Courtesy of Oscar Wilde, of course. Dorian Gray had a painting of himself he didn’t want to look at. Me too. The idea was that whatever he did it wouldn’t show on his face. Everyone in Hollywood would pay millions for that benefit. But the painting would pay.
I did all that awful depraved stuff and now I’m only 160 and I already have a beard and specs. It sucks. Oscar and I have to have a talk. Not Google glasses btw. Just my hologram chip. I see 3-D through all your clothes. But only with my right eye.
Except that the painting in my closet looks like this.
I been really really bad over the years. But you knew that.
Yuck. Believe me, I deserve it. Probably did too much ether way back when. Probably fell in love too often too. Sigh.
(Actually, I’ve been working all day on a major post I couldn’t bring home due to technical difficulties. Come back tomorrow. As soon as I can get the links sorted out you’ll have something real, not fluff, to think about.)