1. I check the stats for this blog periodically. I’d say that maybe 15% of the officially-recorded hits that Google tells me about these days are just referrer spam coming from porn sites, which is a significant total for a blog that features precisely zero NSFW photographs but so be it. The thing I’ve noticed about these sites is that they are surprisingly … umm … specific. Yeah, that’s the word I’m looking for. “Specific.” That’s … that’s a good word for it, yes. Yesterday’s winner was a site dedicated to “lesbian feet.” I had no idea that feet had sexual preferences, but you learn something new every day. Rule 34 is the driving force of the internet.
2. Apparently yesterday was also “Drive Like a Hypoglycemic Baboon Day” around here. I wish I had seen the memo before I got in the car. I would have planned ahead.
3. So far the new turkeys seem to be thriving. All six of them are still up and walking around, happily eating, drinking, and shitting in their own water supply. Seriously – domestic turkeys are the stupidest things on the planet, up to and including rocks. Amiable critters. But not bright. What kind of low-watt species actively pollutes their own drinking water?
4. You know what, forget I asked that.
5. Every year I give my talk on the Salem Witchcraft Hysteria to my friend’s anthropology class – a talk that I thoroughly enjoy giving – and every year it’s the same. I tell the students that nearly two dozen women and men were executed during the Hysteria and they just write it down. Then I tell them that the villagers at Salem also executed two dogs (on the grounds that they were witches’ familiars) and suddenly everyone turns into John Wick.
6. You can only eat unshelled peanuts outside, really.
7. I now have a “sleep wedge” in the fond hopes that it will make me less of a nuisance to others. It takes some getting used to. For one thing, I end up sliding down to the bottom over the course of the night. They don’t tell you about that in the instructions.
8. Yes, these things come with instructions. Everything in America comes with instructions, because some fool figured out how to kill himself with a pillow and every lawyer in a three-county radius tried to cash in and that’s why you see things like “do not use if product is actively engulfed in flames” printed on the label and still someone would try to sue anyway you just know that.
9. I have had my spring shearing. It was time. I no longer look like the High Sparrow, which is good because religious fanatics annoy me no end.
10. Soon there will be dentistry and medical examinations and with any luck I will be declared No Less Healthy Than Last Year and I can go back to my life and continue to slowly deteriorate in peace.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
10 comments:
1. Sorry ‘bout that … I’ll try to remember to go check the weather radar before visiting in the future.
2. As a Professional Driver, I can assure you that every day is “Drive Like a Hypoglycemic Baboon Day”, and it doesn’t really matter which part of the country you happen to be driving in. If, on any given day, others seem to be driving more sanely, it’s only because you are the Baboon that should have checked your blood sugar.
3. You really need to spend more time around cows. They are not just low-watt enough to pollute their drinking water, they’re actually running in double-digit negative wattage. Make domestic turkeys look down right intelligent. (I’m pretty certain we’ve been down this road before. I’ll stop when you stop.) 😜
4. No. you keep brining it up. I’m gonna keep rubbing your nose in it and slapping your tushy with a rolled up Newsweek magazine. 🤨
5. I have a daughter who has declared herself to be Wiccan. She would probably kill to sit in on that lecture. Had to Google ‘John Wick’. does that say anything about my social life?
6. Does the candy shell on M&M Peanuts count? if it does, I’m doing something wrong …
7. I read that as ‘wedgie’. 3 times. Believe me, “sliding down to the bottom” takes on a whole different meaning under that circumstance.
8. It would take way too long to go find it, but I read a story about a guy (it’s always a guy) last year that didn’t believe that someone could hurt themselves on some point of warning in the instructions for a new appliance he had purchased. So he tried it out. Guess what?
9. Shearing is a chore to be avoided at all costs.
10. DO NOT deteriorate in peace. Raise hell and make everyone take notice. It freaks them out to no end, Much delight is therefore gained adding many years of glee to the endgame.
(That’s how I got this far …)
Lucy
1. So it was YOU! Seriously, dude. You need to sell tickets or something.
2. Yeah, there are some days when even I can see that the primate in need of a Snickers bar is sitting under my hat. I will bow to the professional. But still. Just in Our Little Town on Wednesday I got cut off three times, stuck behind people doing a minimum of 15mph below the speed limit twice, and had to point out to a guy at an intersection that he didn’t have a stop sign so would he please get moving so I could turn left behind him, all in the space of about six hours. It’s a good thing that atomic laser death cannons are illegal is all I’m saying.
3. I’ve been around cows. They don’t have to learn how to eat. We’re just going to have to disagree on this one. ;)
4. Was that one of the sites mentioned in point 1? I’m nearly famous!
5. It’s a fun lecture. The high point is the story of the witchcraft trial that didn’t quite turn out the way it did in Salem. At least it is for me. I wrote a post about that story a long time ago – the way I tell it now is much better, I think, but this is the gist of it.
7. You and several other people. There is not enough whiskey in the barrel to get rid of some of those mental images.
8. Three guesses, first two don’t count. I know that you can hurt yourself following those warning labels – that’s why they put them there, because some enterprising fool decided to prove that nothing is foolproof and then his (always his, that is true) heirs found a lawyer and suddenly we have warning labels longer than CVS receipts. MURCA!
9. Yeah, but I have reached the age where without shearing there is only comb-over and that just looks stupid. I have discovered that if I get a proper shearing I don’t have to think about my hair for months afterward – just wash and go, without bothering to dry or comb. Most of my fashion sense is based on “low maintenance” and “doesn’t itch.”
10. Whatever happens, I will not go quietly. :)
1. But, the feet! Who’s gonna think about those Lesbian Feet? Will they find a place where they can live in peace? Will they adopt? So many feet never do find happiness. Even Dr. Scholl’s don’t help much.
2. Wait - you mean my atomic laser death cannons aren’t legal? Oh, shit!
3, Agreed. (But still going to rub your nose in it every time you claim turkeys are the “stupidest things on the planet, up to and including rocks.” I’ve had rocks try to kill me. That’s proof of intent, which is more intelligence than a turkey can ever hope for, ’s all I’m sayin’.)
5. That is a Great Story. Forwarded link to my daughter.
7. Tell me about it … I’m on my third rail car of brain bleach with no relief in sight. So, please, those of us out here with a seriously warped perspective of the world and be a little more considerate in your phrasing in future posts.
8. Since you brought it up: There is nothing in this universe longer than a CVS receipt. Picked up the wife’s Humira®* the other day. One item. The receipt was eleven feet, 8⅞” long. Cut down forests much there, CVS? (Yes, I actually measured it. OCD, remember?) Annnnnd, while we’re here, how in the blue fuck does Humira®** ever hope to justify $5,000/month for 2 doses of their drug? They claim that millions of people have been prescribed. Do the math. If you can. My calculator will not display a number that large. Scrooge McDuck would be proud.
MURCA! Land of the impoverished, home of the pharmaceutical banker.
Hippocrates be damned.
9. Oh. Haircut. Okay. (Visit a sheep ranch during shearing season. See if they’ll let you help. Seriously. Entertaining. In a classic sadism sort of way - you will then understand my initial response.)
10. Start complaining now. Keep ‘em worried. Soon, they’ll start to ignore you. Then, in that critical moment, they’ll fail to do that something stupid that prolongs your misery.
😃
Lucy
*Only put the ® in there to forestall litigation.
**Id.
#7 - REDUX Re-reading that about broke MY brain, so I offer my sincere apologies and a more (hopefully) cogent version.
7. Tell me about it … I’m on my third rail car of brain bleach with no relief in sight. So, please, for those of us out here with a seriously warped perspective of the world be a little more considerate of your phrasing in future posts.
Lucy
1. Apparently enough people to put together an entire site. People seem to think about lesbian feet all the time, which surprises me – none of the lesbians I know seem to think about their feet overmuch, so maybe it’s just a spectator sport? Who knows. I know my feet aren’t all that happy with me these days.
2. I KNOW! I thought we lived in America.
3. See – rocks ARE more intelligent than turkeys! We agree.
7. I’ll work on that. Brain bleach is expensive and you don’t need that burden from me.
8. Eleven feet, 8 7/8 inches long? If you buy a few more items you could turn those into a set of venetian blinds! That’s bizarre. And don’t even get me started on the sheer brokenness of the American health care system. Come the revolution, drug company execs won’t be the first ones up against the wall but they won’t be the last ones either.
10. I holler because I have to. I holler because I want it known that I will not be complicit in the right-wing takeover of a once proud republic. When they start to ignore me, then I figure I can ramp up a notch. Eventually I’ll take over.
Issues.
!. Lesbian feet. Feet which are, of and by themselves, lesbian. The Original Reference in this post was “lesbian feet” - not feet of or belonging to lesbians - which, I believe, would be properly rendered as lesbians’ feet.
3. Sure got me with that one!
7. Thank you. Master Charge running low …
8. I think it will take just about one more $5000.00 co-pay and I ain’t waiting for no silly ass revolution to start looking for a suitable wall.
10. You appear to have lost the thread. This Point was about your health and its gradual deterioration “in peace”. My Point: The Hell With That! Complain! Now! Long and loud about that those aching feet, sore knee, that old football injury, that pimple on your ass that really, really hurts The headaches. Those mysterious headaches. The occasional unexplained sudden pain in your chest (really, I’m sure it’s nothing …), etc. The idea is to keep those close to you wondering (not enough to cause actual concern, mind you), so that they will eventually learn to ignore you, ‘you giant pain in the ass!’ (Seriously: you are way to mild-mannered. You are over 50*, it is time to start learning how to be a proper Giant Pain In The Ass). 😉
Then when the actual stroke comes, they’ll ignore that, too, and it will be too late to do anything about it, allowing you die in peace without all that wailing and hospitals and doctors and junk and junk.
The whole right-wing takeover thingy is a different subject to holler about, silly.
😜
Lucy
*Wait, you are over 50, aren’t you? I seem to remember having established that earlier. Dementia is actually a wonderful place to reside - as long as you’re the one who’s not aware of it … or so I was told. By someone.
8. No time like the present. No present like time.
10. Me? Lose a thread? Why, that's ... um ... yeah, far too likely these days.
Indeed, blew through the half century mark a while ago. When you're over the hill, you pick up speed.
And after cresting the hill and beginning the descent, acceleration is in inverse proportion the apparent time of your childhood.
I believe the actual formula is: (Too complicated to reproduce here.)
It does, however, make a weird sucking noise as it goes by. And "wooosh" is not that sound ...
Lucy
I thought time seemed to be moving faster these days.
Mostly what I hear is the same "Oooooohsh..." that is often the last thing recorded on an airliner's black box.
Precisely.
When I was 8, the summer break from June to September was exactly 9 months long. The actual skool year was 22 months, 18 days long. (Had to walk 6 miles to skool. Uphill. In both directions. -22°F. In a blizzard. And, as I recall, barefoot.)
Now, June to September is only 28 days, 6 hours long. (And I'm still walking 6 miles uphill in both directions. 118° F. 98% Humidity. Bare-headed. And the republicans tore down the skool and erected a strip-mall in its place.)
Ahhhh, the joys of these 'Golden (?) Years'.
Lucy
Post a Comment