30 Celebrities Photoshopped Side-By-Side With Their Younger Selves Show How Aging Has Changed Them

I know this isn’t my usual dating and relationship content, but I love these!

Dutch graphic designer Ard Gelinck makes time travel possible. At least, for celebrities. Gelinck has been photoshopping famous people as if they’re hanging out with their younger selves, and the images come out so cool, you can’t help but wonder if some of his subjects have them framed.

Gelinck has worked on these photomontages for about 10 years now, but it doesn’t look like he’s running out of ideas. On the contrary. The graphic designer continues to delight his 258K Instagram followers with regular uploads. Continue scrolling to check out the latest ones, and for his earlier works, fire up Bored Panda’s older articles here and here.

This post may include affiliate links.

Matt Leblanc

ardgelinck Report

The graphic designer said he’s always trying to challenge himself when it comes to Photoshop. “The ‘Then and Now’ series is quite old when you consider that me and my brother made the first image for it about 10 years ago,” Gelinck told Bored Panda. “About 5 years ago, I edited pictures for a lot of Dutch celebrities and it was a success, so I then started working with foreign celebrity photos. The first one was Madonna, and she even posted my image on her own Instagram.”

The Queen of Pop, however, isn’t the only Gelinck subject who has publicly admired his work. Rob Lowe, Tina Turner, Lionel Richie, Annie Lennox, BeeGees, Jason Priestly, Keshia Knight Pulliam, Carice van Houten, Sylvester Stallone, Robbie Williams, Michael Douglas, Ricky Gervais, and many more have also given him a shoutout. “When I think about it, the list is quite impressive,” Gelinck said.

Carrie Fisher

When the Photoshop wizard is composing the pictures, he’s often trying to make the subject and their former self embrace one another, be it an arm on the shoulder on a hug. “[The actual pose] depends on a lot of things. I’m trying to find one where they’re standing next to each other.”

The graphic designer thinks that his project has become so popular because people enjoy taking a trip down memory lane. Each of Gelinck’s images is like a shot of nostalgia that brings back past moments of enjoying music chart hits, TV shows, and movies.

Daniel Radcliffe

David Bowie

Ryan Reynolds

Kevin McCallister & Macaulay Culkin

Jennifer Aniston

Conan O’brien

Tom Hanks

Robert De Niro

Brad Pitt

Queen Elizabeth

Will Smith

Pierce Brosnan

Tom Felton & Draco Malfoy

Ricky Gervais

Hugh Grant

Dave Grohl

Julia Roberts

Matthew Perry

Harrison Ford

Mark Hamill

Peter Venkman (Bill Murray)

The Rock

Sean Astin

Jamie Lee Curtis

Dolly Parton

George Michael

Whoopi Goldberg

George Clooney

 

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

Buy Phicklephilly THE BOOK now available on Amazon!

Listen to the Phicklephilly podcast LIVE on Spotify!

Instagram: @phicklephilly    Facebook: phicklephilly    Twitter: @phicklephilly

Rebecca – Chapter 3 – Dark Wings of Destiny – Part 3

“We’ll just have to see how this one plays out. I’m not going to get my hopes up, but if it goes well,  I will be getting airbags installed in the headboard of my bed.”

I met Rebecca 3 years ago on a date. Rebecca has recently made an appearance in my life so I thought I’d re-run this series so everyone won’t have to go back and search for her series to catch up. Enjoy!

Fall 2016

Rebecca was right next to me. I could feel the energy. I felt really close to her.

“The city is so beautiful” she said.

She turned to me.

“You are” I replied.

And that’s when our lips met. My Lord. I’m too old for this.

Wait…no I’m not.

I kissed her.

Her lips were soft as she yielded to me. She folded into me like an old friend. It was just like I just stepped off stage at the Troubadour in Los Angeles and she loved the song that I had written about her. I was ageless in that moment. Overcome. Beautiful. This can’t be happening, but it is. Her lips were sweet and a little sticky. Minty. Human.

Her pupils were so big, it’s like her eyes were black instead of green. Her cheeks flushed and she giggled. I gently brushed her dark hair from her face and behind her ear. She slipped from me and cocked her head. It was as if she were trying to see me in a different way. “Let’s go look at some more stuff” she said, smiling. All I could hear was Midnight Moses playing in my head by the Dead Daisies. 

 

We continued to wander though the museum. Just going from room to room. I was making her laugh a lot about some things, because that’s what I do. I think at this point it was more nerves than game. I was smitten. I’m like a child at this point. I really am. I’m just amazed to be alive at this moment. But this is the old me. The new, old me. I shouldn’t follow this path.

We went into this one room and the whole space was art in architecture. Glorious big rooms that are incredible and opulent. We’re looking around the room and I’m behind her and she just leans back into me, and she is again in my arms. Is it the art? Is it me? It can’t be me. This is nuts, but the euphoria is glorious. I love this. This is my favorite part of everything. The beginning. Ignition. I’ve always been this way, much to the disappointment of the women in my life. But for right now I’m living in this moment. None of this makes any sense but I’m mainlining this feeling. She turns in my arms and nuzzles her lips and nose to mine. Her eyes are smokey and dark. Lashes flash and she smiles. She looks deeply into my eyes.

Rebecca pulls me into her world and kisses me again.

And again…

 

There was a moment later when we were sitting in one of the galleries and she was so excited by a work of art she grabbed my hand. She clasped it tightly in both of her hands as she described her passion for the work. It was one of my favorites as well. The couple coming home from the carnival. I feel her soft hand clasp mine. She’s holding my hand in her lap. Dopamine drops in my mind and I’m blind. The work was beautiful. But, I could no longer see it. It was gone. As was I. All I could feel in that moment was the back of my hand against Rebecca’s warm thigh.

Image result for PMA couple coming home from the carnival painting

I think we were at the PMA for 3, maybe 4 hours. I have no sense of time at this point with Rebecca. If I never hear from her again, I’m okay. This was a special sacred moment that I can wrap myself up in tonight. It’ll be just like waking up from a beautiful dream.

Obviously, we did get around to inquiries. Being overwhelmed by beauty and art only lasts so long. I asked he why she’s on Tinder. She said that she wanted to meet someone good. Someone that understood her and liked the things she liked. She told me at her age her friends aren’t really friends at all. They are just a bunch of young fools that smoke a bunch of weed and get drunk all of the time. She has ambition and wants to make something of herself. (she did seem really mature while we were texting) She told me she kind of went on Tinder to try. She gave me an example of a conversation she had with a boy her age recently. They were chatting and she asked him what he was looking for and he said he’d like to have some fun. When she asked him to define “fun” he sent her a photo of his genitals. That is some sad textbook shit right there. She explained to me that as an emergency room nurse, she gets her fill of seeing plenty of junk on a regular basis. “I don’t want to see his dick. I saw 5 dicks today and I had to put a catheter in an 85-year-old dick today”

My unblinking response: “Okay…..okay…”

She said she met another guy. She loved his mind and political views and he was just a really smart guy. She thought maybe her love of his mind and heart would translate into sex but she just wasn’t lit when they kissed. Women know. It’s either on in their minds and bodies or it’s not. Sadly boys, men don’t have this ability. She said she went on 4 dates with him and it was done. He was divorced and really into his kids, I think she said they were 16 and 19. He wanted to have her over and they were going to have dinner with the gang, and it all seemed weird because the teens were a little uncomfortable with their 54-year-old father bringing over a girl who was only 2 years older than the 19-year-old son.

Fuck. I’m jaded as hell and I hate that story. But it really came down to the fact that there was no chemistry. And that’s critical, because I’ve made that kind of lightening strike twice in the same place in the last decade. But what I noticed was she liked him but just wasn’t feeling the intimacy when they kissed. It just wasn’t there. She said she really liked him as a man and tried to keep the friendship going but he realized there was no fire so he withdrew. He has since moved on and even recently married.

So, is this chick into older men? I suppose so because she’s so bright and mature in her head. She’s got the brain of Emily Dickinson and the body of Vanessa Hudgens.

What am I supposed to do with that?  I never saw any of this coming when I started this blog. I thought I would be just writing about my experiences with women here in Philly over the last 10 years, and then this curve ball blindsided me.

She told me her dad is a big guy who’s from New York and he’s a caricature of a New Yorker. Works for the railroad. Her uncle travels the world and sounds like a cool guy that works and makes enough money and then moves to the Philippines and lives like a king for a year and then does it again somewhere else. That sounds awesome. I don’t have the freedom to do that but if I did you know I’d be there in Thailand risking arrest every year until I die. But I digress…

We wander back to the first floor and are nearing the exit. She validates her parking because apparently she’s a member of the museum which I find super cool. We walk out the door and go to the elevator to the parking garage. I didn’t know the PMA had this. It must be new.  I walk her to her car. It’s dusty and blue. We do the perfunctory statements. I like you. I want to see you again. But those words are hollow. I think I may never see her again. This all seems so unreal. I haven’t felt this in years. Please don’t let this happen again. But I want the drug of love. Not love. Just the drug. I feel like a helpless addict.

She looks up at me under the fluorescent lights of the stark concrete parking garage. We are beneath the silence… Her green eyes flash in the light like pale emeralds. She runs her hands through her thick mane of dark hair. I watch as it tumbles back to her shoulders through her fingers. Her neatly manicured fingernails. The lean muscles in her arms. She smiles. Sort of a sly, half-smile. Like she knows something about me that I haven’t revealed. I think she senses it in my eyes. I smile and try to clear that. But she sees me. It’s unsettling. She places her petite hands together likes she’s praying, and then spreads them and reaches for me. Her hands hit my shoulders and pull me toward her.

She kisses me. The kiss is deep and wet. Her tongue swirls. She smells exquisite.

I am lost in this sensuous moment.

But just for a moment.

Rebecca: “I like you. The Fringe Festival is happening soon. Can we go to something?”

You all know my answer.

She places her foot against the door and adjusts her shoe. I steal a glance at her well turned leg. She lingers on the laces of her sneaker. It’s taking too long. It’s as if she wants to remind me of what I like. She knows. She’s reading me. Come on. Nobody can do that. Maybe it’s all in my head, but her legs are exquisite and she knows she’s touched the beyond in me.

 

She drives away and I’m back on the street behind the museum. I order an UBER. He arrives in 8 minutes and I’m on my way back to Rittenhouse. I’m sitting in the back of the Toyota Avalon and my mind is reeling. I need to hold it together. He’s lost for some reason and I have to guide the driver home. I get out and realize I haven’t eaten in over 8 hours. I stop at my local corner shop and order a slice to go. I get back to the bat cave and text her.

“Home safe. Had a lovely evening with you.”

Crickets.

Panic.

Then it came…

“I was just about to text you the same thing! See you soon! XOXO- Rebecca”

We’ll just have to see how this one plays out. I’m not going to get my hopes up, but if it goes well, I will be getting airbags installed in the headboard of my bed.

Old habits die hard.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

Listen to Phicklephilly LIVE on Spotify!

Facebook: phicklephilly       Instagram: @phicklephilly       Twitter: @phicklephilly

Rebecca – Chapter 2 – Dark Wings of Destiny – Part 2

I met Rebecca 3 years ago on a date. Rebecca has recently made an appearance in my life so I thought I’d re-run this series so everyone won’t have to go back and search for her series to catch up. Enjoy!

In the last episode our hero was preparing for his big date with Rebecca. Let’s see how it plays out.

Fall 2016

The Date

I jumped into an Uber out front of my house and went to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. The PMA is an amazing part of this city. I’ve been going there since I was a child. I remember going as a kid with my family. My father always exposed us to the arts. Dad introduced us to art, music, literature and everything else. I should probably do a blog about him at some point, but I’ll cover this stuff for now. I think I could see this blog metamorphosing into who I really am and that idea is unsettling. But somehow, I know that it will. It almost has to change. How long can I write about all of these lovely creatures that come in and out of my life? I know deep down I’ll run out of stories and the real me will come forward. I think that’s when this memoir will become what it truly needs to be.

Anyway, I had to say that because I see it, and I know it’s coming for me.

I arrive on time, and Santos was a good driver. He brings me to the back of the museum. It’s just easier. I’m not up for doing the Rocky run up the steps out front. It’s just too hot today. I think this is the last 90 degree day of the summer here in Philly. I think as a city we’re all tired of the heat. 2013 was a hot summer but people forget. 2013 was “The summer of Chaz” but that will be described in a future blog. (You can read it now. See: Annabelle)

 

One of the beautiful and most elegant things about the PMA is that it never changes. Sure, they have new installations coming in and out all of the time, but you can never change the core of the place. There are just certain pieces that are constant and they fill my heart with wonder, memory and love. The place is simply amazing. If you haven’t gone in a while, please go and feel the magic energy of these wonderful, brilliant artists that make the place what it is. When you walk through the halls of the PMA you can really feel that Homo Sapiens are good and make beautiful things, and all of the terrible things we’ve done as a species melt away after a few hours in there.

I walk in, and like I said it’s pay what you want Wednesdays which based on my last few dates will run me a total of $10.

The brilliance continues. Rebecca texts me and says she’s running 15 minutes late which is actually perfect. Normally as you know, I hate that. But she’s new and young, so I’m forgiving. I hit the first floor back balcony and get a glass of wine and wait. I look over the balcony and across the room downstairs. There is a bevy of young women all sitting together on the seats on the other side of the room. Chatting, giggling and looking at their phones.

I’m sipping my Barefoot Chardonnay (basically urine) that cost $9.00, and I get a text. Rebecca has also arrived through the back door of the museum. I tell her I’m upstairs waiting. I see her appear at the top of the stairs, and she fiddles with her phone. I’m going to go ahead right here and tell you she’s 35 years younger than me. I know. But I met her on Tinder and this is Phicklephilly, and she likes art and is a nurse. Maybe she’s okay. Maybe it’ll be different this time. Maybe I keep doing the same thing over and over with my fatal charm hoping for a different result. But that is madness. Am I mad? She’ll be okay. She won’t be crazy or immature, or 9 months into our relationship tell me that she wants to get married and have kids and I’m too old, and don’t ever want that again. (See: Annabelle) I am what I am, and I guess I’ve followed through with this for a reason. Maybe it’ll all be okay.

Fear grips me.

I’m doing the same thing, over and over again.

Well, she’s more than okay. She is exquisite. I’ve said this before, but I literally sucked my breath in when she appeared. Out of all of the photos I’ve posted here to illustrate what these women look like, the one here is really close to what this delightful girl looks like. I kid you not, dear readers. How is this happening again? What am I doing here? How many times have I said this to myself?

She’s 5’2″ and petite. Her hair is dark brown. Her eyes are green. Her skin is a light caramel. Her lips are like ripe cherries. She’s wearing a red and white cotton top, nothing fancy, with a pair of cutoff jean shorts. Her legs are supple tan pillars of lean muscle and sinew. She’s wearing white keds. It doesn’t matter… she’s perfect.

My God. She’s beautiful. Is she going to look upon me and run? Will she apologize and say there’s been some sort of cosmic mistake? Will I hand her $300 to “help with school?” Will security come and just throw me off the balcony to finally finish me off on the cold marble floor below me so that I know that this is a dream?

None of that happened.

I could see she was texting me so I texted her ” I’m here on the balcony. Come hither.”  She looks at her phone and then glances about the room. She sees me and smiles. Kill me now. She bounds toward me and I stand. She goes up on her tip toes and hugs me tightly. “I’ve really been looking forward to meeting you!” she exclaims. I can smell her hair. Soft fleece brushes against my face like ribbons of chocolate. The fragrance is soft cocoa. In that moment in her arms, it’s as if she has just revealed a secret to me. She clutches me tightly and then slips away.

She looks me straight in the eyes, and says: “Let’s go share some art!” I swallow the last mouthful of my shitty wine and toss the cup in the trash. I’m locked and loaded. (not really loaded) She asked if I had a map, and I told her that I did. She said “Keep it if you want but I’d rather you toss it in the trash and we just wander together.”

Am I dreaming? Is she going to invoice me for $300 to hang with this lovely doll? But none of that happened either. We simply went downstairs and wandered through the halls. The great thing was that we both had pieces of art we loved and stories behind them. I forgot how connected I was to the PMA. Not as a resident of the city but in my heart.

We came upon a painting called the Moorish Priest. (Google it.) It’s beautiful and powerful. She stopped and I told her that it was my late Mother’s favorite painting in the whole museum. She loved it so much that my father bought her a framed print of it and it hung in our shore house at the top of the stairs for 30 years. She seemed moved by its beauty and the story. I asked her what her thoughts were and she said; “As a nurse I can see he has a good vein in his hand and in his forearm and I could get an IV in that no problem.” Well, she is an emergency room nurse and that’s a legit answer from someone who is always looking for a vein to save a life. The family connection and the irony struck me as funny and nostalgic.

We wandered around for a while rediscovering so many works we both loved. We agreed on so many, for all of the same reasons! We were on the second floor and there’s a huge window that looks down the Ben Franklin Parkway right to City Hall. I told her I remember coming to this very spot as a child and taking a photo of the city through this window with my little plastic Kodak Instamatic camera that I had won in a contest at a shoe store.

We looked out at our city. The skyline. It was dusk. The last time I was here was years ago with a group of co-workers on a Friday night during a lightning storm. It was Art After Five on a Friday and we were all plowed on cheap poorly made cocktails. (See: Michelle)

Rebecca was right next to me. I could feel the energy. I felt really close to her. “The city is so beautiful” she said.

She turned to me.

“You are” I replied.

 

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

Listen to Phicklephilly LIVE on Spotify!

Facebook: phicklephilly       Instagram: @phicklephilly       Twitter: @phicklephilly

Phicklephilly – Special Report: Haters Gonna Hate

“Look onto your own bloody lives.” – John Lennon

Hello all. First of all I’d like to thank everyone of my followers and everybody who reads and enjoys my blog. I really appreciate the loyalty and enthusiasm of my audience. You’re the best group of creative, intelligent, lovely people I’ve ever encountered in the writing community.

So, Thank you all. I appreciate your words and your thoughts.

The reason for this blog’s success is all of you over the last 3 years. I’ve posted thousands of pieces and have had over 40,000 visitors and over 80,000 page views. I hope maybe I’ve helped a few folks out there with my dating and relationship advice and also I hope they enjoy all of my heartfelt stories and crazy dating experiences.

I’m proud and humbled by all of the attention for my little blog here in Philly.

Anyway, I wrote a piece back in 2017, (nearly 3 years ago!) and forgot about it. It was a goofy post about somebody I met on Bumble but never went out on a date with because they seemed a bit crazy.

Again, it was so long ago and I’ve written so much over the last few years I simply forgot about it.

Two days ago, I noticed a spike in my viewer stats. Frankly I was amazed. (5 times my usual daily views!) Initially I was astounded at all of the attention. I thought that maybe my blog had finally taken off as a literary force!

But when I looked closer I realized that someone, or a group of someones had found this old blog piece and attacked me.

This mad group of trolls crawled out of their caves, or out from under their rocks, or from under their bridges where they live to scare the Billy Goat’s Gruff! (hopefully some of you get the reference!)

They called me all sorts of names and were really mean.

There are thousands of these pigs out there and they love to attach themselves to successful people like blood sucking sea lampreys.

This is my blog, my words and my truth. I control every aspect of it and enjoy that part of it. I happily have to approve every comment that appears on this blog. (I have to because I get at least 50 spam posts a week and it’s all a bunch of nonsense that could hurt the integrity of the site’s function as well as WordPress.)

 

Someone once asked me how to deal with negative feedback. I told them this: “Positive feedback usually makes you feel good. (The warm fuzzy’s we all like from friends, loved one’s and coworkers) and Negative feedback. Negative feedback, when done respectfully and properly, improves your performance.

But what if the negative feedback is mean and unwarranted?

Sadly, every moron now has a voice. The internet. For hundreds of years the only voices you heard were in newspapers, radio, and TV. But since the invention of social media every idiot that wants to anonymously make a comment or attack a person to hurt them can now do it.

We’ve all read about these cowards. These internet bullies who have even hurt children and caused some poor troubled souls to even take their own precious lives.

They’re all despicable cowards that I have no time for. I’ve had my share in the last 3 years. There’s always someone out there who won’t agree with something you did to express yourself and write and create. Most of these morons that attack those of us brave enough to bare our souls through our literature and tell the truth about our live and experiences can barely put together a paragraph of any kind of rational thought.

If it happens to you, please take my simple advice:

It comes down to simple science. As a musician and a man of science, let me share this with you all.

In order for a sound to be made, you need two things. A Transmitter and a Receiver. The transmitter emits a sound, or a comment or anything. It needs a receiver to make a SOUND. With no receiver, there is NO SOUND. You need both to make a SOUND. So if some troll makes a negative comment about your art, simply don’t respond.

The negative comment never sees the light of day on your blog and it silences these fools and cowards who hide behind their computers. Because their lives are so empty, and vacuous they want to hurt those who are strong and have a real voice with their art.

Anyone who holds them out in the public eye with creative ideas will always be met with some adversity from morons who don’t have anything good going on in their lives and have nothing better to do than to attack people with real talent like all of you out there who are writers and artists yourselves.

So these broken transmitters bark their nonsense on your blog and make their snide comments and all you have to do is not approve their comments.

It’s that simple.

Laugh at what they wrote and toss it in your spam file. It’s nothing but trash and don’t let these morons have a voice.

No voice, equals no sound.

Scrape them from the sole of your shoe like you would any other bit of excrement.

Or, look at this way. I once wrote a manuscript for a book 20 years ago. It wasn’t very good and I sent it out to several publishers. I got tons of the usual rejection letters, but there was this one that struck me. She said I was a good writer but didn’t like all of the sex and violence in my work. I took it as an insult. I spoke with an artist friend of mine and he said, “No man, don’t you get it? She rejected your work, but she cared enough to tell you that your work disturbed her. It moved her to have a feeling. Whether it’s joy or revulsion, that’s what art does. It makes you feel something. You made her feel something. That’s a good thing!”

So sadly, in this day and age, haters are going to hate. They’re all a bunch of losers so don’t worry about them and don’t give them a voice.

Take control.

I’ve decided to cut and paste their words here in this blog piece that I control. I will hold these ugly trolls out to all of you, and I will show you what they are… but on my terms.

Here’s what these cowards said about me.

 

Alida 

Wow. Misogyny much?

First – do you have permission to share Ms. Smith’s images? Her name? Her comments to you, which were considered private? Have you no shame nor any concern about a lawsuit?

Second – What is it about you that you find so special and amazing? Looked through your blog here. You claim to be a gentleman, but your posts, especially this one, refute that.

Third – You dare to call yourself a writer, but what I have read from your site so far has been less than impressive. Venting is not writing.

 

 

John

Dear Mr. Hickle, If I were you I’d take this down immediately. You are grossly GUILTY of character defamation, labile, cyber bullying, and slew of other hate related crimes, as well as releasing her personal and confidential information without her consent. If this woman want to, she could sue with in an inch of your life. I know you didn’t like this person, but you are not only way out of line here, you are committing several felonies in the process by keeping this online.

 

 

K R

Honey…the only one with red flags in this exchange is you. Looks like Marey dodged a bullet there. Incel ghoul.

 

Chels

Wow… this is pretty ballsy…. publishing a woman’s images and name I assume without permission.

Glad you got your rocks off. Honestly looks like she dodged a bullet.

 

ashley

You would have been lucky to meet her, you douchebag. Looks like you though which is great because you should see Mary now! She’s a WONDERFUL woman and even an inspiration to me to stay positive no matter what life throws at you. You, my friend, never deserved that first date with Mary because you would have NEVER have been good enough. If only ONE thing you said was right about her then maybe you’d have something here but you never got to know this wonderful woman. Again, you’re a douchebag and have no place writing this bull shit with no actual FACTS to go on. Good luck in your endeavors, I hope woman on Bumble see this and avoid your ass too!spared her 

 

An Actual Writer

Hey Phickle—would you like to know how you come across, here? Do you know how it sounds when you add your bold-faced lies to your perspective?… Do you have any sense of personal accountability or introspection at all? (Rhetorical questions, obvi.)

This isn’t funny. *You* are not funny. I hope the women you’re attempting to meet catch wind of your site and steer clear.

 

Patty

This article is extramural cruel and unnecessary . I’m glad you have the time to purposefully put people down and look down on them for no reason. You are the definition of what a bully is put other people down and make fun of them to make your self feel better . I also love how you multiple time point out that your a lier wonderful quality dude ! She was better off with out you

 

ashley

So phicklephilly has changed the name of the person in this blog to protect their privacy rights… years after it’s been out there online.

I smell a lawsuit!! And one that NEEDS to be heard. Good luck Mr. Phicklephilly;)

 

Frank

Someone who describes themselves as having “been at this a while” has clearly got his own issues with relationships to deal with himself.

I wish I was cool enough to have a blog where I could judge random strangers based on one interaction.

I wonder if you’re still alone

 

E

You, sir, are an ass. First, you slander someone in your writing using her real name and photos, then suddenly its a “fictional story” after you get called out on it? No wonder YOU are/were single and on a dating site in the first place. Bullet dodged by everyone who didn’t date you. Grow up!!

 

 

What a collection of failures. All the poor grammar and bad spelling! 

Can you imagine taking the time out of your day to write the above nonsense and actually think that your little pathetic voice is heard by anyone who gives a damn about anything you have to say?

I thought I’d share what these morons said so you can all have a good laugh along with me as I continue to bring you quality content everyday…

Twice a day!

 

Oh… Here’s the best part. All of this nonsense, rage and curiosity caused an incredible spike in my traffic. Thank you trolls and haters.

In the last 48 hours I have had over 1200 page views. Thank you for getting me  closer to my 100,000 page view goal!

(Insert hysterical laughter here)

 

My father once said to me the following words, and it was one of the best pieces of advice he ever gave me.

“Son, the emptiest barrels make the most noise. Ignore them.”

 

Thank you one and all for your continued love and support! I’d love to hear your experiences with this sort of nonsense!

 

Koolkosherkitchen Forever!

 

 

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

Check out the new Phicklephilly podcast on Spotify!

Facebook: phicklephilly       Instagram: @phicklephilly       Twitter: @phicklephilly

Tales of Rock: Alice Cooper – Discovery

Most drunken purchases are best forgotten.

But not this one.

The rock star Alice Cooper was so caught up in “a swirl of drugs and drinking” that he apparently forgot he owned a silkscreen of an electric chair by his friend Andy Warhol that could now be worth several million dollars.

The forgotten work has spent the best part of the last forty years in a storage locker, and was only rediscovered four years ago when Alice’s mother found it ‘rolled up in a tube’ in the locker.

The work has never been stretched on a frame.

According to a report in the Guardian by the British writer Edward Helmore, Cooper’s then-girlfriend organized the purchase of the work, a red Little Electric Chair silkscreen, from Warhol’s Death and Disaster series, for $2,500 in the early ’70s.

However, amidst the chaos of his rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle, Cooper forgot all about the purchase, and was shortly afterwards admitted to a psychiatric hospital, according to his manager, the legendary Shep Gordon.

Gordon told the Guardian that Cooper and Warhol became friends in New York in the ’70s.

“It was back in ‘72 and Alice had moved to New York with his girlfriend Cindy Lang,” Gordon told the Guardian. “Andy was kind of a groupie, and so was Alice. They loved famous people. So they started a relationship, and they loved to hang out.”

At the time, Cooper had a stage routine that involved him feigning electrocution in an electric chair.

After learning that Warhol had produced images of the electric chair – the work is based on a press photograph from 13 January 1953 of the death chamber at Sing Sing prison, where Julius and Ethel Rosenberg were executed for passing atomic secrets to the Russians—Lang, who passed away in January at the age of 67—had the idea to approach the artist’s studio and purchase one of the 1964 canvases.

“As I recall,” Gordon told the Guardian, “Cindy came to me for $2,500 for the painting. At the time Alice is making two albums a year and touring the rest of the time. It was a rock’n’roll time, none of us thought about anything. He ends up going into an insane asylum for his drinking and then leaves New York for LA.

“Alice says he remembers having a conversation with Warhol about the picture. He thinks the conversation was real, but he couldn’t put his hand on a Bible and say that it was.”

After a chance meeting with a Los Angeles art dealer, Ruth Bloom, Gordon was reminded of the work, which measures 22 x 28in, and Alice’s mother found it rolled up in a tube in storage.

Upon learning that the top price paid for a Little Electric Chair was $11.6m, at Christie’s in November 2015 for a green version dated 1964, Cooper said he didn’t want anything of such value in his house—and put it back into storage.

Richard Polsky, a Warhol expert believes the canvas dates to 1964 or 1965.

“I’m 100%,” Polsky told the Guardian. “It looks right, and the story just makes too much sense. It’s hard to appreciate how little Warhol’s art was worth at the time. Twenty-five hundred was the going rate at the time. Why would Andy give him a fake?

“He had plenty of electric chairs. They were not an easy sell. They weren’t decorative in the conventional sense. It’s a brutal image.”

Gordon added: “At the time no one thought it had any real value. Andy Warhol was not ‘Andy Warhol’ back then. And it was all a swirl of drugs and drinking. But you should have seen Alice’s face when Richard Polsky’s estimate came in. His jaw dropped and he looked at me.

“‘Are you serious? I own that!’”

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

Instagram: @phicklephilly       Facebook: phicklephilly    twitter: @phicklephilly