[Old-west scene: a woman in an elegant frock is cuddling with a rustic fellow outside a building. On the wall above them, a sign reads "Singing lessons given."] Rustic fellow: Well. Miz Bernhardt, how do y'all think I'm progressin'? Miss Bernhardt: Honey, I hate to say it, but I almost feel guilty about taking your money. RF: Y'mean 'cuz I got a natural-born talent? MB: Uh, well, let's put it this this way: if I was a big-deal Broadway producer, and you were the *only* tenor that showed up to audition? I'd seriously consider getting into film-making ... they're silent, you know.

#FumettiFriday Lift (almost) every voice.

[Black and white image. Three woman having a rather tense conversation. The one in the middle has her hands turned up in a threatening manner.] Middle Gal [to the gal on the right]: *Think,* stupid! If we don't get that car back by five o'clock, we'll lose our deposit! Estelle: I *told* you not to trust her. Middle Gal: Shut up, Estelle. Gal on the right: [Sob!] How do you expect me to concentrate? Your nails are so ... intimidating. Middle Gal: I'm glad you think so! 'Cause if you don't remember where you parked that Edsel, they'll also be the last thing you see!

#FumettiFriday no deposit, no return. Just like on Wall Street.

[Black and white image of a well-dressed woman tickling a butler under his chin. They are standing in the middle of a well-appointed living room.] Woman: Oh, come on, Whetstone, you can show Mimsy a little smile. After all, I've been at Biarritz for over a month! Whetstone: Time's inevitable passage has not gone unnoticed, Madame, particularly since it's been that long since I've been *paid.* Woman: What do you mean? I left Cook in charge of all the household finances! Whetstone: In retrospect, that may not have been the wisest choice. It appears she's buggered off to Majorca with the Second Under-Footman.

#FumettiFriday "Scenes from the Class Struggle in East Finchley."

[Black and white image of a woman sitting atop a step ladder, poring over a book, her chin her hand. Behind her, there's a whole lotta books. It's a regular library in there. She wears a frilly dress with poofy sleeves and several petticoats. An unseen boss is speaking to her:] Boss: Miss Calibri, have you found that citation yet? Miss Calibri: Nope. Have you found the *spine* to tell your wife about us? Boss: Er, well, no. Miss Calibri: No? Well, then how 'bout you get yourself a big, steaming mug of "shut the fuck up," and a cushion for my ass. Boss [sotto voce]: Okay.

#FumettiFriday a day when we leave no tome unspurned.

[Black and white image of a woman hugging her young son (who is swaddled in a blanket), flanked by two men in suits.] Security guy: There you go Mrs. Flage. We found him naked in the mannequin storage room. Mother: Oh, Percival, you little scamp! Mummy was worried *sick!* Security guy: He'd posed their arms so they were all saluting him. Dept. Store Manager: [cough] As soon as this heart-warming reunion is about over, we need to discuss settling up for the damages he's caused. Mother: Oopsie, my bad! This isn't *my* kid. Better keep searching.

#FumettiFriday Say his name.

[Black & white image of a fancy dinner party attended by an older man in a tuxedo (helping himself to the drinks cart), a youngish woman in a strappy dress and pearls, leaning up against another fellow about her age, also in evening dress. The table is cluttered with drinking glasses.] Older man: Look here, if you're serious about marrying my daughter, I need to know that you're gainfully employed. Younger man: Fair question, daddy-o. For the last decade, I've been chief noodle scrubber down at the Buckwheat Past Emporium. Older man: Is there much of a future in that? Younger man: I'll say! People perk right up when I tell 'em I've been cleanin' soba for ten years! Youngish woman: Please don't hurt him, father. He can't help himself.

#FumettiFriday Odd jobs report:

[Black and white image of three sailors in a ship's cabin. The fellow in the middle has his hands clenched over his midsection and is making a face that suggests he is in agony; on his right, an officer wearing a cap tries to console him. And on the left, a guy who's totally over the whole business.] Guy in pain: Annngh! Guys! Take me to sick bay! I think one of those fucking balloons has burst! Officer: Don't be an idiot. If that much cocaine entered your system all at once, you'd be dead in a minute or two. Guy in pain: Oh, well, thanks for *that* little nugget of information! Please, don't stop. Comfort me some more! Guy on the left: Aw, does Mr. Big-Time Drug Mule gots a tummy-ache? Y'know what you need? More tequila. It coats the stomach.

#FumettiFriday Somewhere off the Côte d'Gastrique ...

[Black & white image of a woman & man in the cargo hold of a dirigible. She has a short hair-do, wears a sheath dress with frilly, feathery accents. She is lighting a cigarette for the man, who is chained up with what appear to be sandbags. He wears a natty suit & tie, and looks pretty smug, considering.] Woman: Enjoy this while you can, Mr. Nosey Parker. As soon as this zeppelin gets to 5,000 feet, you're going to experience the gravity of your situation. So to speak. Man: You're too kind. Say, you don't suppose you could make it a low-tar, filter cigarette, could you? My doctor says I should cut down. Woman: You're not so big on the listening thing, are you?

#FumettiFriday is soaring to new heights ... for a little while, anyway.

[Black and white image of an office in the old west. A business-like woman sits behind a large wooden desk, speaking to an unshaven fellow wearing tall boots, a bright, floral neckerchief and holding a ten-gallon hat in his hands. Looming in the background, a tall, menacing guy smokes a cigarette.] Neckerchief Guy: Ma'am, I shore do appreciate y'all seein' me on such short notice ... Woman: Eh, I had a cancellation. What's on your mind? If you could call it that. NG: Well, what with the hard winter, folks ain't been comin' to the drag shows. And then them moths got into mah gowns ... Woman: Yeah, yeah. Skip the prologue, Proust, I can feel my life ebbing away. NG: Ah'm powerful sorry to say mah payment this week is gone be a little *light.* Woman: I see. Well, as new owner of your skeevy little bathhouse, I'm *happy* to say I'm not without compassion. Günter over there is only going to turn *one* of your kneecaps into pâté.

#FumettiFriday For reasons I cannot fathom, no one would go anywhere near my proposed mini-series, "Delores Quimby: Frontier Loan Shark."

[Black and white image of two men and a woman at a fancy dress occasion. The fellow on the left, in a tuxedo, is obviously inebriated. His friend, in a pinstripe suit, has a steadying hand on his shoulder, and is pointing toward the door. Seated at the table, the woman wears a floral print, low-cut, bared-shoulder frock, and holds a glass of wine.] Tux guy: *Hic!* I'll have you know I'm perfectly culpable of driving my home self! I mean CAPABLE! Of driving my-- Pinstripes guy: Now, now, Fred. Don't be like that. What you need is fresh air. Let's go for a little walk. Say, around Nevada. Woman: I hope you know, if their wedding gets postponed because you've been pouring martinis down his throat all evening, Shirley will have you flayed alive, stuffed, and mounted. Pinstripes guy: I suppose it's *my* fault he's used the rehearsal dinner as a chance to rehearse for *liver failure?*

#FumettiFriday "I'm not so think as you drunk I am."

[Black and white image of a depressed looking man (Buster Keaton) sitting one the bottom step of a staircase in a dark foyer; standing next to him is a very tall, older woman, looking down at him pityingly.] Woman: What are you doing moping around here. I thought you had a date. Buster: She cancelled at the last minute. I had tickets and everything. Woman: Tickets to what? Buster:The city's pouring a new foundation for the sewerage treatment plant. It was gonna be a real hoot. Woman: That's the trouble with kids these days. They don't appreciate culture. Well, buck up, Balthasar. Life goes on. And by the way, your rent was due on the fifth.

#FumettiFriday Feel free to use this when the checkout clerk asks if you have any "plans" for the weekend.

[Black and white image of two women in a dark, spooky room, looking pensive (and off to the right). One holds up an index finger, as if to make a point.] 1st Woman: Madame Arnica, I'm told you're the best poltergeist hunter in the tri-city area ... Mme. Arnica: As matter of fact, I am being best poltergeist hunter in whole *country,* and I-- Ooh! Did you hear that? 1st Woman: Yeah, it sounded like a refrigerator with one those fancy-pants automatic ice-makers. Mme. Arnica: A-ha! But is *your* fridge having that? 1st Woman: Why, we ain't even *got* a fridge! Mme. Arnica: So ... you probably got a bad case of the ghosties, but no money. I see myself out.

#FumettiFriday ... or, it could just be the house settling.

[Black and white image of a young man leaning up against the side of a very old brick apartment building, somewhere in Britain; the entrance is just behind him. He wears an ill-fitting suit that has seen better days (but didn't participate). A young woman leans out of a window to tend her flower box. The young man tries to "chat her up."] Ill-fitting Suit Guy: Nice flowers, luv. Woman: Ta. They're mums. Ill-fitting Suit Guy: She makes you take of 'em, does she? Woman: Go on, piss off, you randy little spiv. And quit watching so many Ealing Studios comedies.

#FumettiFriday kind hearts and epithets

(Tip of the hat to John M. Baker @jmbmn for helping me figure out how to relocate the original image.)

[Black and white image of an upper-crust family lounging on the patio, a woman and three men, circa 1906. Also, there is a long-haired spaniel by the woman's knee. The furniture is composed entirely of wicker; in the middle of the family, a wicker table with a glass top holds the remnants of breakast.] Woman [to dog]: Well, Mr. Wuffles, today's your big day! Father: Well, it'll sure be a relief! No more wanting to go out at all hours, fighting, pissing all over the place, and having his way with the local females. #2 Son: Uh, dad? Just to be be clear, we *are* still talking about the dog, right? #1 Son: [snicker] Better keep your nose clean, Theodore!

#FumettiFriday The fix is in.

[Black & white of a street dance in an economically depressed part of town. An elderly couple is in the foreground; he wears a fedora, striped vest and what appears to be a sort of bib. She is dressed in black, her hair is swept up (the better to see her impressive earrings), and they are dancing cheek-to-cheek. A couple of loutish fellows look on, slightly out of focus.] Herbert: Ah, Esmerelda, my love ... it's so good to know that after 46 years, the tango is still in my blood. Janis: It's Janis, Herbert. And I wouldn't have minded waiting until you'd had a chance to finish your lobster.

#FumettiFriday Still making with the fancy footwork, I see ...

[Black and white image of a wedding party. A man in a tuxedo is speaking to two women dancing; the bride (Louise Brooks, as it happens) wears white, with a veil, and her partner has on a shimmery black frock. She also has a piercing glare that could remove old wallpaper at 20 paces.] Tuxedo guy: Mind if I cut in? Bride: If by "cut in" you mean "bugger off to the nearest waste-water treatment plant and fling yourself in," then by all means, yes. Tuxedo guy: *What?* Is that any way to talk to your new father-in-law? Bride's partner: Listen, "dad," she only agreed to be a beard for lazy, abusive needle-dick of a son so we could claw our way into society *and* have a swanky party on your dime. Bride: Plus, according to the pre-nup, *I'll* get custody of the appliances!

#FumettiFriday ... and on Fridays, we dance! If we can find our good shoes, that is.

[Black and white still from a 1930s film. Several scantily-clad women are doing a boxing themed routine; one is on the dance floor, crouched as if about to throw a punch at a tuxedo-clad gentleman sitting ringside.] Dancer: [Gasp!] Mr. Rutherford! What are you doing in a place like this? Mr. R: Well, if you must know, I *own* it. Teaching 100-level physics is how I fill up my empty days. And at the risk of sounding stodgy, why aren't in your dorm studying for tomorrow's final? Dancer: Don't sweat it, daddy-o, I'm ready, In fact, here's a little illustration of Newton's first law*, just for you. [*An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. In this case, a scantily-clad dancer throwing a right hook.]

#FumettiFriday Did somebody say Boxing Day?

[Black and white image of a middle-aged man and what we assume is his wife. We can also assume he's an academician on a tenure-track; he wears tweeds, holds a pipe and has an overbite that would make an orthodontist weep with joy. They are both smiling, looking off into the distance ...] Him: Good news, dear. I've secured us invitations to the Humanities Department's "Come as Your Favorite Philosopher" holiday costume dinner. Her: What fun! I call dibs on Simone de Beauvoir. And who will you go as? Him: I'll be Hume for Christmas. Her: Yeah, maybe you should go alone.

#FumettiFriday Oh, the Humanities ...

[Black & white image of a dour-looking publishing executive (natty suit, bow-tie) in a book-lined office. His desk is stacked with papers and wire baskets full of more papers. He is speaking with an unseen superior.] Unseen Superior: Good idea you had, Harkins, getting the estate of Alex Comfort to lend his name to a cook-book. "The Joy of Comfort Food" is our number one seller in the Asian market. Harkins: Thank you, sir. For the translation, I used a very cunning linguist. US: Ah-heh. Of course, the section on Tossed Salad means Walmart won't stock it .... Harkins: Not to worry. We'll make up the difference with a holiday-themed trade paperback of attention-getting appetizers. How do you like the title, "Grab 'Em by the Paté"?

#FumettiFriday takes you behind the scenes, but you gotta find your way back.

[Black and white still photograph of a veranda in Africa, population: 3. Humphrey Bogart wears a pith helmet, khakis and a sneer. He is holding a pistol, still in its holster. A woman and a man, both well-dressed, regard him with no small amount of trepidation.] Bogart: Hey, whay aren't you two dressed for the safari? We're heading out in ten minutes. Gerald: We thought we'd give it a miss today. Charlotte isn't, ah, quite feeling herself. Bogart: Well, I can't say I'm surprised, considering the dent she put in our gin supply last night. Charlotte: Now see here--*OW!* Gerald, it ... it hurts when I speak. Bogart: Now you know how the rest of us feel. Y'know, "staying hydrated" isn't just a fancy way of saying "poach your livers in ethanol."

#FumettiFriday Safari, so good.

[Black and white image of a handsome young couple who, for purposes of this feeble wheeze, seem to have just been joined in matrimony by a sort of religious figure: short, dressed in black, and with a shock of white hair. They're all shaking hands; the male half of the couple has a large wad of cash peeking out from his fist.] Guy: We're grateful to you for performing the wedding on such short notice, Reverend. Gal: We'd ask you to the reception, but we're not *having* one since we have to leave in kind of a hurry. Isn't that right, *Harold?* Guy: You're making trouble again, Phoebe. Reverend: Don't give it another thought, my children. And, uh, keep your money. It's probably coated with a fine dusting of cocaine.

#FumettiFriday ... or, as it's known, the "left-over turkey sandwich" of internet humor.

[Black and white image of a couple in the throes of domestic pugilism: an older man in evening dress has backed his wife up against a desk. She wears a frilly frock and looks alarmed. She holds a small object in her left hand, apparently trying to keep it out of reach.] Him: Come on now, you little minx! Give me that remote! Her: *Never,* do you hear? My soap starts in five minutes! You can just go watch your silly old football at the tavern! *Go!* Spend time with your friends, the free-flowing beer, and the serving wenches! Him: I ... yeah, all right. Uh, don't wait up.

#FumettiFriday Remote possibilities

[Black and white image of three well-dressed people, two women and a man, in a tastefully appointed bedroom. One woman, seated on the bed, seems to be explaining a business proposition. The other woman, sitting in a comfy chair, is closely examining a cut glass bottle. The man, mid-frame, leans casually on the chair. He seems skeptical. We join them mid-sentence.] 1st Woman: ... then, when you've established a pool of people *you* can get to sell the product, the more money *you'll* make! Man: And I still say it sounds like one of those, whattaya call 'em, *pyramid* schemes ... 1st Woman: Hey, do I *look* like Imhotep to you, motherfu-- 2nd Woman: Say, are you sure this stuff is even legal in this state? 1st Woman: Well, let's put it this way: it isn't *not* legal.

#FumettiFriday your one-stop multi-level marketing garage

[Black and white image of a gathering of middle-aged female revellers waiting in line for refreshments. A woman in a uniform is ladling drinks from a crystal punch-bowl.] Reveller: Go on, Marjorie, try the punch! Marjorie: Golly, I don't know if I should. [To waitress] Excuse me, is this juice freshly squeezed? Waitress: If by "squeezed" you mean forced out due to crushing pressure, just like all accumulated wealth is from the pockets of the poor and desperate, then yes. Marjorie: Well, aren't you just a li'l ol' ray of sunshine? Tell me, Mme. Defarge, have you been thoroughly patted down by our security detail? What they may lack in subtlety they compensate with plausible deniability.

[Black and white image of a man in evening dress (we're talking top hat AND cape) enthralling a nurse. With penetrating gaze, he looks deeply into her eyes, and yet ...] Man: I suppose you're wondering what I, a trained magician, am doing in this institution, my dear. Nurse: It's no mystery. You managed to make your *career* vanish, hit the skids, cracked up, and now you're in need of constant care. Man: Yeah, well ... you may not be big on tact, but you more than compensate with erudition. Nurse: Eh, it's a living. Now step lively, Mandrake. It's almost time for your high colonic.

#FumettiFriday Presenting our new "compensation" package

[Black and white image of Dracula and Frankenstein's creature. They are in a cavernous room made of crude stone, and the lighting is harsh ... but this isn't an issue of House Beautiful anyway. Dracula has his hand on the creature's chest, as if to say, "Let me me handle it this time."] Dracula: No, let me me handle it this time. The sign quite clearly says "No Soliciting." Frankenstein's Creature: But they're not selling anything. They're Jehovah's Witnesses. Dracula: In that case, they can "witness" me telling them to *piss off!*

#FumettiFriday Trick or Tracts

[Black and white image of two women; one, a nun, is behind bars. The other is dressed in the simple garb of her people. A scarf covers her head.] Not a nun: I hate to be the kind of person who says "I told you so," but in this case ... A nun: Rubbish. You are *loving* this. But go ahead, enjoy the moment. Soon I'll be out on bail and *then* we'll see who has the last laugh. Not a nun: I think you missed a memo, "Mother Inferior." Sister Estelle copped a plea and flipped on you. Looks like you're goin' down. A nun: Wait, *what*? Listen, you gotta get me outta here. I'm too pretty to be inside. They're trading me for cigarettes. I think they're gonna use a make-shift branding iron on [sob] my cute li'l ass!

#FumettiFriday deleted scene from "Sister Act 3: The Reckoning."

[Black and white still from a Hammer Films Dracula movie. Dracula (Christopher Lee), clad in black, is about to sink his over-developed canines into an unconscious young blonde (Linda Hayden) in a low-cut sheath dress. Behind them stands a brunette woman (Isla Blair) wearing an even lower-cut dress (Hammer Films, remember), and a knowing smile. She speaks:] "Say, Count, wanta know what's over-rated? Young blondes like the one you're holding up, there. Now you take me ... *Please!* Ha-ha! No, seriously ... what does that trampy little peroxide job have that I don't, besides an impending case of anemia?"

#FumettiFriday a scene from "Test the Patience of Dracula" (1971)

[Black and white image of two people, a blonde woman in a black ensemble, and an older, rather serious man wearing a long overcoat and wide-brimmed hat. For the purposes of this gag, he is a tour-guide; she is a tourist. They stand in front of some ruins.] Tour-guide: ... and this structure dates from 132 A.D., during the reign of Emperor Hadrian. Tourist: What the hell? In all that time you'd think he'd have *finished* it by now! Tour-guide: Wait, *now* I remember you. You're the one who thought Vespasian invented the motor scooter.

#FumettiFriday "Those who do not remember the past are condemned to embarrass everyone else on the tour bus."
-- Santayana, probably ... after a couple glasses of Tempranillo

[Black and white image of three people, two men and a woman, backstage at a Berlin cabaret, circa 1930. The tuxedo-clad man in the middle stares straight ahead; on his left, a rather intense fellow with curly hair, his hand clutching the tuxedo lapel. On his right, a blonde woman, who seems to be totally over the whole show-biz thing.] Curly-haired Manager: Now, don't let your stage fright get the better of you. Just get out there and sing, *mein Junge!* [my boy] We have sold every seat in *der haus!* Gustav: But, what will the people sit on? Heidi: Gustav, this life of a cabaret singer is not for you. Parties, gaity, models hurling themselves at your feet ... Gustav: Wait, what? I have hurling models? Manager: Didn't *quite* think that one through, did you, Heidi?

[Black and white image of two young girls playing in a brick-walled courtyard. One stands on a table, singing her heart out (a selection from "West Side Story"); the other sits in a chair, watching, her tricycle parked right next to her.] Sylvie (table kid): [singing] "When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way. From your first cigarette to your last dying day ..." [not singing] C'mon, Zoë, don't just sit there, *sing!* Zoë (seated kid): Sylvie, mommy says I don't gots to play "Broadway" with you if I don't wanna, and for once I agree with her ... so unless I start getting some meatier parts, you're gonna be stuck with doing the monologues.

#FumettiFriday There's no business like show business ... and thank goodness for that.

[Black and white image of a married military couple in the foyer of their simple home (with complicated wallpaper); the officer (Robert Ryan) is preparing to leave, clad in his dress uniform. Hilda, his wife (played by Ida Lupino) wears a simple housedress, an apron, and a pensive expression.] Hilda: You're really going to wear that old thing? Robert: Yes. I'm addressing the troops at 1300 hours. Hilda: And what time is that for us normal people whose clocks only go up to twelve? Robert: Ha-ha. You civilians call it one o'clock. But I won't make it unless you help me find my Distinguished Service brooch. HiIda: Medal. In the Army it's called a medal. Robert: Don't pick at me, Hilda. I'm not a banjo.

#FumettiFriday A man gots to do what a man gots to do. Or something ...