BOWLING FOR DIVAS, PART 2!
To the all-nite cats at Mike Watt Bowl you are “The Man”—a beacon in the dark & blight—our mentor and guide to the by-ways and hi-ways of divalogical wisdom—of opera as a way-of-life experience...many thanxs! It bums us royally that Kiri Te Kanawa has SLIPPED of late—jeepers!—like bowling shoes on greased banana peel—to the point where our league play is headed down the sewer...woe is us. Before our average sinks to double digits we could USE your expert assessment—your timely T-K valuation. Would you still fuck her?
You boys must be psychic; the “Kiri Kwestion” has been an impasse to my normal functioning too. While it may be tempting in various contexts to fuck the fallen (La Traviata, eh?), to cut to the chase at hand: NO, I wouldn’t fuck her. But I still would eat her.
The pin-pounders at Lowenbrau Bowlaplex would hate to quibble with your analizational scrutiny of the vocalistic fortes & foibles of Eyetalian aria-slingers of deed & renown—no siree! But what about the KRAUTS? There are two in proticular we’re dying to read about: Elisabeth Schwarzkopf and Kirsten Flagstad. Would you fuck them?
The crude vulgarism Krauts refers, I presume, to a full horn-helmeted spectrum of Deutsch-accented yodeling Snow Queens: Teutons, Vikings, Scandihoovians. There’s no disputing the broad appeal of poon, Fräulein style. No less an expert on Nordic poozle than Dr. Freud has written glowingly of the Penis “n/V” (nicht Vorspiel)—literally, penis without prelude—of those bawdy Brünnhildes who will grab at your whanger w/out so much as a how-dee-doo...jawohl!
Ja ja. But ‘fore you trust your kingsnakes to the grabbers in question, I am duty-bound to lay on you a datum of Factual reality, one beyond refute but lost!!, peradventure, in the fog banks of soprano-vagina’d Eternity, effaced and relinquished to the Isolde-vulv’d Tristan chords of Lethe. Reality-based datums can be important, my comrades de bowl, so take a seat—this is a stunner:
Once upon a litre of Liebfraumilch, BOTH yodelers at issue were NAZZIES!—one a National Socialist PER SE, the other a “sympathizer”!... yikes-a-mighty!
KARMICALLY speaking, it isn’t good POLICY to fuck Nazzies. Operatical gratifaction is one thing, fine—what harm, a little listen?—but actually sticking it to these hussies could and would be a whale-diz of a mistake. Fuck ‘em, the logic of Fate decrees, and YOU become a sympathizer too! Noble, sensitific bowlers, like you pin-men clearly seem, would hate yourselfs later on. Even if y’only come on their tits or thigh, self-hate is bad ju-ju.
Political and moral reservations aside, common cocksense dictates diligent precaution. Should you be balmy enough to bunny-hop with either snow bunny, all I can say is watch out! Nazzies are noted for their VICIOUSNESS and CAPRICE. Sure, we’re all “tough guys” here; hops with slithering sinister she-creatures may be our bread & butter; but alert y’all I must: forewarned is forearmed.
While I know of no concrete EVIDENCE of these she-devils having hacked, slashed or lopped anyone’s lizard off, the byword when cavorting with 3rd Reich viragos should be “Safety Fucking First.” Lest your unit end up mounted b/side rusted iron crosses and faded lithos of Wotan and Goebbels, I suggest hiding all cutting implements on the premises, including pencil sharpeners and nail clippers—even nail files!—don’t say I didn’t warn you. Guys!—it’s your one and only! You just might need it for a rainy day.
So this ain’t a total bummer for you Teut touters out there, allow me to volunteer you a torrid, sexciting substitute Laplander: Birgit Nilsson. She’s no Nazzy...and she never would schnitz your schnitzel.
Do her, she’s good!