An "Everything but the Two Twisted" kind of posting

... that's a Ben and Jerry's flavour, folks in Europe! And my local Met store sells them for $2.50 a pop! And it's a bit of a pun, also. The themes will dovetail nicely, as you read on. Just like a tub of the good stuff.

Well I can't believe I've been blogging for a few weeks with almost no mention of craigslist. Let the silence be broken here, and now.

I advertise my writing and editing services on craigslist (hereafter known as cl). It's a pretty wide-ranging clientele, which keeps things interesting, and work does come in. There are of course many people on cl who are looking for people to write business proposals or do line-editing as some sort of charitable donation to the city of new york, but they don't get it from me.

I rarely look at other writers' ads, but I just spotted a guy who has advertised himself as

***THE VERY BEST EDITOR ON CRAIGSLIST IS HERE*** (Midtown)

which was welcome light relief. I always get a chuckle from the frustrations of those who use keyboard shouting to get heard on cl.

They punctuate V&RY L@*DLY ***** LIKE TH#S====++ AND CAPITALISE ALL THEIR SENTENCES, IN BOLD.

But the best bit is the (Midtown) bit. That's just a straightahead lie, to sound impressive and busy and scatter some shitkicking ballbreaking manhattan fairy dust over the proceedings. This guy is clearly living in Yonkers.

Oh sometimes you just need a hug from a whippet. And then you get one from a whippet who is skilled and talented in this area, and you know it's all going to be fine. This whippet's ear skin is so thin, the sun shines through it. Her fur is very fine, too, like a threadbare rug, and her skin is pink with black spots underneath. And she likes hiding under the duvet, where it's warm and nice.

I was doing my customary Haagen Dazs fridge groove last night, where I stand before the impressive supermarket cabinet, filled floor to ceiling only with Haagen Dazs, and I'm focussing, making mental judgments:
Sorbet, no.
Low fat, no.
Strawberry, no.
English toffee, mm..
Triple chocolate, uh, triple chocolate.. oh... Just what kind of triple chocolate IS it, anyway?

And a kindly elderly black hep-cat reached over me and opened the cabinet door, taking out a bucket of rum-raisin manfully, without deliberation. He turned to me and said, in his hep-cat harlem accent, "I've got it too, sugar. Don't feel bad!" And I reached in and pulled out that tub of triple chocolate without further ado, and marched to the counter.