sunnudagur, maí 28, 2006


He comes up to me in a seedy café, a typical member of the local unkempt hippalið. He speaks.

"You remind me of Robert Crumb."

"Pardon me?"

"Robert Crumb. The cartoonist?"


"You remind me of . . . if he were here, if he saw you, he'd be twitching. He'd be having tics"

He demonstrates a tic.

"I see."

I am seized with the urge to lean over him with my vulture beak and snap his head off, or else note that he reminds me of Tom of Finland -- why? he would ask -- because you are a huge prick.

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