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An old man's gotta do what an old man's gotta do

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dailytiberino.jpg

SPANKING PRETTY GIRLS ON PINE STREET is pretty much what Joe Tiberino lives for. The West Philadelphia artist, and curator of the Ellen Powell Tiberino Museum of Contemporary Art in Powellton Village, has been waiting patiently for the better part of his 70 years for some dazzling young lady in a green high school junior prom dress to insist that Joe sit right down on a marble stoop, bend her over his knee and spank her pale white bottom until it was as pink as his sick twisted old man fantasies.

Now I ask you to look at that face on Joe Tiberino with his "What me worry?" Alfred E. Neuman grin and tell me that the man doesn't know that dreams were meant to come true. If I hadn't been there to exhaustively document with photographes Mr. Tiberino's afternoon paddywhack on the 1200 block of Pine Street Wednesday, I do believe that I'd believe that I'd suspect that the old codger made the whole story. But I was there when photographer Lauren Enfield picked old Joe out of all the hunk'a hunk'a burnin' manhood lining the horsehoe shaped bar at Dirty Frank's and asked him to play the mean daddy in this bad-girl-gets-hers scenario.

Joe was only too willing to oblige, and being the quick study he's always been in matters pornopossible , he performed his duties as though he was to the paddle born. His comely lapmate is May Duffner, a magnificently endowed model who played the role of naughty so nicely you'd think she'd been practicing.

It's all in day's work, loyal readers. I'm just glad I was there to document another "You think I make this stuff up?" moment.

Incidentally, Joe invited Lauren and May to the spring season grand opening of The Ellen (tiberinomuseum.org) on Saturday, April 17 from 2 p.m.until dawn or thereabouts. You're invited too.

 

March Madness? Spring is here? Tell it to the snow sphinx

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dailysphinx.jpgWE KNOW IT CAN ONLY GET WORSE, and yet we can't help but notice how nice these last couple of days have been.  A long sunny weekend in early March, an almost warm Monday.  The sense of spring, not in abstract or memory, but to feel it in the air like sex in the wind.  I can smell Spring around here!

  But it's a tease, not even a lie. March is a month only a mother could love. Such a disappointment. Not allowed to be still winter, not supposed to be spring.  Acting out all the time.

  I see no lamb in March.  A lion certainly, but not roaring necessarily.  I see an inscrutable lionlike presence in the month of March.  Like that snow sphinx above. March is patient.  March has seen it all. 

 

 

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