ALAS

MY FONDEST MEMORY of all time is looking at ten million paperbacks and they all had beautiful women on the covers and each woman was different: some had bikinis, some wore overcoats over bikinis, many had guns, some had guns pointed at them, some smiled with guns pointed at them and some didn’t, some were kissing men and some were putting their hands over their mouths, some were driving really fast in their bikinis, some of their bikinis had polka dots, there were some giant green tentacles in a few and others with peek-a-boo outfits, but none wore sneakers or mary janes or yawned or are alive today, although they all seem that way. Also: none of them at least looked like their names were Madge although a few looked like they might be called Ginger.



Realistically, there were probably closer to one million girls rather than ten million; one of them certainly was a Madge and all of them probably yawned at some point, but none of them did on the covers of their unforgettable paperbacks. It was a different time, and one that I could not understand. “That would not be polite, my sweet lamb,” my Mother would say, were I to ask if they if they did, but I was too afraid to do so. Instead, alas, I turned to drink.

all artwork, including monsters but not old timey photographs,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2007