Former Lollipop artist Mark Reusch (that’s Mister Reusch to you) hooks up a licensing deal with Salem-based Arcane Nonesuch to produce his paintings on jewelry.
“He’ll be the only one,” he said. Then he let out a laugh that sounded like coarse-grain sandpaper against a steel door. “You know how to swim, don’t you?”
I’m here to print writing. Writing about Life, the Universe and Everything, cleverly tucked between such standard lines as “it rocks!” and “chugging guitars.”
“He refuses to rhyme his verse. It’s a big ‘fuck-you’ to the rest of these yokels. Jack Laroue’s famous,” she insisted. “He was a Rhodes scholar out of Yale.”
Nothing like coming across as a purple-haired, snot-nosed, bratty punk at the tender age of thirty. What do you like, ya big sourpuss? And that’s the thing…
An editor from Salt Lake City magazine was on the line, wanting to send me to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, for five days, everything paid and nothing due in return.
I’m torn between getting this hatred and disgust that lies within me in steaming clots out once and for all and maneuvering my mouse to “no” when asked to save.