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30 August 2008

Elegantly Dressed Bear



I don't usually like to mention The War,
but Kaiser Karl is a funny funny guy.

Elegantly Dressed Wednesday buttonBen Locker made me do this.

Update: better photo of the bear
worth going here for, and I recommend
the kewl Karl kommentary here.
We shouldn't laugh at him - he will be
70 years old on September 10.
Achtung Baby!

21 comments:

  1. Is that Max Headroom's dad?

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  2. Those cheekbones are so sharp you could carve a roast on them!

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  3. I hate his fingerless gloves, they're really creepy. Jayne, he lost half his body weight so he could fit into his favourite designer's clothes hence the chiselled cheekbones. I much prefer the elegance of Valentino.

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  4. Hey Jahteh

    They don't call him Dr Strangeglove for nuthin you know.

    An inspired selection Ms O'D.

    xxx

    Pants

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  5. Spring is here
    RH at the Ritz
    I wonder where
    Miss Brownie itz.

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  6. My oh my, remember when he was fat?

    He does rather believe his own hype but that is one sharp dressed bear.

    Puss

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  7. Hello Evahbodeeee ...

    Mr Robert Bob Dylan Zimmerman wrote
    "stuck outside of Memphis with the Mobile blues agen ... "
    I however, find myself stuck in a gilded cage outside of Ballarat with a faulty modem out of warranty.
    And here in the Sebastopol library my fellow internet user is an insane woman and I hope she dies slowly of her damn breast cancer (I assume she has it as she is Guugling 'tamoxifen' and she sure ain't a Pharmacy student.)

    Re Kaiser Karl of the post - he is the only funny German.
    Nominations welcome of course: Is there a funny German (Inspector Rex not eligible).

    peace and love to you all.

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  8. Goring was vaudeville, all that strange attire.

    Bismark was funny, inventing an insulting letter from the French in order to attack them.

    German dedication is funny. They don't mess about, you see them all over the world, maps and hiking boots. Other foreigners are touring the red light area, the huns go for the hills.

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  9. ooooh, isn't he pretty! [the bear I mean LOL] and I am most apologetic for missing your birthday by a week I think! [see what happens when you rely on technology!] I hope it was excellent though!

    Hugsya :-)

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  10. Good heavens. What a blog. No one here.

    Opportunity, that's what I see. The cuckoo will land.

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  11. Gonna danz wid Miss Panz
    Wid a hole in her stocking,

    Thru de bar we'll pranz
    Grip obscene an' shocking.

    Robbert!
    (Okay?)

    A poet needs to know what's a good wine and what's a good cheese. Or he's bugger all chance to get published and raved over.

    Patriotism is not enough!
    No.
    And neither is carrot cake!

    ROBBBERT!!!

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  12. You are an education...I had never heard of him...so will noe edicate my self

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  13. Er-hum

    Excuse my interruption Ms O'Dyne but will you throw some cold water over the excitable boy before he does himself a harm please.

    xxx

    Pants

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  14. O' behold Miz Copperwiz!
    Danzing dere widout a stitz!
    An' here comz da copz
    "Hey stop diz danz!"
    Poor hip hopz
    Poor romanz.

    Robbert!

    A poet is not a sissy boy. He will not write poems about aborigines to win a prize.* He is not of this moment.
    Carrot cake will go. The cucumber sandwich is gone. Foccacia is for the birds.

    ROBBBERT!!!

    *Or a root.

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  15. Kizz a dog for Chrizmaz
    Miz Brownie buyz a carzk
    Dan Murphy getz her bizznuz
    Alk anonymous getz her arz.

    Robbert!

    A poet cannot be stopped. You can hold his nose shut, burn his house down -he will recite! Indeed.
    And silly me, to think it was a choice, a decision. It is not. It is a compulsion. Aye, and in all this mess -this empty parade, poetry is hope, value, sanity.
    Poetry is love.

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  16. Quiet around the blogs without Miz O'Dyne, isn't it Robbbert?

    You should be declared a poet of the times.

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  17. Thank you I love youse all.
    Robert:
    1. not Dan Murphy but Not Quite Right wine which is $3.99 and worth every cent.
    2. it's not a cuckoo landing, it's a blue wren.
    Please visit Pants blog for her photo of him battering away at his reflection in our window.

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  18. A poet is not a cheapskate. All his fans are women by golly. And women hate a tightarse.
    So thanks very much, but I shall continue at Dan Murphy's, paying fifty cents more.

    ROBBBERT!!!
    (it might taste like vinegar but it's great for cleaning windows)

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  19. I should be out in the yard cutting down a dead tree, but I've got a crook back right now (hoping it isn't kidney disease) and also there's things I'd like to say for reasons of entertainment and malice.
    There's a batty dame I know who recently inherited a $250,000 share from the sale of an old uncle's house in Fitzroy (tessellated floor). This bird was quite a good school teacher until schizophrenia got her in her twenties, putting her out of a job, as it usually does. She spent the next ten years living in flophouses, making do on the invalid pension. A flophouse is where she met a Walter Mitty type called Dodgy Davies about two years ago. Dodgy is the smartest man in the world, a man who can stroll into any bank and borrow a million dollars, so he says. Personally, I wouldn't loan him five bucks.

    (Just for femme readers, he is 63, she is 38, and good looking. I'd like to take her from him. I tried.)

    When they met they were flat broke, but it is a truth universally acknowledged that courting couples like to indulge each others interests; soon they were getting on a tram together and going off to rob charity bins (Dodgy's old game) and although Dodgy did sell some of it, most was displayed as bulging garbage bags in his little room, just as testament to his genius.
    Then later, seeing her sudden inheritance as further proof of his genius, Dodgy immediately advised her to purchase a dilapidated house for $35,000 in the ghost town of Beulah. And they got a broken down shop with it as well, which he promptly advertised in Melbourne papers as 'storage space'. What a laugh. The point is, I've just discovered something about her that I didn't know, and it's extraordinary: after needing to quit as a school teacher she took a job in Fitzroy with a firm of clairvoyants. It seems the confidence with which she bullshitted people about themselves made her brilliant at it. Precisely because she believed it all herself. Schizophrenics suffer delusions of course, based on hallucination, they can look you in the eye with utmost conviction. Which she did. In fact her success was so great that eventually she put out her own shingle and was getting academics and all sorts of professionals: doctors, lawyers, all of whom swore by her. (How enormously funny!)
    Why she stopped doing it I'm not sure. She did say, but I've forgotten and can't talk to her at present because Dodgy is threatening to sue me for defamation (I questioned his financial advice).

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