Foto: Sala Quayle--Shermanton's Dream or . . . .
Dear Piers,
° Do you require our little Gipsy Cousin’s occult skills to interpret this design? No, a 93yearold woman in a nursing home can deconstruct it, ‘cause she did just this very morning.
° It’s a man’s shirt collar (the prissy kind that the Beatles used to wear, them and Orrin Hatch), a neck, another collar blown upwards by the wind, and--
° --and what looks to be a pheasant’s tailfeather where the brain ought to be.
° You are too young to remember the Golden Age of the Republic, before Vice Presidents were either giant balding bags of ineffectual buttwind or amateur military martinets.
° La bellezza maschile di Dan Quayle.
° Whom Doonesbury, wickedly, always represented--to save ink--as a talking Feather.
° Auguri, Shermanton!
° Purringly, Giac.
P. S. E per lo più il soffitto si alzerà e scenderà per “accordare” la sala. Domus Aurea di Nerone, Pit and Pendulum di Poe.
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