Renaissance Elbow. Chapter 518.
I keep company with moonstruck poets and lovestruck poets and every other kind of poet in between. It is an interesting life that I live here in Mid-City New Orleans. Life is what we make of it. You know me, pal, a friend to those who have no friends and an enemy only to those who make me one.
I have talked about Nick Lobo more in the past two days than I have since Mardi Gras. I hate thinking about Nick Lobo, Mr. Smooth. Nick Lobo is Shugee with a shave and pomade. Frickin’ Shugee. Shugee is like an orangoutang every which way but loose.
Word on the street is that there is an uptick in syphilis in New Orleans, especially in Central City, especially around the Sportsmen’s Saloon. That is what I have heard. Rumors can be misleading. Another rumored hot zone is Siberia.
Rudy told me about something called the 14th Ward Clap. The 14th Ward is uptown. It involves bloody discharges on several ends. The less said, the better. It can be cured by a seven-day regimen of broad spectrum antibiotics. Be careful what you wish for.
There are better ways to spend a night in New Orleans than with an orangoutang. Lie down with dogs and get up with fleas. We do not say monkey pox any longer. It hurt people’s feelings to be compared to monkeys. Science deniers. We now call it Mpox. The capitalization makes is seem like more than a fungal infection contracted by rubbing up on somebody.
How did I get onto this subject? One never knows. Blame Vincent.
Let me tell you about the guy with the Renaissance Elbow. That is much more appropriate for general audiences, which, naturally, is why I am putting it beyond the paywall.
Conventional wisdom is a lie. Do as I please has always worked out well enough for me. This is why I live in New Orleans. Happiness loves company
Hold your breath. Make a wish. Count to three. You should become a paid subscriber. You can follow me down the stairs.