Dear Emily Mapfuwa…

Chip Off the Old Block

Chip Off the Old Block

Brentwood, Essex, UK

Dear Emmie,

  I’m outraged as all Hell, too!  That son-of-a-bitch, Terrence Koh, didn’t show the sculpture I sat for!  I and both of My boys took nearly a week out of Our schedules, sitting around in his studio getting stiff and uncomfortable, and Hippie Jesus, Fly Undone was all that came of it?  Dammit!  What about Gawd on Pot, Reading Spinoza?  For that matter, why didn’t he exhibit his oil on newsprint Republican Jesus, Stealing Widow’s Mite?  I thought that one really captured His essence.  You can bet your bottom dollar that I won’t be recommending Koh to any of the fellows at the Deity Club.

  “Keep Your Love-Pump in Your toga,” I’ll tell Zeus.  “Don’t bother waking Richard & The Twins,” I’ll say to Odin.  “No need to ready Your Red-Capped Sex-Hammer,” I’ll say to Thor.

  In all fairness, anyone who’s ever seen Hippie Jesus in the raw will tell you it’s a pretty accurate likeness.  The boy takes after His Old Man, if you know what I mean.  As for Republican Jesus, well, the less said about His meat and two veg, the better.

  Did Koh stiff you, too, Emmie?  He probably took endoscopic photos of graffiti on the walls of your Love Tunnel and then never called you back, am I right?  That bastard.  If it makes you feel any better, I’d have paid to see that exhibition.  Chunnel Writing would have been a big success, I’m sure.

  You’d think I’d have learned My lesson after My last sitting.  Three weeks it took.  Three weeks!  And when it was done I was so gobsmacked all I could say was, “Pablo… that don’t even begin to look like Me.”  On top of that, he had the cube-shaped balls to tell Me My own work had no style.  But I had the last laugh.  I smote his ass in the middle of a dinner party.  Imagine how embarrassing that was, eh?

  Hey, if you want, I could smite Koh for you.  It’s no trouble, really.  I smite a lot more people than I usually let on.  I wait for just the right time; sometimes 40, 50, 60, even 70 years after they piss Me off.  But keep that under your hat.  I am officially retired.  Maybe I’ll make his Little Terrence droopy when he gets old.  How about that, huh?  You don’t seem to like the Man-Meat too much, am I right?  Yeah, I can tell these things.  My friends tell Me I’ve got great gaydar.

  This smiting will be just between the two of us, since I like you.  I can tell we’ve got a lot in common.  I was against Prop 8, you know.  So look, you just sit back and wait.  Imagine Koh getting droopier and droopier as he gets older.  Then, in 50 years or so, you and I can knock on his door and when he answers we’ll yell, “You’ve been boned!”

Wish You Were Here,



10 responses to “Dear Emily Mapfuwa…

  1. I thought Brits were supposed to be more relaxed about this kind of thing.

    Still cracking up over here… 😆

  2. Yeah. Odd, that, eh? Mike should pop over and see if Koh changed his mind about “God on Pot, Reading Spinoza”.

  3. Sure! If Koh hasn’t changed his mind, maybe they can discuss it over a nice cuppa tea and some biscuits.

  4. Tea & Buscuits are nice, but I wouldn’t want Mike’s teeth to get any worse than I’m sure they already are… unless someone’s been telling me porky-pies.

  5. Right-o. They should skip the sweets and get straight to the pub where they can settle it over a pint.

  6. Gahhh… You racist bastards. It’s just because I’m Black, isn’t it?

  7. Oh, bloody hell! Should have known you’d get all snobbish.

    Just grab your bowler hat and umbrella and go talk some sense into Koh, will ya?

  8. Oh, you cheeky, (yet jammy), bastards. Next you’ll be telling me about your cunning plans.

  9. Dear Gawd, speaking of penises, you might be interested in my comments on Yours–to be found on The Buddha Diaries at

  10. Thank you, Peter, for the heads-up.

    Gawd did have a thought or two for Conrad here:

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