Self Portrait. by Will Dockery

I'm an artist,
my face is the granite.
Watch me
see me build myself anew.

Crumble and dissolve
like idiot solvent.
These wrinkled eyes
seek out the idiot.

I create... myself.
From whatever pieces are handy,
and I walk---
a Golem with words to spare.

Like a pigmy-
like smoke in the air.
Like a reality that does not care.
Squint my eyes,
stoned in the glare.

Covered in patches
I'll have a Brady Alexander.
Face like cut granite
stand me in some court square.

-Will Dockery

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=434&pid=643

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=434&pid=643

That's *Brandy* Alexander. Not Jani Brady... "Marsha Marsha Marsha"
Alexander. Brandy, as the poet is called.
Contents and Concubines encouraged.
Will

In my opinion your best work so far.
Unfo. S4 line to many and the whole rigs on a 5 minute job.
However keep up the good work, whish you where as frequent as I am, on all grounds.
Maybe it would help a change of mind in the eyes of the beholders?

Thourn Whaul
ȼǻ
---

I am a sculptor,
my face is granite.
Watch me
chisel myself again.

------

I am a sculptor,
my face is stone.
Watch me
rebuild myself

-----

I'm a painter
my face is canvas.
Watch me
recreate myself

-----

I'm an artist,
my face is blank again.
Watch me
recreate myself

etc.

Renay

Well, at least it was *short* ...

Jani

And at least your reply was civil! I can't win with you folks! Just another
'lil poem that crawlled, shivering and shifty eyed, from my wretched little
black heart.
Will

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=434&pid=643

All these alternate verses are good. The sculptor line I even intended to
work in... I wanted the poem to be longer, and it might be, eventually, and
certainly reworked. I didn't know this poem was going to happen until I hit
"new post" and began writing it... it came after an intense night of music
and poems at the local pub, Coach's Corner, with my pal and musical
collaborator, Henry Conley. We did a couple of long sets, broken up by a
nice beautiful set by a folkie kid from Shadowville University, named Ed
[unsure of the spelling of his last name, still] who sings like an angel,
literally, two slam poet young ladies who kept one-upping each other with
freestyle verses, a blues guy who was pretty authentic, but I admit hurt my
ears, and even my pal Randall, who did his magic tricks at a table... Allen
Elliot, the bartender/owner, subtly adjusted the lights over Randall's table
to give it a spotlight effect, and Allen's thinking of what the chances of a
"Magic Night" there would have of floating... plus, it looks like, after 7
years or so, I'll finally be handing my 100+ hours of video footage to Allen
to edit into some kind of watchable film... something we discussed often
back in 1997, in another lifetime. Oh yeah, and there was the singer, Lucy,
who came to me, signed up to sing some Fleetwood Mac songs while informing
me she'd just chased a guy around the parking lot with her switchblade
because he hit on her while she was pulling her guitar out of her car... she
was great, though of course I took the hint.

The poem came later, after I got back here... ever see a poem somewhere in
your mind and try to get it all down before it dissolves? That was this one,
and using "new post" was more handy than a sketchpad, and I wasn't into
holding a pen at the time, either.

I hope the poem is likable, it works for me, more or less.
Will

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=434&pid=643

I gave you the name "Will the Thrill" in my little black book. Laser was already
taken.

"Will the Thrill" works pretty well, I guess. "Laser" doesn't roll
quite as well. Reminds me of a Stan Lee kind of thing.
Will

*****the poem has poetential. as it was written, no it's
not likeable. the rest is a big old slice of whofuckingcares?.

Renay

didn't Maughan say that if the explanation is longer than the poem, then you
REALLY have problems?

i believe Maughan said that.

love and kisses,

j r sherman

------------------------------------------------------------------
"A sad tale's best for winter: I have one
Of sprites and goblins."
------------------------------------------------------------------

Crumble and dissolve

Covered in patches
I'll have a Brandy Alexander.

-Will Dockery

"j r sherman" <jr...@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:boh6o...@drn.newsguy.com...

I agree with him. The poem needed no explanation, I just felt like writing.
Will

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=434&pid=643

Ironywaves wrote:

Your poem requires no explanation, but an apology seems in order. As usual.

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=434&pid=643

Bidda-Bing-Bidda-Boom.

*****try taking out every word that isn't
absolutely necessary. start with "the"
in L2. then see if you can find one word
to replace two or three. this is better than
it was the first time.

Renay

> > Self Portrait.

Sounds like a good plan for trimming. Thanks again, Renay.
Will

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=199&pid=675

> > Self Portrait.
> >
> > I'm an artist,
> > my face is granite.

I took the "the" out, Renay, but I'm having problems cutting any other
words... which words do you *really* think I need to cut? [please
don't just reply *all* of them..!] It really seems to me if I cut any
other words, it might become too choppy. But I would welcome an
illumination on this...
Will

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=199&pid=675

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*****no can do. any more and it will be my poem.

Renay

Best leave it as it is, then... I think it's pretty good as it is now,
anyhow. Just wondered which words I could possibly chop besides the "the"
you mentioned.
Will

http://pub24.bravenet.com/photocenter/album.php?img=31832&usernum=2030586177

*****pretty good is never good enough. don't be lazy.

Renay

True, I must never be lazy! Work! Work!
Will

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=199&pid=675

ying

I agree! She's got great potential... and if all else fails, she's also got
tits!
Will

M*A*S*H movie trailer:
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0066026/trailers

*****which you've seen with the same eye you use to write poetry?

Renay

Slurp Slurp Slurp!
Slurp Slurp Slurp!
Slurp Slurp Slurp!
Slurp Slurp Slurp!
Slurp Slurp Slurp!
Slurp Slurp Slurp!
Slurp Slurp Slurp!
Slurp Slurp Slurp!
Slurp Slurp Slurp!
Slurp Slurp Slurp!
Slurp Slurp Slurp!
Slurp Slurp Slurp!
Slurp Slurp Slurp!

> ying

--
mhm 27x12
smeeter #27 (also)
CEO Alcatroll Labs Inc.

This is poetry?
Will

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=199&pid=675

No, someone *said* you had tits and I wanted to believe them. Wishful
thinking?
Will

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=199&pid=675

Har...

ying

Your "friend" is momentary occupied with tits, since he's been banned from
most topless beaches for voyeurism, the last couple of years. But be
ensured, Chuckles promised him to send some pics of Infla, once he has some
spare bucks to buy some patches to fix the leaks.

She likes me, Ying. It'll be okay.
Will

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=199&pid=675

> Har...

De har har.
Will

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=199&pid=675

*****hey, if that's poetry then I've got tits!

Renay

> Renay, we like you. why don't you like will,

*****list or essay?

Renay

I think the essay might be interesting. 500 years from now they might
use it in Will Dockery classes, for luaghs.
Will

http://www.angelfire.com/al2/dockery

How about both?
Will

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=199&pid=675

*****now I'm your therapist?

Renay

renay, we are all creative people in our real lives. ones who make
arts, love arts, go to art openings, drink artists wine.

ying

WWWHhhhaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhaaaaa, Jeeeeeez.

Dlink altists wine, makes you an altist.

Hello Croquette, where are we going?

> ying

*****no.

Renay

I know you would not fall into the "me chinese concubine" trap.

http://tinyurl.com/usei

(BTW an early example of yingspeak crap)

>
> Renay

> renay, we are all creative people in our real lives. ones who make

It comes in two boxes, pink and white. At least we don't drink bud ice.
singles.

where do think? your therpist

ying
>
>
> > ying

Or something like that!
Will

Coil.

This coil of pain
memory burns
with flashing image
and haunting misses.

Distinct dream vision
mixed up with conciousness
train seems right on top of me
conductor has an agenda.

Only the gods see beyond this veil
I seen them eyes
red blazing shaking.

No time to think,
no desire to.

There seems to be a wide awake
slow ride
conciousness carries
stretches through these years
these days... this minute.

As if the night could purify
rather than corrupt
my reptillian hands
my repitition signs.

-Will Dockery (c)2003

Drink what you want to, Deb. Noone is twisting your arm.
Will

Coil.

-Will Dockery (c)2003

http://pub24.bravenet.com/photocenter/album.php?img=31832&usernum=2030586177

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=435&pid=652

Whatever it was about Austin that made Texas Max a touchy feely poet, made
me a beer snob.

news:vr6baji...@corp.supernews.com...

You don't do these things, Renay?
Will

Bird Rhythm.

Climbling that hill.
Through the side of the campus.
Queenie climbs that hill often, I've never been there before.
Like a fractal, everything is connected,
reading the words of God in nature, and icons.
People walk by in a beautious parade made in Jah's image,
of color of sight and sound.
People of all kinds in and out of the library,
a strong rain wind is blowing up high in the air.
A sky plane goes by cutting in the sound barrier,
probably stirred up the mix so the love caint get through.
A giant black ant has come to great me,
he said he thinks that God might be green.
He wanders across this ancient concrete.
I miss my friends down in rainbow dreamtown.
I hear the sounds of people talking,
as they walk on the other side of the tree.
I hear the dumb roar of haints echoing from some past time.
Golden glow of God coming through silver mist clouds,
awake, village idiot.
The light falls down on this page as I write, I feel like I am
the idiot savant who is spoken to by God,
he said just "follow the lighted path."
I want to see you, speak with you,
and in the green leaves before me I can see your runes.
Spelling words in the forest leaves behind CVCC library,
as I have seen before, clover runes on the side of the highway,
letters framed by distant dead trees on a horison.
One bird, behind me is making a song, a solo,
this bird is singing avant garde jazz...
Two more in front of me start up,
with a bird rhythm reminds me of the folksinging lady.

-Will Dockery

No. You made the suggestion, and I wrote for you to go for it. You really
don't have to, you know.
Will

Self Portrait.

I'm an artist,
my face is the granite.

-Will Dockery

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=434&pid=643

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=447&pid=677

[snip]

Here's something better, dockery. Check it out. Spontaneous
poetry, man, some way out groovy natural shit that'll blow your mind for
good! Man this is how all da words ought to be put together, dude. Wild
shit, man, you'll love it, here we go... be with me, man, stand by me
dood, it's time for poetry, let's all be together now, here it is...

SKY IS THE LIMIT

Some nasty Mommas out there, nasty
Poppas too ~~
Who want to screw you
Say nasty things
~*Very Nasty*~
Things about your poetry
As if you haven't been a poet
All your life
As if anybody could help
Not being a poet. <sigh>
It's only natural
It's right as rain, it's bright as
Potato flesh
Bleeding on a sunny day...
Everybody is a poet:
You are a poet
I am a poet.
Poetic thoughts gush out of me
Even when I try not to be
Poetic,
Poetic thoughts gush out of me
Like piss from a race horse's prick
Like shit from a cow's ass.
It's only natural
To be so damn full of poetry
That it hurts,
It's only natural to hurt
For poetry...
And I hurt, oh how I hurt ~
My poetry is so natural
So cerebral that
Sometimes I cry,
The old bearded hippy
That I am, I cry
And each one of my poems
Is a tear for you --
All of you...

I kinda like it, when the can gets really cold. And I hate bottles, btw.
Cans only.

I'm not into snobery of any kind... enough to do without going around with
your fucking nose out of joint.

Yeah, I remember this one from a month or so back, Chandra! I thought that
series of poems you wrote back then was probably your best.
Will

http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=199&pid=701

Yello Notebook Series by Will Dockery (c)2002

A Creature Of The Age.
Coil
Commodore.
Diver Days.
Empty Signal.
Head Trip
Light & Chill
Little S & G
Off The Cuff Part Two
Sixties Dream Movie.
Slam The Bell.
Soft Shadows
Sweet Dark Memories
This Little Game.
to Sammantha.
Weasel Blues
When

A Creature Of The Age.

Turn it
to the wall,
and let it cook.
Get removed from it.
"When's it done?"
"How do you know
when sex is done?"
Photographic
from memory,
gestural sketches
of thought.
In the museum theatre,
soft light,
recently seen good paint.
moving, moved at, moving with,
everything agitates---.
Cannot be a photograph,
to match,
this memory.
The way i see it inside.

-Will Dockery.

Coil

Only the god see beyond this veil

my repitition in signs.

-Will Dockery

Commodore.

What was it you said
that rang out to me yesterday
and when did you say it
and why---?
I don't really know,
when or why or even what now.
But it has hurt,
and it has affected our future,
whatever that may or may not have been.

-Will Dockery

Diver Days.

Crosslegged, she sits.
Red wine, friends.
Mellowness & memories.

*** *** ***

She seems
to have a crisis of faith,
but she's also sort of a
prima donna it seems.
A bit absurd with it.
Seems to be
doing better on this one,
this faster rocking gospel plow;
needing to use less octaves.
It's got the crowd
up and clapping,
Brother Dave almost jumps.

*** *** ***

Is it important,
or really?
Just go right through it.

-Will Dockery.

Empty Signal.

Comet tail.
Fuzzy tones,
impressionistic world vision.
Sitting by the fountain,
they used to call it "poet's fountain".
Bookless, moneyless,
filled with love,
filled with empty hope.
I was going to the mountain,
but when I got there it faded away.
troubles surround me,
at the poet's fountain.
They double and fold,
almost everyday.
Sitting in a chilled room,
FDR teaching mathematics,
kind but quietly menacing.

-Will Dockery

Head Trip

Look at that girl---
her mind is spinning---
and she loves.
It was her head trip,
and it was her trip.
A head trip,
riding in the dark.

She's rock and roll
piece of the past
and she has plenty of class.
It was her head trip,
and it was her trip.
A head trip,
this that and the other.

Look at that girl---
peace on her face,
and she loves.
It was her head trip,
and it was her trip.
A head trip,
strong coffee with sugar & cream.

-Will Dockery

Light & Chill

The light and the chill
at the top of the hill
feeling the flow
when the wind blows
geometric rooftops
illumination light rocks.

-Will Dockery

Little S & G

Smile. Grin.
Dark eyes. Bright eyes.
Night and day and many shades of
in between.
Slime. Green.
Keylime and the key to my heart.
Red, gold, and smut black child.
No eyes,
my blind little dancing girl,
pirouette my heart.
Simile. Grain.
My seeds search for yolk.
Words are hard when the subject is
night day and many shades of
in between.

-Will Dockery
"the yello notebook series"

Off The Cuff Part Two

Enforced distance,
I've known her for a while.
But I could never love her,
I'll never know her smile.

Because she can't see me
and I can not see her.
She just lives around the way,
but the distance could not be further.

And I can not explain that,
can not be really written in a book.
She is like an ancient soul mate,
she has such a distant look.

If I had the courage,
I'd ask her why she don't seem to like me.
But like I'm sometimes known to do
I'll just wait and see.

Off the cuff,
I cry secret tears for you.
Off the cuff,
couldn't take a rejection from you.

-Will Dockery

Sixties Dream Movie.

I fell asleep,
don't know what I had ate,
I dreamed, the hour was late.
It was 1968,
when comix were great,
I was ten but I left like eight,
back in La Grange when I didn't know my fate.

Went back to the times,
when grass was green,
imaginary friends that would say what they mean.
I had a barn outside my Grandad's house,
could look out the window and see distant cows.
Surrounded by safety
and my unchained creativity,
a million miles from adult insanity.

My Granddaddy came out to get me,
he was on a softball team and wanted me to see,
they were playing across the way at Tatumville School,
I hoped someday I could be as cool.
We strolled across and saw the crowd,
hot dogs, children playing, the racket was loud.

Several games, teams of different ages,
groups and skill of all phases and stages.
And further still out by the trees,
a voice singing out that I could hardly believe.

It was a friend I would know thirty years later,
a stand up guy I haven't met one better.
I strolled over so I could say hello,
he called me up and made me part of the show,
gave me someplace to go.

All those years of dreams and art,
they all come together and I pick them apart.
Surrounded by people I am still alone
but I'm not the only rolling stone.
Have to do what I must do,
I will always keep these notes for you.

-Will Dockery

Slam The Bell.

Bodeen sits in shadow,
by the bar door,
as cars rush by,
in quick eclipse.

Slam to the underground,
standing on a platform,
all the bellringing
songs of Christmas.

World is a stage,
when your time comes up on this page,
or clear off the page,
and to the point.

Slam to the underground,
make a sound found and round,
right through the ground,
let the words roll out,
like bells.

-Will Dockery.

Soft Shadows

Soft shadows of two men,
move and evolve.
Commercialism is the word,
a fact of life.
Sometimes very pleasant.

I've been here before.
i will be here again.
Roger that.

Soft sound from the piano below,
shifts and flows.
from this dizzy height,
it's hard to see anything.
In the effort to get everything.

-Will Dockery

Sweet Dark Memories

Sweetest smell in the air,
as i walk by an old church.
Under a canopy of Spanish moss.
The sweet queen
rustles through my memory tonight.
I stroll happy in this sweet night,
at peace at last,
at peace with the past.
I loved you dear lady,
unlike any other love,
and those pleasures are mine alone,
no one can take or share them.
I can never go home,
7th Avenue does not exist in this world.
Let's take it down to a new level,
take it down to sea level.
I am the pirate prince of Shadowville,
walking through sweet smoke and fog,
folowing a certain music!

© Will Dockery

This Little Game.

Well
this is one
of the damnest
little games
I've ever
been in.
No way out
not even
inside.
Will the
mist lift
will the
shade shift.

-Will Dockery

to Sammantha.

Hello Sammantha,
seems to've been a while,
it HAS been a long time rising.
Ceramic Bird Sam,
fly to the blue all I am.
Oak and acorn,
progressive forward.
Brandy and smiles,
in the gathering twilight.
Never again.

There's lots of reason,
to keep this under wraps.
But now is the time for me,
to say just a bit.
I have loved you,
and I must let you know.
I should make that go,
owe it to myself,
and you too.

Daylight comes
and still I hesitate...
And I wonder,
how long it will wait,
before it is too late?
Sincerely,
W. Dockery.

-Will Dockery

Weasel Blues

Weasel cringes,
Weasel winces,
watch Weasel out
straddling fences.
Diving under tables,
avoiding his senses.
(That's what he's doin'!)

-Will Dockery

When.

When the mill shut down,
we hit the pavement with a thud,
then we all got up and kept walking.
Some to the work house,
some to the poor house,
some to the whorehouse,
and the grave.

-Will Dockery

ying

ying

ying

*****you're getting there, ying.

Renay

ying

Isabelle will make a pair of pants for ying for forty dollars. She
finished measurements with a compliment, "your skin is so soft..." Two
hands met in the air, rubbing side to side, with differentiated
pressure, swirling. They say nipples are windows of heart. Suffocation
is a way of accumulation...

Life is random. Isabelle is the third woman came to yingıs life since
the new year. Each of them has a boyfriend.

Eva always leaves quarter to eight in the evening taking metro to
work. Melanie has Cinderella syndrome that she must be back by
midnight. Isabelle stays over about once a week reminding ying how two
other girls' boyfriends would hold them fall asleep then wake them up
with morning kisses or may be a poem just finished before the sky
turns white.

Gender roles started switching since the new year of 1996. The whole
world got mad about how women will pick up men and sleep around.

This is a Sunday morning, Isabelle is sitting in a restaurant couldnıt
decide what to order for breakfast. Melanie is running around naked
gathering laundry. Eva is still asleep. she faces the wall, her
boyfriend faces the window.

ying is sitting in front of the window, wondering why street lights
could outshine the sun in the morning...

ying

"Dr. Flonkenstein" <gregoriy_rasp...@hotmail.com> wrote in message news:<pan.2003.11.13....@hotmail.com>...

what does that have to do with renay?

> http://tinyurl.com/usei
>

flanken tresured my past work?

That may be the shittiest thing I have read this year. There are more
interesting stories on a box of Cheerios.

-H

Not bad, ying. Not great, but not bad. I couldn't resist tweaking it.
There's lots of good stuff in here.

me chinese concubine
====================================================================

finished measurements with a compliment, "your skin..." They say
nipples are windows of heart, suffocation a way of accumulation.

with morning kisses or maybe a poem just finished before the sky
turns white.

gathering laundry. Eva is still asleep. She faces the wall, her
boyfriend faces the window.

ying

A socalled "friend" of him emailed me a couple of days ago that none of
the girls mentioned were more that 11 years old.

ying

Keep the last sentence-- everything else is unsalvageable junk.
Seriously, I don't know what else to say but that this is just
scatter-brained crap. It doesn't even make for interesting diary-entry
prose. It's awful, yingo. Let's not even go into the grammar and syntax
errors. This is just another rendition of the hackneyed teen-angst
thought process in a sort of unimaginative, spaced out way. Yawn. It's
not the language mistakes that makes this piece unbearable to read. It
just sucks. Sorry. Lastly: I don't see how this is a 'rewrite' of what
you posted seven years ago. You've sat on this for seven years?? Christ!
You need to pull your head out of your ass, stop babbling like a manic
drunkard and start reading some poetry and prose, kiddo. You're not even
good enough to be called a beginner yet. HTH. Good luck.

ying

ying

ying

Some friend/relative/family sent me this email.
But the conotation is that none of these girls was aged more than 11 yrs
at that time.
ying is a notorious child abuser and should have been jailed since long.

You have a talent in child abuse, fuckhead!

> ying

[clip]

"not bad" isn't neutral, it's positive praise. Richard Lattimore didn't
give letter grades, he wrote "not bad", or "not bad at all" or "not at all
bad" for good, better, and best (I might have the last 2 reversed).

Stuart
--

I've received two emails so far (see my other post) from his distant
cousin who was highly concerned about yingkook's perversions with
minors. He'll be behind bars in a matter of weeks. Let's just hope he
doesn't rape any more 11 year olds as his final farewell stunt or some
sick thing like that.

She could write a list or an essay...
Will

Stick Around(Love May Come tommorow)

Love may come tommorow, bone, the way this is going,
devil's drink takes all night, in this tomcat mirror.
It happened a long time ago,
now you don't have a shadow. (the ground is grinding)
A screaming soap opera.

There was: little flowers, ruined ritual, horn-rimmed glasses.
There was: skeletal mushrooms, mystery rain.
Fate has been a bad girl, a long time ago,
a long time ago, elevator memory,
of the red cavalier. (Back Back Back) to you.
You had some great style,
taught me to feel the karma in this season,
tasting the flavor.

The sun moves in circles like an animal,
blind leader of the immortals,
she forgot that things follow.
I feel the Atlantic east.
Then she floats on the edges of clouds,
as she sleeps.

-Will Dockery.

*****nothing, silly! I'm strictly live and let live.
unless you're a spider. then I have to kill you.
um, or a mouse. then my cat has to kill you.

Renay

ying

instead of describe the nastyness, you just say it four times.

you got that right

this must be the best part heh?

are you not ashamed?

you need to breathe here

ohhh chanken;-(

i am speech less, who was the one in the picture?

ying

ying

ying

Dead, from the neck up.
>
> Renay

> > > what would you do about me?

Maybe we could do an "add a line" poem for Renay..:

"I Like Renay"

I like your sig,
I dig your wig.
I like your hat,
it's black as a bat.

[make it an add a verse poem... your shot, Ying]
Will

http://www.angelfire.com/al2/willdockerypoems/index.html

He writes like a Beatnik.

He must be a "natural born poet".

I kinda dig that "potato flesh" line... a nice twist on Anti-Irish slogans
of the past.

He digs horse cocks and bovine scatology..?

At poetry readings he could really bring the house down, a mighty pained [or
coked up] look, with one hand covering his good eye... the big one staring
out like Edgar Allen Poe's uncle.

Crying onstage while reading a poem is often a great way to get laid after
the reading... I suggest he also wear an eye patch over his good eye.

Hmmm... who could it be now..?