This reminds me of one my absolute most favoritist cartoon from the New Yorker, from the mid-70s.
The drawing was of an elegant middle-aged wasp woman, hair up, pearls, fancy-dress gown, sitting at a piano with her eyes closed and her mouth wide open. Behind her, in the well-appointed room, was a fat-cat industrialist husband sitting in an easy chair with a pipe and a newspaper. The man is saying to the woman:
"No, Pamela, you do not have a right to sing the blues."
Yeah, except Asthmatic Kiwi Fillmore was a bay area folk rock group in the 60's. Remember, they used to open for Big Brother and the Holding Company?
Someone ought to write a country version of these guidelines. My all-time favorite country lyric (sung by a guy who had been kicked out by his woman then been replaced) "I know he's sleepin' in my bed/I know he's pettin' my dog's head."
no subject
Date: 2005-12-16 05:27 pm (UTC)The drawing was of an elegant middle-aged wasp woman, hair up, pearls, fancy-dress gown, sitting at a piano with her eyes closed and her mouth wide open. Behind her, in the well-appointed room, was a fat-cat industrialist husband sitting in an easy chair with a pipe and a newspaper. The man is saying to the woman:
"No, Pamela, you do not have a right to sing the blues."
I love love love it.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-16 05:40 pm (UTC)Someone ought to write a country version of these guidelines. My all-time favorite country lyric (sung by a guy who had been kicked out by his woman then been replaced) "I know he's sleepin' in my bed/I know he's pettin' my dog's head."
no subject
Date: 2005-12-16 07:15 pm (UTC)A much easier read than
no subject
Date: 2005-12-16 08:57 pm (UTC)