It may be so, my lord.
Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear!
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend
To make this creature fruitful!
Into her womb convey sterility!
Dry up in her the organs of increase;
And from her derogate body never spring
A babe to honour her! If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen; that it may live,
And be a thwart disnatured torment to her!
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;
Turn all her mother's pains and benefits
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child! Away, away!
Confessions of an unfinished furniture salesman
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Weirdo #18
The Great R.Crumb and pals published weirdo in the 80's Mode O'Day was his yuppie wannabe creation, always climbing the social ladder (or trying to at least)
Mode O'Day
Mode O'Day
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