Sunday, September 16, 2012

It seems the Queen was later found in the dairy aisle.

From my first alcoholic drink (Smirnoff Ice) as a young lad in a small mid-atlantic hill town, the persistency to explore the half-life of my liver has maintained a somewhat unwarranted level of interest.  After the juvenile phase wore off, and buying a six-pack of cloudy bottles seemed so last year, the next logical leap was hops and a brewing process. Drinks you slide wedges of fruit into led the way; eventually the workload was just too much. I possess no cauldron; I know virtually nothing of potions, and the apple I'd give to fair-skinned'd country dames would be simple apple. So the obvious thing to do is to find the right witch to make the brew you seek so you can return with the country gal's heart in a box. Until now my journey has been rife with impostors: sharp, light-headed Spanish dancers, chalky, mouth-puckering Russian hags, and sour, attention-demanding Belgium farm girls. My lantern in the night was met with two glorious jugs, at around nine dollars apiece, of the sought libation. Double-D IPA from Old Dominion is the perfect pill to wash away life and leave a blissful daze as though a snowstorm caught under glass.
The Bomb or the Babe?
She comes with a smile and leaves me with the same, my face just as flush. The inscription on the vessel is reminiscent of certain prominent classic artisans of female portrayal, down to the garters. Naturally the allure is almost immediate, and even at the cost of a single canteen, holds nearly no apprehension to acquisition. For my money, which is modest, the best of this poison should remind the host of flowers, but flowers slowly roasting in the desert. The hootch should arouse a level of intrigue and disgust at the same time, as all things sacred should. The process should inspire the lowly henchman to become an alchemist and experience the vapors. Double-D IPA from the Delaware-based brewery accrues these securities and ends the laborious efforts manifested thus with a serious nap under glass.
Diana Dors on the cover of
Modern Man, March 1956,
 vol. V, no. 9-57

Speaking of double d's, the Queen herself became a fan of the draft and is now a baker in the B-side of town. Her hair has always been the color of buttermilk, and in later years the color of spider's silk. Her figure was at first stunning to the imagination, a hard-to-fathom 35-23-35, just shy of the Queen across the pond. She had the most tempting mouth which appreciated accordingly with age, and still held all of her subject's secrets in her lower lip. Her walk was accompanied by two fresh limbs, toting the majority of all that snow white flesh (the rest held up by our own fantasies), saving those occasions when her 22-ft-long Delahaye Continental with gold-plated panel instruments was the only means of conveyance. 
the UK Queen of Cheesecake
atop her throne.
The carriage she purchased without possession of proper operating credentials, and was later auctioned for over six figures. Her place in the court was well established and she held rule for nearly three decades, until her vices got the better of her, and she became somewhat of an extreme version of her own self. Her face rounded out (another stumper, her face was already splendidly smooth, healthy, and full), but her little pouch of secrets just under her top lip stuck proudly and may have been her saving grace, if not for a willingness to show a bit of over-the-hill cleavage and to tuck her back fat into tight black dominatrix garb. She thrilled her countrymen in black-and-white, but behind the suede curtain her knack for filling her own glass may have overcome the need to rule. She took instead to a bottle and still found a presence in the public eye, just under a different guise, and like Gale Sondergaard's portrayal of the Wicked Witch of the West, beauty and allure can not be disguised. 
Dors aka Fluck,
flucking around in the tub.

Queen Diana "The Lip" Dors, later found in the dairy aisle, clutching an exploded carton of creamer*, UK celluloid priestess for a hot minute, left the forest with a lowly henchman's heart in a box. Now he plays advanced tic-tac-toe games in his breath upon the glass. 

AUTHOR'S CURRENT TRENDS: Swedish Wildcats, The Amorous Milkman, Dors Feline, freedom of speech, Curves to Kill

* - fabricated event for the sake of this blogpost.

all photos taken from author's own collection.

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