements regarding the gentleman so aptly described as a "pompous bald-headed dog-freak in Marin County who thinks he's so funny", one of the people present launched into a sparkly monologue about a seven-hundred pound hominid whose teethmarks have been discovered in Washington somewhere in the mountains, and there was speculation about a Canadian who may have gotten lost.
Alternatively, a foodie.

While this was going on, the gentleman who said nothing earlier giggled a bit to himself, and stared at the ceiling.

You know, the more I think about it, the more I realize that Elizabeth Taylor was NOT the perfect woman. Yes, brilliant, but almost a stereotype.
All sexy curves and crazy eyes.

The perfect woman has peaceful eyes, and isn't insanely curvy.
Only one Tayloresque similarity: stunning lips.
NOT carnivorous breasts.

[This blogger does indeed like breasts, but there is such a thing as too much cleavage.]

There are also several good reasons to believe that the perfect woman is completely not into Hello Kitty. And in fact distinctly loathes the saccharine feline tramp.
Because, after all, Hello Kitty shmatte or chatchkies totally sabotage the impression one wishes to make of independent-mindedness, good sense and good taste, intelligence, and femininity.
Too damned childish.
Not "cute".

Which is of course why I can get away with it. No one in their right mind would mistake me for a woman. Possibly crazy and a disturber of the peace, yes, as well as a borderline reprobate, a wild animal, or an eccentric old coot. Definitely not Elizabeth Taylor.

Elizabeth Taylor didn't have a goatee.

Nor did she smoke a pipe.

I am not cute.


The concept of a wild non-Canadian hominid hiding out in the Cascades up in eastern Washington is rather intriguing. The teethmarks were on deer carcasses -- hence the chance that it was a foodie -- and from the spacing of the incisor tracks the scientist who was cited deduced the seven hundred pound dimension.

I doubt that it's Bigfoot. I'm betting a missing computer programmer or an Information Technology professional who recently moved out of his mother's house.

A no-neck monster, all grown-up.
Huge, but harmless.



Years ago, designer Edith Head said about Elizabeth Taylor:

"Elizabeth Taylor is the most beautiful woman I've ever fit. She is not as easy to dress as Grace Kelly or Audrey Hepburn, because she is a short woman, only five foot two. She's also extremely curvaceous and has short legs. But, you see, those are the kinds of minor imperfections that make for classic beauty. A woman’s individual beauty is created by little mars in the state of perfect beauty. Elizabeth's fascination lies in those little discrepancies. She has aged gracefully, despite what her detractors have said. She is beautiful when she is plump and she is lovely when she trims down. A faulty figure can be changed by foundations and the proper use of dark and light colors. But no makeup can create a face like Elizabeth's. She is exquisite."


I still can't get over that bosom, though.
Aggressive and threatening.
Dangerous.

An insurmountable problem.

I still think it's Canadian.

A long-dugged troll.

==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================