This is my love letter to Groucho Marx.
If you don’t know this guy, you should… He’s in our hearts, in our souls, on the smile of every new baby…
No, wait, that’s a long distance plan ad.
Ah, but my Lord was that man funny.
Without him, our faces would be without funny noses on Hallowe’en (my el-cheapo costume this year… depressingly realistic, actually). Without Groucho, hunched postures would be less socially acceptable, and tails wouldn’t be nearly as funny as they are. Without him we wouldn’t have “my Aunt Minnie,” and “it’s bigamy too.” Without Groucho, we wouldn’t have Woody Allen, and we wouldn’t have hours of muscle spasms from laughter.
Without Groucho, my life wouldn’t be what it is…
My eyebrows wouldn’t be “interesting” or “amusing”, they’d just be plain unattractive, and without him half the jokes I tell would be new.
I’ll thank him for that one later.
Seriously, folks, “Hooray for Captain Spaulding!” It gets me through those darker hours… with all the levies in the Jewish section of Cocoanut Manor.
“If ‘ittle icky baby keeps on tawkin’ like that, she’s gonna get her teeth jammed all the way down her ickle troat.”
Gold.
5 comments:
Be-u-ti-ful sepia-tone image from:
http://normblog.typepad.com/
normblog/2005/06/
Tanks, Folks!
Love this Marxist ranting.
Wonderful- Thanks for stopping in!!!
I was praying a fellow Marxist would come in and actually GET this post!
"You'll be creeping around in the moonlight- I'll be creeping around you!"
Oh, if only my Time Machine would hurry up and get built. I'd be having his time babies all over the damn place.
Sigh.
I am impressed- it is rare to find another woman who actually sees Groucho's romantic potential.
Very impressive taste.
Post a Comment