Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dali i Dome´nech.

Try saying that real fast, just after you’ve consumed several (many) adult beverages.

Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dali i Dome´nech.

Better known to the world as Salvador Dali…the man who gave us melting clocks.

Dali’s images, unusual (strange) as they are, never scared the crap outta’ me like some of Picasso’s stuff, most notably that monstrosity he donated to the city of Chicago back in the 60’s…I wouldn’t take a little kid to see it up close, for fear that he/she would have nightmares from the visit. (Much like the ones I often had after some of my dates, back in the day.)

Dali’s works always struck me as fun, even the serious ones, assuming your definition of “fun” included swans that looked like upside-down elephants, a lobster telephone and a tiger leaping out of the mouth of what looks like a really ugly bass of some sort. (It’s worth noting here that “bass” can refer to either the instrument used to produce low-end notes in a band or a Perciformes, which may have something to do with why you can tune a guitar but you can’t tuna fish.)

The Dali Museum in St. Petersburg (that’s in Florida, not Russia) is currently having a special exhibition, based on the friendship between the two men, as well as how they were said to have influenced each other, of the works of the artist Marcel Duchamp, whose art was associated with Cubism, unlike Dali’s Surrealism. That they were both really, REALLY weird goes without saying. (As an example, as you can see to the right, Duchamp was the originator of strip chess.)

I’ll be visiting “the Dali” next month with a friend, something I have been wanting to do since I came to Florida 2-1/2 years ago, and we’ll be seeing the Duchamp exhibit…I am very excited. (You probably could tell from my tone of voice, right?)

Speaking of dating and surrealism, and in my life those two things are sadly related, I continue to receive letters, emails, texts, telegrams, postcards, smoke signals and telegraph messages from many of my faithful readers, who, knowing of my experience (mostly unfortunate) with the opposite sex, seek my counsel and advise on les histoires de Coeur, which is Burmese for “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy, I’ve Got Love In My Tummy”, and from time to time I like to share some of these pathetic, excuse me, deeply personal messages with those of you who had the good sense to keep your mouths shut.

Keeping in mind that the names have been changed to confuse the guilty.

“Dear Cap’n John:

                Man, I can’t believe my luck…sure, I raised the price on a life-saving drug my company makes by 4000%, and yeah, I scammed a few suckers with some fake stock issues and okay, I offered to give $5000 to anyone who could get me a lock of Hillary Clinton’s hair, but, man, I can’t believe the judge giving me SEVEN YEARS in prison for securities fraud. Come on, bro, what is that?

                Anyway, I’m hoping you can provide me with some tips on dating in prison.

                Prisoner #2568435”

Dear Prisoner:

                Tell you what, douche-bag, no tips, but here’s a prediction…your next Significant Other will probably have a name like Dwayne or Big Eddie. Have fun.

“Dear CJK:

                I’m a retired proctologist living in a senior’s apartment complex in Whoopee Cushion Fl, and I’m having a problem attracting the “right” kind of women; so far, since I’ve lived here, the only woman I’ve been able to get a date with was old-maid ex-turret lathe operator with three nipples and a pet iguana named Horace. The other day I saw a very attractive woman out walking her Perciformes and when I said hello to her, she turned and walked away. Do you think having “BUTT INSPECTOR” tattooed on my forehead is hurting my chances for some romance?

                Doctor Derriere”

Dear Doc:

                Yeah, I think the Yankees have an excellent chance of winning the AL East this season with that new line-up, providing their starting rotation holds up.

“Dear Cap’n John:

                The guy in the cubicle next to mine at work is a hunk, but he never says a word to me other than “hello” in the morning and “boiled llama parts” when he leaves at the end of the day. I’m a reasonably nice-looking single woman, I’m intelligent, independent and mostly wart-free. I sense Ignatius (that’s his name) is rather shy, so can you suggest a really good ice-breaker I can use on Mr. Talkative that doesn’t involve a tuba, a brahma bull or a Perciformes?


                A Cry From The Wilderness of Cubicleism”

Dear Cube:

                Well, you could march into his cubicle wearing nothing but an engineer’s cap and a big smile, carrying a left-handed monkey wrench, and announce that you’re there to tighten his lug nuts; that oughta’ get his attention.

“Dear Krissongs John Cap’n:

                You are hereby summoned to appear…”

                Okay, skip that one.

“Dear Cap’n John:

                I’m an artist’s model and avid chess player, and after a recent modeling session, the artist I was posing for challenged me to a game of “strip chess” and proceeded to beat the pants off me, literally. Now I want a return match, but Mr. Paint Brush keeps stalling me, telling me that he’s busy with some staircase thing he’s working on, but I think he’s just putting me off. So here’s my question: should I consider rolling over my 401k plan into either munificent bonds or pomegranate futures?

                Never Knew Chess Was A Contact Sport”

Dear Chess:

                I now understand why some species eat their young.

Well, lovers of the arts, that’s about all the “advice for the lovelorn” I have time for today…there’s a Sumo Wrestling match on ESPN pretty soon, featuring midget sumo wrestlers, that I don’t want to miss.

And how about some props for the Cap’n for writing this entire post without once saying “Hello, Dali”, huh?

And oh, just an FYI…believe me, when you’ve dated some of the women that I have, the last thing you want is any persistence of memory.

Love and palettes,

Cap’n John

Post Script…

Marcel Duchamp’s “Nude Descending A Staircase”

Salvador Dali’s “The Temptation of St. Stephen”, of which I have a print hanging on the far wall of my living room.

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