Quote from: Caruthers612 on July 11, 2008, 06:11:20 PMWhile I could be devoting the little gray cells to learning chess, mastering Japanese or opening a portal between my septic tank and Azeroth, I seem unable to focus on anything other than this one question. And why would I? I mean, is there anything else that matters? Let's get real.From the How do you get your favorite porn star to fall for you and move in with you? thread.
So far, since I possess neither gobs of money, fame, nor a member the size of...er, I mean, great industry contacts, I have come up with a big fat nothing. I am open to suggestions. Let's put our heads together, fellas, if you'll pardon the expression; this is in our mutual interest. What does it take? How can it be done? How do you go from loser working at Paddy's Cabbage Emporium to Gianna Michael's official mattress tester (do the visual)?
Quote from: Camazotz Automat on November 28, 2008, 12:51:12 PMJust as interesting to me, JD Salinger had but TWO novels published, the second being Franny and Zooey.From The "I'm watching/just watched *movie title* thread....
I've sent numerous letters to JD suggesting he team up with Harper Lee and write a joint novel. He only replied once:
I received an envelope filled with sawdust and four dead flies.
I interpreted this as a reference to the Four Horsemen (horseflies) of the Apocalypse referenced in the Book of Revelation. On the exterior of the envelope, where the return address should have appeared, a purple ticket stub from Coney Island was glued.
Line one of the stub reads: THE HO
Line two of the stub reads: OF MIR
(Obviously, this is not a reference to some Russian slut orbiting the planet, though I can't be completely sure, given the sender's disposition.)
Curiously, as revealed by the printed monogram on the flap, the envelope itself was part of a stationary set as issued by the legendary New York City Horn & Hardart automat.
JD is such a kidder. He knew that fact would ~lodge~ in my mind. It haunts me to this day, obviously. I'm obsessed with automats.
Lee is 82. Salinger is 89.
And I ...
I am growing more mysterious by the yoctosecond.
(I saved the envelope and its contents.)