The impossibly-catchy tune of the 1980s.
And yeah, I know it was written in the 60s. But breathes a man alive who did not think impure thoughts of doll-sized cutie Susanna Hoffs?
And I have to say, she’s still not too bad today either, as a MILFy-type thing:
Of all the cool stuff at Gunny’s upcoming auctions, I’d choose the Winchester 62 .22 pump rifle, because I lost my Taurus copy thereof in the Great Gun Theft Of 2021:
…although the old 63 semi-auto still has a special place in my heart, being as it’s the gun I learned to shoot rifles with, and it spoiled me forever:
I wish I’d never sold mine…
From Ishmael, snarling away from his lair in the Shetlands:
I was up all night, between here and watching the telly. It was a wee small hours, musical interlude, on Channel Four, firstly a film of Liam Gallagher’s new ensemble, Beardy Eye, playing their new album in the Abbey Road studios. Liam is the truly neanderthal, younger brother from Oasis, a thick, grunting Manchester-Irish fuckpig, dumb as shit, you can hear the wind whistling between his ears, if he was any more stupid he’d have to be watered twice a week; makes Manchester United’s Wayne Potato look like a full Mensa meeting, does Liam. Nothing wrong with stupid. There’s lots of people like Liam, their oil just doesn’t reach the dipstick. He’s not as stupid as he looks, mind, because he looks like he was beaten with the Ugly stick and then ate it, ugly as fucking sin, is Liam Gallagher, ugly as a hatfull of arseholes; if your dog had a face like Liam’s, you’d shave its arse and teach it to walk backwards. Stupid, ugly and nasty, that’s Liam Gallagher, a truculent moron, charmless, graceless and entirely without discernible musical talent, a sign, in fact, of Ruin’s corrosion.
Now that’s scorn and dislike for you. And it gets worse…
I know, I know: there’s been a shameful lack of Kelly Brook on this here back porch recently, so here are a couple pics just to remind you what all the fuss is about:
And for those wondering about a similar dearth of morning-TV goddess Holly Willoughby, here she is:
And even though she’s somewhat honest about her body nowadays, I still would.
I hope everyone’s satisfied.
All things must pass, to quote George Harrison, but I have to admit that I never thought that this would apply to Gunny R. Lee Ermey, R.I.P.
Anyway, his gun stuff and related items are being auctioned off (and thanks to all the Readers who sent me notice that this is happening).
In keeping with the eccentric nature of the man come a few interesting items, e.g.
(The drooling sound you hear in the background comes from Reader Mike Of The Dueling Pistols.)
Anyway, your job for the day is to scrutinize the list of items, and tell me which ONE (and only ONE) you’d like to own. (Right-click on the pics to get a full description.) Answers in Comments.
As Longtime Readers know, I have an inordinate fondness for sports cars of yore, and especially ones of my misbegotten and largely wasted youth. The Alfa Romeo Spider, Austin Healey 3000 and the little MGB GT, to name but three, were all the objects of desire in my younger times, and it’s easy to see why:
However, if I were asked today which sports car of the pre-1975 era I would like to own today, unchanged, it would probably be a car of which I knew nothing at the time, probably because I was only about 3 years old. Yes, I speak of the impossibly-sexy BMW 507 of the late 1950s:
I know, this is the car which nearly bankrupted BMW, but that’s all ancient history. The fact of the matter is that the 507 embodies almost all my list of desirable features: a small 3.0-liter V8, adequate acceleration and top speed, and of course matchless good looks, all in a neatly-sized package of simple yet tasteful design.
It was also more reliable than any of the later sports cars I alluded to above, which satisfies another of my must-have features. I’d even take the soft-top cabrio:
Feel free to take issue with me in Comments.
This was the Sunday post which went AWOL on me. Once again, my apologies.