Thursday, November 30, 2006

Blonde Ruminations From a Non-Blonde


Ah, you fake just like a woman, yes, you do,
You make love just like a woman, yes, you do,
Then you ache just like a woman,
But you break just like a little girl.

From "Just Like A Woman," Bob Dylan, the Blonde on Blonde album -- which was a class act.

At the other end of the spectrum, sleazy blondes hit the Bimbos Trifecta this week -- Pam on the skids with Kid, and Paris and Britney, best friends forever (this week, anyway). (*Note to Britney: Please -- put your drawers on before leaving home.) Naturally, this huge news leads me to wonder -- how sexy (or not) are all of us? Do we dare to find out? Lest the burning question keep us awake at night, let us then take this quiz and -- ta-da -- appease our curiosity.


You Are 28% Nerdy

You're a little nerdy, but no one would ever call you a nerd.
You sometimes get into nerdy things, but only after they've become a part of mainstream culture.


Your pal and mine, Roxan, tracked down these desperate Words Gone Bad today. She knew that by this time of the day, we'd be bored to tears and looking for something to do. Defining some Twisted Linguistics works as well as anything else to wake one up. I guess.

enetr - I wonder if this derives from that Fleat thing? I'm not wondering that much, though. I think that, rather, it may refer to a shorthand term for people addicted to e-mail and the Internet.

whern - A female worm that whines.

deterermed - An insidious plot to prevent the practice of ER medicine.

beguins - A type of waltz favored by penguins.

futiure - Decorating with couture futons.

foir ever - A new fiction genre which promises to be bigger than noir.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Re-belle

He's a rebel and he'll never ever be any good,
He's a rebel and he'll never ever be understood,
And just because he doesn't do what everybody else does...

("He's A Rebel," written by Gene Pitney, recorded by The Crystals)


In the midnight hour,
She cried more, more, more,
With a rebel yell,
She cried more, more, more.
Owww!

("Rebel Yell," Billy Idol)


So, why am I talking about rebels today? Beats me. Except that I heard both of those songs today, and I love them both. They, as well as David Bowie singing "Rebel, Rebel," remind me that I've always been a little bit of a rebel -- with or without a cause. I thought for sure the quiz I took today would reflect something of the rebellious side of me, but nope. It fooled me. I didn't lie on it, either.



Your Attitude is Better than 55% of the Population

You have a positive attitude... somtimes. You prefer to see the world through clear glasses, not rose colored ones.



These guys aren't fooling anybody, either. Even in their bad wigs and bandanas over their faces, they're immediately recognizable as that dastardly Twisted Linguistics gang.

arer - A reference to the rarified air o'er there. Or, the bark of a really puny dog.

elitivly - Oh, the possibilities. E-literature, anyone? It's sure to elicit some deep conversation if you elect to do it; just don't do it illicitly.

centarl - When a new century comes in with a snarl. Or, the place just south of Alpha Centauri.

Pernial - Written permission to issue a denial.

recipricating - Getting back in line to sip the apricot wine. Or, giving someone with a really bad staph infection another dose of Cipro.

pasicaly - Basically, the philosophy of an extremely passive person.

venition blinds - Ventilated blinds made on Venus. Or, a warning about the consequences of eating tainted deer meat.

retreta - When one trets and trets, over and over again, and wants to get a long horn and sing it from a mountaintop.

notes reday - When one notices that the same day has started all over again.

contruction - The type of traction provided by the tires on a construction truck.

gratuotous - From the Pig-Latin, loosely translated as, "Great you are to us."

phinominoplogy -

fleat - Brand name of a colon cleansing product used in the treatment of the heartbreak of Phinominoplogy. We apologize if this is your dinner hour.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Merry Happy!




This year, we're having a municipal Christmas tree. Last year, we had an oh-so-PC "Holiday tree." That idea went over so well that it's now gone back to the crapper -- where it belongs. Why was it done? Why, to avoid hurting the feelings of those who don't celebrate Christmas. You know, those hordes of Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims, Zoroastrians, etc., who are out doing their Christmas shopping?

For the same reason, store clerks didn't say "Merry Christmas" to shoppers last year. Instead, they shouted "Happy Holidays!" Clearly, "holiday sales" tanked and they're doing damage control (and propitiating the retail gods) this year by slipping the word "Christmas" back into the holiday shopping experience. I don't know how much sillier things can get.

If people are so opposed to Christmas festivities, perhaps they might think about moving on to some place where the local customs are more to their liking. I don't observe Kwanzaa, but I would never begrudge those who do their festive observations of their holiday. I'm not Jewish, but it would never occur to me to take offense to hearing happy people exchanging "Happy Chanukah" greetings. That's just silly.

These guys are silly, too -- these Words Gone Wild. I'm going to throw caution to the wind and say, "Happy Merry Wild and Crazy Cockeyed Twisted Linguistics!"


David verses Goliath - Biblical rhymes!

goodie too shoes - One too stupid to know trash when he sees it.

condelobre - A rum-based drink over-indulged in by the guy in the pink shirt and Liberace suit standing over by the piano. Unless you're in Mexico -- then it's a man-eating monster having many of the same characteristics as its Northern brother, Sasquatch.

imterior - The inside of a fake house.

won't gop out with me - Complaint about a (cheap) date who won't go hog wild and eat gobs of this and gops of that.

penut - A pygmy strain of a popular legume, largely inedible.

had some blond (va-voom) in a pink sweater trying to sweat talk me - Well, duh, guy. She was hot to trot and you didn't want to mess up your hair with all that icky sweat.

CAN somebody correct my sentenses - No, sorry; this person's syntax is so tense and strained that there is no salvation for it.

opointment - A missed chance for a scheduled meeting.

the remainer of they're lifetimes - We fear there's little remaining time left to their stories' lives.

charactertures - Inadvertent openings in Disney characters.



Monday, November 27, 2006

Truth? Or Consequences?



Self-described comedian Michael Richards made a complete fool of himself -- and then turned to Jesse Jackson for damage control (after David Letterman didn't do him much good). What do you think, will it help him or just hurt him more?

Pam Anderson and Kid Rock have filed for divorce. There's a big surprise. I was on the "winning" side of a "pool" that said it wouldn't last a year. Too bad there's no wad of cash involved.

Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick gave the two-handed bird to fans after the Falcons lost to the New Orleans Saints yesterday. Let's see -- Vick was given virtually a free ride by Virginia Tech, had a first class education made available to him (not that he availed himself of it), now plays pro ball at an obscene salary, and this is the best behavior he's capable of? Will it hurt him? Most likely not. In fact, he'll probably make more money next year.

Words Gone Wild don't really hurt anybody, either. They're out there. They'll always be out there. Those who abuse words will keep on keeping on. Their colorful inventors will either be perpetual hangers-on at the forums they frequent or ... they'll get published by PublishAmerica. In the meantime, they give us something to play with. Thanks, Roxan, for today's anti-writing lesson in Twisted Linguistics.


cuntrolling - Ah, geez. We could certainly use this one obscenely, but we're not going to. Instead, we're going to guess that it most probably means a particularly sly and cunning method of control. It is, in fact, so cunning that we believe there may be hypnosis involved.

The slings ad arrows - This is a reference to bad, ineffective advertising which greatly pissed off the person who purchased it.

always carty my birth certifuicat - This is a lament by someone whose cat's (who he doesn't like much and curses daily) birth certificate is so heavy that he must haul it around in a specially made cart.

paragrapogh - This is an oblique reference to a pogrom secretly carried out by nameless illiterates against certain paragraphs of Edgar Alan Poe's body of work.

Have You Hung Your Stocking Yet?

Answer a few questions for those mysterious Christmas People and they'll give you a hint about what you can expect to find in your Christmas stocking this year. I hope they're not lying about mine, but they probably are.

You Christmas Stocking Will Be Filled with Money

You've either been really really good this year...
Or Santa is trying to pay you off!

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Eligant Thiungs





We have a crowded docket of Word Criminals today, courtesy of Roxan; to-wit:

spoted
eligant
strieght
remined me
sort of burned the house done
claud didn't stock any riseling
thiungs
Adiu bloomingdales...I neveer knew you

They were all found guilty and sentenced to hard labor creating this little Twisted Linguistics story:


Claud was this old boy who needed to do his Christmas shopping. He was strieght, but he did know how to shop 'til he dropped. Unfortunately, Claud didn't stock any riseling and thiungs got pretty weird when he was spoted by the Shopping Police in the eligant Kitchen Accessories department at Bloomie's. Truly, Claud did not know what riseling was so it wasn't really his fault, but he sort of burned the house done.

"Adiu bloomingdales...I neveer knew you!" Claud cried as he beat a hasty retreat out the emergency exit.

Remined me to tell you what happened that time he tried to shop Victoria's Secret and insisted on trying on the thiungs.

Naughty or ... Not?

Santa's already making his list, will check it twice. How do you measure up?


You Were Mostly Nice This Year!

Sure, you had your naughty moments... but guess what?
Santa was probably sleeping when you were living it up.
As far as he's concerned, you've been on your best behavior.
So cross your fingers, and you might score good presents.

Saturday, November 25, 2006

Word Thuggery




I think I'll do just a wee bitsy Anti-writing Storytime with Twisted Linguistics.

Roxan arrested this bunch today. It would be a shame to let them go to waste.



Abart was the leader and
orriginal
purpatrator
of a roving gang of
Druigs
in the town of
Clossed.
Had they known how to spell, they'd have been waving wicker baskets over big fires and such but, alas, they were
ilterate - and so Druigs they were. Had it been another time and another place, Abart might have ridden into town on a big horse with guns blazing but he didn't get out much -- and had little imagination. And so, they mainly just laid around the purpa tera under the influence of druigs, wrote poetry with bad ilteration, and thought up new ways to terrorize the countryside.

Abart
sported a
swtsika
tattoo and used it to intimidate new members into his gang
derectly
through deciept.
He also learned how to con them into signing clossed, woefully decieptful contracts for their rhymes with a reprehensible printer. He would then make his druigic thugs scam the public into buying derectly through the gang at obscene prices. Picture the
contriquing
imagry of that if you dare.

Evil Elves

What's your Elf name? I'm not so sure about mine; sounds pretty dopey if you ask me.

Your Elf Name Is...

Pixie Fluffernutter


I could use a good elf, though. As an erstwhile (and ersatz, as is everything PA) PublishAmerica "editor" once said, "We all needs help sometimes." Immortal words. Words that will live on in infamy. But I digress. I'm talking elves here. Where can I get one? I need a little help here.

I cannot decide what to buy for whom for Christmas. This is due not in small part to the fact that I can't remember what I got them last year. What the hell do you do if you buy them the same thing this year? Do you hang your head in mortification? Do you plead brain injury? Do you laugh it off as one of the perks of aging? Damned if I know. I'd prefer not to do it, though, in which case I could stave off finding out for another year. Hence, the call for some Elf Aid in the quest to worship at the Retail altar in this Buymas season.

It's very warm today. In fact, if you stay outside in the sun for any length of time, it's downright hot. It's freaky. Freaky, of course, is pretty much the norm these days in many regards. Then again, I'm no longer sure I know what normal is. For that matter, I've come to realize that I have no idea what freaky, or hellish, is, either. Whenever I think I've been there, I'm subsequently given a clue that says, "Unh-unh, girlie, it can always get worse."

I've thought a few times in this, that, or the other situation that, yep, this must surely be hell. Come to find out, nah, that wasn't it. Therefore, it's got to be about a gajillion times worse than anything I've imagined yet. Thus, it's got to be a place to be avoided at all costs, don't you think? When I figure out the magic charm, I'll let you know. And if you find it first, you let me in on it, okay?

Why am I talking about freaks and hell on such a glorious Saturday afternoon? Hell if I know. Let's get back to the elf hunt, shall we? Somebody please round me up a dependable one with a cute name who knows the gift-buying game like nobody's business. Time's a-wastin'. If I don't hurry up and get down to propitiating the retail gods, I'm going to get left out in the cold. Or heat, as the case may be.

Friday, November 24, 2006

Hog Wild


I'm getting a little tired of pontificating on nothing, commenting on nothing, saying ... nothing. Does anyone know how long temporary episodic (non-moon related) brain death lasts? In any event, I suppose it's good that there are always Twisted Linguistics running wild to keep me occupied. We haven't defined any of these characters in a while, so let's give it a go. Roxan and I found some real winners today.

Using more than two are not recommended - Requires no definition. It's just odd, considering the source.

working tittle - What IS this person writing?!

certaily - Certain bunny tails? For-sure squirrel tails? Authentic coonskin cap? Who knows?

similiar - An untruthful ape.

surburd - Bastardization of the term "surf bird."

simpathy - Empathy for one addicted to playing that Simms game.

ancestrial - Court proceedings involving one's ancestors.

editrice - Edit it -- three times? God knows.

insteda - An instant, steady inamorata.

oppersona - A mentally ill person's opposing personality, the one that hears voices telling him to do evil things.

jeds a millionair - Duh. This is a reference to Jed Clampett. Who wouldn't know that?

steday - The type of relationship you have with the above-referenced inamorata.

roudy - A state of wild, wanton abandon brought on by the application of too much rouge.

Still, I kind iof klike - Doesn't everyone klike?

gethimnself - Reference to him and himself by the above-referenced mental patient.

lunatict - A ticking moon clock.

hoave - Describes the cloven feet of hooker hogs.

How's Your Karma?

Here's an interesting little quiz. Take it and tell us how your karma is.


You Have Good Karma

In general, you like to do the right thing when it comes to others.
Your caring personality really shines through.
Sure, you have your moments of weakness - and occasionally act out.
But, all in all, you're karma is good... even with those few dark spots.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

All Lit Up


You might remember my mentioning a while back the neighbors who flip the switch for their Christmas lights on Thanksgiving night. Tonight was the night and, as promised, here's the pic. The picture doesn't do it justice at all; I needed to be closer to get the full effect. You can get some idea of the pageantry of it all, though.

Turkey Fumes: Don't Inhale




Q. What are unhappy cranberries called?
A. Blueberries.

Q. What's blue and covered with feathers?
A. A turkey holding its breath.

Q. What would you call a pet squash?
A. Call it anything you want- it won't hear you.

Q. What's round, red, and wears a diaper?
A. A baby cranberry.

Q. Why did the turkey sit on the tomahawk?
A. To hatchet.

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Gladys.
Gladys who?
Gladys Thanksgiving. Aren't you?



When you're feeling as stuffed as the turkey and just a leeetle out of sorts with the turkey population in general, here are a few fun things you can do with your holiday fowl. Use it:

1. As a blunt object to fend off your pesky cousins with.
2. As a projectile to throw at the TV after Kathie Lee says, "Aren't they a wonderful band!" for the 25th time.
3. As a hood ornament.
4. As a disguise so your ugly Aunt Beatrice can't kiss you and say, "How much you've grown!"
5. As a football for the after-meal game.
6. One word... bowling!
7. As yet another object to drop from the top of the dorm to test the range of the splatter upon impact.
8. As a gift/bribe for a professor.
9. As a Christmas gift (avoid the holiday crowds this way!)
10. As a doorstop to keep your relatives out.
11. Makes a great doggie chew toy.
12. Fill it with whipped cream - watch the fun.
13. An unexplored cavern for the new Barbie.
14. A visual aid to explain to children where babies come from.
15. Bury in the yard; for future midnight snacks.
16. If you're flying home, take the carcass as a carry-on. See what it looks like in the X-ray machine. Better yet, put it in a pet carrier and ask the flight attendant for some chicken feed.
18. Wear as a helmet, declaring, "I'm TURKEYMAN!"
19. Before serving, paste feathers on the poor naked creature.
20. Secretly replace stuffing with Folgers turkey crystals.
21. Place a speaker inside the bird, and from another room, amaze your guests with this talking foul.
22. Throw the turkey out the window yelling, "You're FREE! Fly! FLY!"
23. Two words: Turkey puppet.
24. Toss the carcass into a turkey farm to intimidate next year's stock.
25. Attach to a fishing pole, slowly drive around the neighborhood in the back of a pickup and see how many dogs follow you.
26. From a concealed location, toss in front of a passing car. When they stop, run out screaming that they hit your dog.
27. As in an old murder mystery, question all the dinner guests in an attempt to discover who killed the guest of honor.


And now I have to get ready to go over the river and through the woods... Well, over the river, anyway. As long as no guests show up who hate some other guest's guts, as long as the dog doesn't take off with the turkey or somebody drops it on the floor, as long as my nieces don't start a food fight at the table, a good time should be had by all.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all.



Wednesday, November 22, 2006

A Challenge - How Weird Am I?

The rules for this game, devised by the instigator and passed to me by Kanrei, are as follows:

1. Write six weird things about yourself.
2. Post this confession of the absurd on your blog.
3. Tag six other bloggers to do the same challenge.
4. Leave a comment on each of their blogs to inform them they have been chosen.

Here goes.

1. I collect clocks. The more they chime, the better I like them. I am not obsessed with time -- or the passage thereof. I just love interesting and unique clocks. Ask me if I appear to be insane twice a year when the time changes.

2. I taught myself to read when I was 4 years old. When I approached my mother bearing the funny paper and told her I could read it, she slapped my hands for "lying." She was about to send me to my room until I started reading the paper to her. I've been reading -- and learning stuff -- ever since.

3. I hate crowds and parties. I will lie out my butt to come up with an excuse to avoid a big party. I'm not proud of the lying part, but I am not a masochist and just plain don't see any percentage in torturing myself. I've been advised to have a few drinks first and go in feeling no pain, but that doesn't work for me. I have maybe 5 or 6 drinks a year (I don't like the taste of most alcohol and I HATE giving up control), and I don't want them all at the same time.

4. I used to be overly empathetic, like Kanrei. I got over it.

5. I love to sing -- in the bathtub, in the kitchen, in the car. I don't care where. If there's music playing, I'm going to sing along with it. There have been only a few souls unlucky (and stupid) enough to tell me I wasn't very good.

6. The weirdest thing about me is ... up for debate. I get accused of stuff all the time, stuff I never even thought of doing. To tell the truth, I wish I had thought of some of it. I think many people are weird; therefore, if I myself am weird, I don't even see it. And therefore, I don't care.


I hereby tag Southern Writer (and pray this isn't the same thing she got tagged with the other day), Moristotle, Roxan, Mike A/Hale McKay, Liz, and Dorothy. Rex and Kan have, of course, already been tagged, as has VariantE who started this. And Steve's out, pleading Witness Protection.

On a Roll


Just in time for flu season.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Haute Couture




A must-have for the fastidious woman.

Munchies


Very popular late-night item in college dorms. With "the stick" and an iron, you get instant Grilled Cheese. Butter me up, buttercup.

Talking Turkey


More turkey jokes

Asked to write a composition entitled, "What I'm thankful for on Thanksgiving," little Timothy wrote, "I am thankful that I'm not a turkey."

What did the mother turkey say to her disobedient children?
If your father could see you now, he'd turn over in his gravy!


Why can't you take a turkey to church?
Because they use such FOWL language


What are the feathers on a turkey's wings called?
Turkey feathers

Can a turkey jump higher than the Empire State Building?
Yes - a building can't jump at all

How can you make a turkey float?You need 2 scoops of ice cream, some root beer, and a turkey

What kind of music did the Pilgrims like?
Plymouth Rock

Which side of the turkey has the most feathers?
The outside

Why did the police arrest the turkey?
They suspected it of fowl play

Where did the first corn come from?
The stalk brought it


Speaking of turkeys, here’s the latest announcement/sales pitch to come down from PublishAmerica to its authors.

"Dear Author,

We have another big announcement to make!After changing the landscape of book publishing, with the help of you and twenty thousand fellow authors, PublishAmerica is preparing to change the landscape of book printing.We are adding our own book printing facility!Within the next few months, new printing equipment from printing giant Océ North America will be installed in our offices. At that time PublishAmerica will start producing hundreds of thousands of its own books on its own state of the art printing equipment. Our systems will be the exact same as those used by the world's main digital printing companies, which guarantees a similar or even better quality.By committing to do our own book printing, PublishAmerica will again lead the way for the entire industry. We predict that large publishing houses such as ours will find it increasingly cost and time effective to launch their own printing facilities, and to serve their audiences with in-house, and therefore better, product quality control. We believe that publishers will progressively become printers, and vice versa.We wouldn't be PublishAmerica if we weren't plunging boldly ahead of the curve.We realize that PublishAmerica owes much of its success to its authors, a large and powerful force that continues to expand each day. It's you and your fellow authors who have made it possible for PublishAmerica to now have close to two million books in print; to sell a new book every sixteen seconds; to see bookstores order a PublishAmerica book once every minute of every business day; and to find more than a hundred new authors contacting us daily who hope to join your ranks as a published author. More than anything else, this is your success. Thank you!On that note, we want to let you in on a brief sales special that we are running for libraries and gift stores this month, that we are also making available to all PublishAmerica authors who elect to have copies of their own book on hand for the upcoming holiday season. On all orders of 75 or more copies we allow a 50 percent discount. On orders of 150 or more copies, the discount is 55 percent. Offer expires November 17, phone orders only at 301 695 1707, color picture books are excluded.Thank you for being part of PublishAmerica's adventurous journey!

PublishAmerica Author Support Team"

("Author support" team, indeed. Hmph!)

So, let us attempt to sort this out. Notice I didn’t say “understand it.” There is no understanding PA. The only thing anyone needs to understand about PA is that if they can screw you, they will. And often. And they will like it.

Now, then – it looks as though they’re acquiring a printing press. Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. They've been caught in falsehoods many more times than once, after all. If they are getting it, will they buy it or lease it? Either way, what will it mean to their authors? One school of thought (to which I subscribe) holds that it will mean even less accountability on PA’s part. They’re already infamous for shorting authors on royalties. Getting accurate records from PA has proved next to impossible. Getting them from Lightning Source, the company that prints (at least up to now) PA’s books now requires the intervention of attorneys armed with subpoenas. In the past, LS did provide at least rudimentary information to authors regarding the number of books ordered and printed. That was before PA (and remember, PA is LS’s customer, not the author) instructed LS to withhold that kind of information from inquiring authors.

If PA sets itself up in the physical printing business, it’s not that much of a stretch to imagine that Jane Author sells 20 copies of her book, which PA prints out and sells at their inflated prices. With no accountability in place, and no outside printer that keeps (gasp!) straight and accurate books to spill any beans, PA could ostensibly tell Jane that she sold only 6 copies and pay her accordingly. And voila, they've recouped even more of their printing costs than they might have using the past fuzzy math. (Finding inventive ways to build in those mechanisms for recouping printing costs AND turning a profit is precisely what makes PA a back-end vanity press.) Jane might complain, but PA wrote the book on browbeating and intimidation. Before all is said and done, unless Jane is an actual thinker, she’ll be apologizing to PA for taking a tone with them, renouncing her dramatic escapade, and announcing on the PA message boards her own mathematical ineptitude. That’s how it works.


Here are today's Twisted Linguistics and their, er, meanings -- straight out of the Dictionary of the Demented.

narcessist – One who acts as an accessory after the fact to a narcotics distribution ring.

Wildermess – What is left of a person who’s been lost in the woods for weeks.

shoould immeadiately – All cows should stop drinking their sweet honey liquor, moo one time to shoo the flies away, and report to arbitration proceedings at once.

comuniqu̩ РA line of designer one-of-a-kind clothing for the Communist set.

jumop – A combination sponge mop/pogo stick. Get your exercise while you clean your house -- great fun!

Monday, November 20, 2006

By Hook or Crook


One of the things I've held off on talking about for the past few days (because of "cloning" problems) is an auto accident my boss's daughter was involved in last Thursday morning. She sustained severe head injuries and remains in critical condition on a ventilator in the Neurological ICU. SC hospital personnel believe she will recover (meaning, she will survive), but full recovery will take at least a year and there is no way of predicting how much impairment will remain. Obviously, this is a very difficult time for their family.

Moving on -- there are watchlists that collect complaints and other information and maintain databases for perusal by the people who need them for purposes of checking trustworthiness and making informed decisions. Of specific benefit to those with an interest in writing and publishing are those sites which oversee and recommend (or not) publishers, literary agents, publicists, freelance editors, etc., who work with authors. Anyone who's read this blog from the beginning knows my opinion of, for example, PublishAmerica. It's not without good reason that PublishAmerica heads up many a publishing watchlist -- or provokes contentious posts on lots of Web sites. There are, likewise, a number of literary agents who don't make the grade and who top watchlists and make it to the forums for dissection. I'm not going to name them; I don't need the headaches which would be sure to follow. You can do your own checks; there are a number of Web sites listing pertinent information. Among them are the Bewares and Background Check section of Absolute Write and this one, Writer Beware; there's always good, up to date info there.

http://www.sfwa.org/beware/


I think that it would be a good idea for the watchlist sites to also include listings for PR people/business managers inasmuch as more and more authors are apparently contracting with them. I'm told that some sites will include such information forthwith. Just to point out one example situation for which such readily available listings would be helpful, there's a publicist who believes that creating phony (and slanderous) online profiles parodying real people and using them to "comment" on and help attract traffic to his/her clients' Web sites (and sell books) is an acceptable business practice. Personally, I find such an appalling lack of professionalism repugnant. Such a new category of listings will help stop this kind of outrageous conduct, or at least prevent serious writers from signing with them and damaging their own reputations by association.

Since I've already found a sizeable collection of Twisted Linguistics, I might as well go ahead and get today's Storytime with Anti-writing over with.

The motley crew:

mothing
conern
holywood deals
baffoon
I was leary
deceided
coraspond
in her sted
irregardless
remunderation
lawsuites

There was a young lady named Irvina who went West, hoping to get herself one of those holywood deals. Well, what she had thought she was getting herself into was sales and distribution of wooden religious relics. Instead, she ended up in the movies.
At first, this was of great conern to her.

"I was leary," she wrote home in coraspond to her mother (whose name was Cora, which made her Cora's spawn), "but then I caught the acting bug and irregardless of my big nose, I deceided I'm going to be a star."

Alas, after her second film, the casting director, a Mr. Will Shire, hired a cute and perky girl named Perkyg Irl in her sted and Irvina was out the door. She felt conerned, like a used and abused baffoon, and there was mothing she could do about it but threaten Shire with the attorneys in the law suites on the corner for remunderation.

Irvina won her case, kicked Miss Perk to the curb (after mothing off at her and giving her what-for), and sent Will Shire to Bankruptcy court. She was no longer leary of her Holywood future now that she owned the biggest studio in town.

Moral: Be leary, be conernd, and always remund yourself to coraspond with law-knowing guys in good suites.

Mopping Up



I know, that print is too small to read. What it says:

Baby Mops

* Make your children work for their keep

After the birth of a child, there's always the temptation to say, "Yes, it's cute, but what can it do?" Until recently, the answer was simply, "Lie there and cry," but now babies can be put on the payroll, so to speak, almost as soon as they're born.

Just dress your young one in Baby Mops and set him or her down on any hardwood or tile floor that needs cleaning. You may at first need to get things started by calling to the infant from across the room, but pretty soon they'll be doing it all by themselves.

There's no child exploitation involved. The kid is doing what he does best anyway -- crawling. But with Baby Mops, he's also learning responsibility and a healthy work ethic.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Snow Job



The "Snow" word is a possibility for tonight. The sky looks like it and the air feels like it. If it comes, it just might be fun.

Since there were Twisted Linguistics to be had today, as every day, I suppose we must have our little Storytime session.



The bound and gagged linguistics:



fourty
embarrassement
someoone
signig
True death
in my souls
scholaship
obsorbing
phylosopher
Chang Kai Check
artillary
ungreatful
occurrance
writted


Their story:

Once there was someoone who wrote for the tabloids, much to the embarrassement of all who knew her. Her words were like artillary, used to attack and malign friends and enemies alike. She did it for money, for favors, and just because she had nothing better to do. She snowed a lot of people during her brief but checkered career. Most people chalked it up to tabloid trash and never gave it a second thought, but many of the ungreatful people she wrote about angrily referred to the heavy-handed yellow journalist as Madame Chang Kai Check. Her real name was Liza Malign-um. When her mother named her on her birth certificate, she writted the truth -- which was more than could be said for Liza.

Liza always figured she'd die her True Death at around age fourty; she wasn't concerned about her intermittent fake deaths. She thought in her souls that she was a phylosopher when, in truth, she was simply obsorbing other peoples' phylosophy. Most people, of course, have but one soul and one belief system, but poor Liza had no sense of scholaship.

And then came the time when she writted about an unfortunate occurrance which happened to someoone she did not know. Since she did not know the person, knew nothing about the person, and did not even know whether the events about which she writted were true (because Liza never bothered to do her homework and check her facts), Liza Malign-um was in effect putting her signig on her own death warrant. She was, however, too dense and self-obsorbed to see it.

Did Liza go on to win a Pulitzer prize? We don't think so. We think that she OD'd on favors that turned out to be Trojan horses, writted herself into a hole she couldn't climb out of, choked on her lies, and finally died her True Death.
Much to her chagrin, she was not missed.

Saturday, November 18, 2006

A Little Pre-Thanksgiving Humor


What's the key to a great Thanksgiving dinner?
The turKEY.

Why did they let the turkey join the band?
Because he had the drumsticks.

How did the Mayflower show that it liked America?
It hugged the shore.

Why did the police arrest the turkey?
They suspected it of fowl play.


A turkey farmer was always experimenting with breeding to perfect a better turkey. His family was fond of the leg portion for dinner and there were never enough legs for everyone. After many frustrating attempts, the farmer was relating the results of his efforts to his friends at the general store get together. "Well I finally did it! I bred a turkey that has 6 legs!"
They all asked the farmer how it tasted.
"I don't know" said the farmer. "I never could catch the darn thing!"


What kind of music did the Pilgrims like?
Plymouth Rock.


What did the turkey say before it was roasted?
Boy! I'm stuffed!



What happened to the Pilgrim who was shot at by an Indian?
He had an arrow escape.

If April showers bring May flowers what do May flowers bring?
Pilgrims!

Why did the turkey cross the road?
It was the chicken's day off.

Why do turkeys always go, "gobble, gobble"?
Because they never learned good table manners!

Why did the Indian chief wear so many feathers?
To keep his wigwam.


Louisa's Strange Anti-writer Encounter




Get out your crucifixes and stand back. Here comes the Anti-writes. I encountered a bumper crop of Twisted Linguistics today but, alas, one can use only so many. And use them I will.


The anti-writes:


clutered
relaps
banchies
imnages
lteraly
foiirst line
ussualy
impresnate
totip people
fanaticts
ahole
parently impossible
exsperienced
endored
morbit
mobit
an instand moment
died manily of
went to pots


Their story:

Ahole was one of the Totip People. She had to cross a bridge one day and since it was the same bridge she ussualy used, she knew that a troll lived beneath it. She had never seen it, though, so she was not concerned. Besides, she was late and she wanted to be north of the bridge by sunset. She was a big-bottomed girl, and figured she was way too much for any old troll to take on. In an instand moment, however, all that would change.

Halfway across the bridge, Ahole exsperienced the troll for the first time.

"Who goes there?" the troll demanded.

"I am Travis," she stated boldly, striding forward.

"Halt!" the troll ordered. "You don't look like any Travis. Plus, Travises ride."

"Oh, did I say Travis? What a travesty. I meant to say, I am a cop."

"You don't look like any cop I ever saw," the troll observed.

"I'm an undercover woman."

"Yeah, I don't think so," the troll countered.

"All right, already. My name is Louisa Malarka, but everyone calls me Ahole," Ahole replied, suddenly so scared she lteraly wet herself. For an instand moment, she wished desperately for an outhouse.

And then the troll showed himself and his visage was more hideous than any imnages Ahole had imagined.

"Where are you going?" the troll inquired gruffly.

"Home," Ahole answered tremulously.

"Well," said the troll, "this is my space and that will be parently impossible until you pay the toll."

"Toll?!" cried Ahole. "I have no money!"

"Pish," said the troll. "I have no use for money. There are many ways in which to exact a toll. Let me see," he mused, pawing through a burlap bag clutered with tattered scraps of paper.

"I know," he said after consulting one of his ancient sticky notes. "Talk dirty to me and then I will let you pass."

"I know no dirty words," Ahole said demurely, suffering an immediate relaps of the previous unfortunate wetting episode and dousing her green jeans again, knowing that she was about to become troll bait.

"Oh, come now," the troll wheedled lasciviously. "Then how about you show me one of those plump, juicy knees."

"No!" Ahole protested, blushing furiously.

"Then, can you impresnate Lee J. Cobb?"

"No!"

"Well, how about reciting some poetry for me?"

"I do not know any," Ahole said as she began to cry in earnest, fearing her end was near.

"Surely you know one short children's rhyme. Recite it. Just the foiirst line and you may go."

"I can't," sobbed Ahole.

"Aiiiiiiii!" yelled the troll, screeching like the proverbial banchies.

"Please stop that mobit keening," Ahole asked politely, quickly regaining her composure.

"I can't," said the troll. "Your poetic deficiency makes me feel so morbit."

"What," Ahole asked, "are you a fanaticts for poetry?"

"My late lamented father was a wandering poet," the troll said, "until he went to pots."

"What happened to him?" Ahole inquired.

"An unappreciative audience shot him in the groin with a potshot from a slingshot and he died manily of his wounds."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear it," Ahold commiserated.

"No one ever said that to me before," the troll said incredulously. "You may cross my bridge now, Louisa Ahole Malarka. I won't eat you up -- this time. Tiptoe on across and go home to your Totip People."

Miss Malarka moved faster than she had ever moved before and made it home in record time. She would never forget her encounter with the troll, for it was the worst fear poor Ahole had ever endored. She never went near that bridge again, but she did write a book about her experience and it can be found in Louisa's little library of anti-writing.


Vultures and Magpies - Oh, My!

I feel like my bones have been picked at by vultures after a couple of hours of moving everything to the new template. I'm not saying much because (1) it's late and I'm tired and (2) well, I'm just not.

For anyone still having the continual login problem, I finally figured out a fix to that. You need to manually set your cookies to "always allow" both Blogger and Google.

Friday, November 17, 2006

...and the Horse You Anti-wrote In On


Our playthings today:

aprtnershipo
soms
luckaly
came in the came down
intentened
comppendium
misbetton
emdediat thoguht
possitive
tenuouisness
stahling
dangerouse
habbit
hier leval


Today's Words Gone Bad are courtesy of Roxan. She corralled them. Now it's up to me to see if I can take these Twisted Linguistics and turn them into some kind of warped story. I think I can, I think I can...


There was in one particular place at one particular moment in the history of the world this dangerouse person (at least, it impersonated a female-type person) named Soms who decided she was jealous of an actual person called Misbetton. Why, Misbetton did not know; she had nothing Soms could possibly have wanted. The fact was, Soms was a beast, and its number was 75.3.248.202.207.62.77.5.75.4.5.201.75.3.254.105.75.4.3.61. That was what rendered it extraordinarily dangerouse.

Anyhow, Soms was a darkly disturbed individual with an extremely poor grasp on reality. She had a bad habbit of stahling Misbetton all over the place, sometimes in aprtnershipo with her soul mate. Okay, her bosom buddy; she had no soul.

In any event, one day they decided, for reasons known only to their own kind, to write a comppendium of gibberish and blame it on someone else. Luckaly for their intentened victims, their scheme was quickly intercepted and quashed. Their emdediat thoguht was one of revenge, because they were possitive they should have gotten away with it and were horribly angry at being thwarted. They came in the came down and were tenuouisness in their dangerouse plot. Still, it came to naught because leaving Soms in charge had been a bad idea; hier leval of intelligence simply wasn't up to par.

They wreaked a little havoc, left a little carnage in their wake but, like all beasts, they were ultimately banished to the black hole at the farthest reaches of the known universe, never to be seen again. That was one luckaly day on Earth. Moral: if you're going to assault and butcher the language, you may be possitive that it's a damned dangerouse habbit.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Just Awfull


If Twisted Linguistics gets lifted and slimed, who would know the difference? LOL. Words Gone Wild are on the job today, doing more anti-writing.

The list of detainees:

Fallowing people around to … fallowing a fallower fallowing me behind the person who now, well, not them.
honday
awfullnight
fortex
hole hour
aposed
soens't
makee up
modle
comited
pruple
illeterate
fawllowing

The anti-written story:

On Sunday, Fawl Lowing, known as Tex to his friends, drove his Honday for a hole hour. It was aposed to be a relaxing ride but it was an awfullnight fortex. He was fallowing an illeterate but inveterate writer of pruple prose who couldn’t makee up her modle of a mind about whether she was comited to fallowing a fallower . But in the end, it soesn’t matter. Tex fell into a fortex of doom and was comited to the state hospital for fawllowing too closely behind the pruple writing person who now well. Tex found himself all alone in bedlam, however, as aposed to a full house. It was a fallow wing. None of the awfullnight people would stay fortex. No, not them. And it made Tex fawl low. And we think that was the end.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Hot Dog, It's The Anti-writes



We've had Words Gone Bad all day but no time (or inclination) to play with them until now. Here's our lineup:





hoards of writers
imbrassment
Captian
screts
mulse
actualy
infamiouse
novesl
convinient
dopelgangers
realsied
pissre
rocomend

Twisted Linguistics are good for something after all -- anti-writing.

Once upon a time, there were hoards of writers. They were stored in the king's dungeon, stacked on top of each other and overseen by the Captian of the guard. That didn't stop them from writing their screts novesl, which they used mulse to transmit to their rocomended publisher. It was very convinient, though it pissred off the captian and his dopelgangers when he realsied they were doing it. His job was, of course, to hoard them and prevent them from their anti-writing. Much to the imbrassment of the king, the whole story of what was going on in the dungeon actualy came out and his realm became infamiouse.

You can convin anti-writers in one scret place, even dope the l'il gangers, but they will always manage to put out their pissre work and infam decent folk everywhere.

Rocom, dudes. End.

Hunks, Junk, and ... Dumbasses




Here he is, People Magazine's 2006 'Sexiest Man Alive,' Mr. George Clooney.

George is, of course, very easy on the eyes, but I’m a little disappointed that he beat out Patrick Dempsey, a.k.a. Dr. McDreamy, for the honors this year.





Thanks to people who like to send me links, I see that – oh, joy – I’ve been nasty-spoofed again. It’s very funny, in a perverted kind of way, but God Almighty, don’t people get tired of pulling these juvenile pranks? I wish I had the time to dog other people all over the Internet and impersonate them for some insane (but unknown) reason. Oh, geez, what am I saying? That’s the last thing I’d wish.

There are actually much more important things to talk about today – like Iran (where I wish to God I could send some people). Little pissant country that it is, Iran bears keeping an eye on. It has plutonium and nuclear capability. It hates the U.S., it hates Israel – hell, it hates just about everybody. It’s courting al-Qaeda. That’s frightening.

There was an earthquake (about a 6.5, I think) off Japan overnight, spawning tsunami warnings. Even though the ensuing tsunami wasn’t anything much (about 16” high), how great that there was sufficient time in which to get the warnings out.

Has anybody heard any buzz about the new version of Windows – Vista -- about to be unveiled? Good? Bad? About the same? The next time I get a computer (which might not be that far in the future since my PC seems to be possessed), that’s probably what will be on it so I’d kind of like to know what to expect. I’m very happy with XP but anything better is always … better.

Former and now convicted lobbyist Jack Abramoff reported to prison in western Maryland this morning to begin serving his six-year prison sentence for a fraudulent deal to buy a fleet of casino ships in Florida. He’s still awaiting sentencing on his corruption conviction.

Who would you all like to see in the ’08 presidential race? It’s a wide open race, the first since 1952 without an incumbent or a sitting Vice-President in the mix. As this point, I’d say the possibilities are virtually limitless.


P.S. Since Blogger can't seem to manage to fix many of the other bugs plaguing us all, I guess it's too much to hope for that they might provide us with a mechanism for blocking unwelcome visitors, huh?

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Pic of the Day

When I saw the photo on "Boomer Chick's" blog (The Writer's Life), made at this site -- http://wigflip.com/saywhat/ -- I just had to go play with it myself. You take your own picture, from your own computer or from an URL, and make the "bubbles" say whatever you want them to. Neat idea, lots of fun.

Buttoned-down and Bushy-tailed


Remember the childhood game –

Button, button,
Who’s got the button?

I remember playing it. I don’t remember how it was played, or what the object was.

But I digress. What’s actually on my mind is this: they don’t seem to sew buttons on these days the way they used to. All too often, they fall off in record time -- like the first time you wash the garment. That truly bites. The price of the item doesn’t seem to make much difference, either. It’s been my experience that buttons fall off expensive clothing just as quickly as they do cheap stuff.

I’m terribly lackadaisical about sewing them back on. If it’s a waistband button, like pants or a skirt where the waist will be covered by an overblouse or sweater, I may well just pin it the next half dozen times I wear it before breaking down and getting out the needle and thread. That’s slatternly, I know (but not slutty, since nothing’s hanging out). Of course, you can’t do the safety pin thing with something like a blouse or dress. Speaking of blouses, I love these pleated/pintucked babydoll shirts. My favorite one has tiny little buttons down the front and at the cuffs, with loops rather than buttonholes. I love the look, but it’s hard as hell to get it buttoned.

You know what’s scary? When buttons fall off in the washing machine and you don’t notice until the next time you do laundry and find buttons in the bottom of the machine. Then you have to backtrack and try to figure out what they came off of. That’s always fun. If it’s something you can’t pin, that means another sewing job right then and there, before you lose the button(s) again. I have a top I like a lot which lost a button in the wash about six weeks ago. The button is still on my dresser (gathering dust). I’m not worried about that one; it’s so unique that I’ll always know where it goes. Still, I’d actually like to wear the top again, so I guess I’d better get myself into another sewing mindset.

Right now, I’m thinking about Twisted Linguistics. And squirrels. Roxan found us these rogue words,

daubt
Imediat
englufing
pharamcy
submarin
I will be acused of and found incent
t shirst

which I think I’ll do this with:

I so much daubt that my squirrel can be knocked out by anybody else’s that I’m having t shirst made up - 'MEDIAT THIS!' One of those submarin squirrels could pose an imediat threat, but I don’t think so. I will be acused of and found incent of englufing my rodent in steroids. I am glufing incent – just ask the pharamcy guy.

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Code Blue



I knew I was in a snit when when the first word out of my mouth this morning was "Blech!" And I don't think it had anything to do with the wind howling outside. I like wild, temperamental winds, as a matter of fact. Actually, I knew last night that something was up. When I'm tired but my body is fighting sleep nevertheless, I know something's off kilter. Normally, a few hours' sleep fixes any- and everything. But -- not quite.

Is it the blues, though? Not quite. What it is, is a funk -- etiology unknown. There's no discernible reason for it. It just is. Amorphous. Ephemeral. Unknowable. These things go as quickly as they come, though, so I'm not worried about it. I'll either figure out what has me in a funk or ... I won't. Either way, it'll read the writing on the wall and go away on its own soon enough. Of course, the funk appears to be illiterate; it couldn't even read the "Funk-Free Zone" sign on the front door. If all else fails, I can organize the crickets into a militia and have them run it out of town with tiny little Uzis -- make them earn their keep.

As a last resort, I have a jar of hot fudge sauce. And a spoon.

How about these funky Twisted Linguistics?


soruonded
crossdreessing
mosquitoe
memoriues
Aperntly
deatels

Let's try using them in a sentence -- without our eyes crossing and tongue twisting into inescapable knots.

Aperntly, soruonding a crossdreessing mosquitoe will
give you the deatels. Memoriues that!


Get on outta here, 'ya blue funk.

Gitchi gitchi ya ya da da (hey hey hey)
Gitchi gitchi ya ya hee (hee oh)
Mocca chocolata ya ya (ooh yeah)
Creole lady marmalade (ohh)
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir? (oh oh)
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi? (yeah yeah yeah yeah)


My friend Roxan came to the rescue on the cricket menace with this suggestion:

To get rid of crickets, mix some molasses and vanilla extract or lemon juice in water. Crickets are lured to this bait and they drown in it. Be sure to plug up any holes in the house where they are getting in. Hedge Apples work too.


I don't want to kill them, though. Plus, who'd empty the buckets of sodden cricket remains, fit them for itsy-bitsy shrouds, make their teensy little coffins? Not moi! Isn't there some handy-dandy way to, you know, simply repel them? Make them want to go to somebody else's house instead?

It's Sunday, which means I have girly stuff to do today. I need to do my nails, and maybe I'll do something different to my hair. I might paint my toenails, too. I don't usually bother in the winter because, I mean, who sees them? It could be a Blue Funk remedy, though. I'll try it. Nail polish smells better than garlic, too.

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Jiminy Cricket - For Real


I think I need some instruction in Remedial Conjuring. I've wished (repeatedly, if you must know) for the ability to call down plagues of killer locusts and rabid wombats on certain quarters. I never got any results, of course. What I do have is a plague of pesky crickets in my house.

I suppose they're looking for a warm place to spend the winter. I'm pretty sure they have no evil intentions toward me personally, but they're totally bugging me out. It seems like no matter where in the house I go, I trip over one hopping around. Naturally, the dog thinks this is great fun. She stalks them, makes a game out of out-maneuvering them, plays "cricket" with them. I'm constantly having to rescue the little varmints from her jaws of death. When I'm too late, I have to toss the mangled little corpses in the trash. I hate that.

I like crickets. I won't kill them. The bigger they are, the higher they hop, but I still manage to scoop up a few each day and put them outside -- where they belong. I can't get them all. And I'm really tired of going to draw a bath and finding a cricket in the tub staring up at me. So ... does anyone have any suggestions about how to get them out of here without harming them? Any and all spells, incantations, recipes, old wives tales, and helpful household tips will be gratefully entertained. If worse comes to worst, send guns, I guess.

The Doofey Definitions Dance


It's been almost unnaturally warm and muggy (for November) today. My new windows are flung wide open. Alas, that won't last long; rains from hell are coming this evening. If two inches of rain actually fall as predicted, I could well be bailing out the basement in the morning.

For the uninitiated, these are prime examples of the Twisted Linguistics we talk about so often.

devistated
irresistable
rebord
heavan
relegion
breeeds
simply and pure
I glad you was
I have know her
going in lif
soorow

We're running a special today -- we find them, you define 'em. In fact, I'd be delighted beyond words to see you make limericks with them. Have at it. Have fun. Grab your corsage (and your date), put on your defining shoes, and move those dictionaries.

*Note: There's also a limerick drive in progress at Moristotle's place:
http://www.moristotle.blogspot.com

Pic of the Day

The view from my neck of the woods.

Friday, November 10, 2006

Pithy Pentameter


I'm about three-quarters of the way through clearing out the space-eating stuff on my hard drive. It sure doesn't take long for heaps of material to accumulate, does it? I stopped about halfway through and switched out the wireless connection on my laptop. I should have gone with that one in the first place; it works ever so much better. Then I took an online break, where, oops, I just stumbled across more Gomerian Grammar in my path. Almost made me twist my funnybone and lose my eyesight, too. This stuff is dangerous.

Where is the places

Here is the All articles


And who ever would have thought that we'd be doing ... Pernicious Poetry? Well. Since I've discovered it exists, no way am I going to leave it alone. Why, these mellifluous syllables are resonating my brain like -- like rotgut hooch.

Observe, all from the same book of poetry (and I'll give you one guess who published it):

thyne lips
thee's eternal bride
shaow
conast
thee be thynes only love
unto his hear
hath cause me
Tis shalt be

Notice the elegant meter and stunning alliteration. The likes of Keats and Shelley are no doubt crying in their graves, wishing they'd thought up this radical new approach to verse first.

Crikey.

Of Buttheads and Bedlam



I got a lot of stuff done today that I'd been putting off for I don't know how long. They were not necessarily the tasks I'd intended to do, but tasks were accomplished nonetheless. And I'm glad of that. A chore completed is one I don't have to worry about (and dread) later.

I still need to summon my "geek" side sometime this evening and take care of some computer maintenance. I'm noticing a vast performance improvement, presumably because of some tweaking I did last night, but there's still a lot of stuff I need to clear out because it is without question slowing down my system.

First thing this morning, I had a Butthead Alert to deal with on my forum. That's always pleasant. Not! Maybe I nipped it in the bud, maybe not. If not, there is always other, more Draconian action that can be taken. Some people have to learn the hard way not to mess with me, I suppose. Some, of course, never learn. And those almost always come from the same source. Surprise, surprise.

Damn, reading the morning paper gave me a headache right off the bat. Apparently, a lot of people are buttheads. Fortunately, I've never met and will never meet most of them. What is with people who bandy about words like "honesty" and "love" and "integrity" indiscriminately, without the first clue as to their meanings? Why do lightning bolts not shoot straight down and knock them on their asses? Grrrr. There's a new Al-Qaeda audiotape out, too. In it, the terrorists vow that they won't rest until they (a) take Jerusalem and (b) blow up the White House. Lightning bolts have missed them. Shock and Awe didn't take them out. Instead, they seem to multiply and flourish and do whatever they damn well please. Grrrrr.

No day, especially a Friday, would be complete without a few Words Gone Wild. Some folks are for all intents and purposes immune from any kind of justice -- karmic, poetic, or otherwise. Not these characters. We know what to do with
Twisted Linguistics. We mete out the justice they deserve without a second glance.


through in the towel - We're guessing it's either a case of somebody running through a room dressed in only a towel, or a towel so ratty you can see through it.

decide for themself - This is, of course, an example of Gomerian Grammar, and the only thing to do with the perpetrator is to slap him silly.

contaghion - A game of Extreme Tag.

hoest - The farmer hoest his fields in the Spring -- and the pimp hoest his stable in the Winter.

yur - One of the icky substances produced by sneezes?

peple - Half-baked human beings who may become fully human at some later date.

fictionized - A word coined by an author who is truly a figment of his own imagination.

Hie Mom - The writer thought he was saying, "Hello, Mom." What he actually said was, "Go away, Mom." Hey, it makes a difference!

yous - This yous must have been soused.

tipps - Monies left on the table for very happy, slightly inebriated wait staff.

sometheing - Part of a song lyric, "Somethe ing the way she moves..."

weather they do - A Dr. Seuss description of meteorologists.

You just have to be innovated - Wellllll, this person is looking for something she's not going to find where she's looking for it.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

But -- Wait!



The waiting is the hardest part,
Every day you see one more card,
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart,
The waiting is the hardest part.

("The Waiting," Tom Petty)

I'm not a very good waiter. At times, like times when instant gratification is a distinct and within-reach possibility, I hate waiting.

The waiting is over in the case of the Virginia Senate race. George Allen gave his concession speech today and put to rest any further talk of a recount. I did detect a few "sour grapes" notes, but you see that all over the place. There was a little of his practically trademarked hotdogging in evidence as well but, likewise, you see it all over the place. Bottom line, it's over. Let's hope that the focus now shifts to statecraft and the quest for some real solutions to the issues which have caused the most divisiveness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Another joke, "Southern Restaurant" --

Never choke in a Southern restaurant...

Two good ol' boys walk into a bar. While having a shot of whiskey, they talk about their moonshine operation. Suddenly, a woman at a nearby table, who is eating a sandwich, begins to cough. After a minute or so, it becomes apparent that she is in real distress.

One of the hillbillies looks at her and says "Kin ya swallar?"

The woman shakes her head no. "Kin ya breathe?" The woman begins to turn blue and shakes her head no.

The hillbilly walks over to the woman, lifts up the back of her dress, yanks down her drawers and quickly gives her right butt cheek a lick with his tongue. The woman is so shocked that she has a violent spasm and the obstruction flies out of her mouth. As she begins to breathe again, the hillbilly walks slowly back to the bar.

His partner says "Ya know, I'd heerd of that there 'Hind Lick Maneuver', but I ain't never seed nobody do it!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As promised, here is Twisted Linguistics. Some of the words were spotted by Roxan, some by me, and were rushed by high-speed waaaambulance to Word Rehab.

haven't received royalists on my book - This is clearly someone who's written an underground book about restoring a monarchy to some country.

my book was print by - Will somebody PLEASE tell this girl that the past tense of print is printed?! This is driving me freakin' crazy.

caudle - To pet and pamper a patient while cauterizing a wound.

brith - The breath of an Englishman. Or I guess it could also refer to the birth of a Brit.

sotry - A drunken person who is apologetic.

braught - A temperamental child whose tantrums come to naught.

thinkink - Naughty thoughts running through one's mind.

anoter - Little mini-reminders to oneself; e.g., when going to the 7-11, write yourself a noter so you won't forget the milk.

yopu - A gangsta revision of the "Pooh" story in which Winnie becomes a gangbanger called "Yo, Pu!"

getting publish - This person would perhaps be interested in joining the ranks of the place where books are print.

ineer turmoil - Person with a raging ear infection.

whay ever - What Little Miss Muffet said to the sheep who suggested she eat some curds.

explainations - An expatriate from one of the Plains Nations tribes.
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R.I.P.

Ed Bradley, best known for his long tenure at "60 Minutes," passed away today at the age of 65 from leukemia.

Just For Rex...





...because I promised you a joke today.

Joe went into his proctologist's office for his first rectal exam. The doc's new nurse, Evelyn, took Joe to an examining room and told him to get undressed and have a seat until the doctor could see him. She said that he would only be a few minutes.

After putting on the gown that she gave him, Joe sat down. While waiting, he observed that there were three items on a stand next to the exam table: a tube of K-Y jelly, a rubber glove, and a beer.

When Doctor Bob finally came in, Joe said, "Look Doc, I'm a little confused. This is my first exam. I know what the K-Y is for and I know what the glove is for, but can you tell me what the BEER is for?"

At that, Doctor Bob became noticeably outraged and stormed over to the door. He flung the door open and yelled to his nurse...

"Darn it Evelyn !!!!!!!!!!! I said a BUTT LIGHT!"


Okay, it's lame, but didn't it make you laugh? Just a little?

The boss says to me around 10:00 this morning, "Do you want to work today?" I'm not a liar, so naturally I said "No!" He said, "Me, neither. Why don't we blow this popsicle stand?"

He was gone in, like, five minutes. I hung around 'til nearly 11:00 because I had some things I wanted to do. After that, I went out and messed around for a few hours. It's a perfectly beautiful day. Now that I'm home, I have some stuff of a different sort I need to do, but am not in the mood. Yeah, there's that evil "M" word again. I think I'll take the dog out instead. Shoot, I might even give her a bath when we get back. Or ... maybe we'll take a teensy little nap. Both of us look very, very tired.

Later on, we'll poke sticks at some Twisted Linguistics, maybe even color outside the lines. Roxan's already taken down a few words and I have a list of my own going. I'll have to consult the Dictionary of Defilement to figure out what they mean. When I know, you'll know.

Pic of the Day


Wednesday, November 08, 2006

The Day After


I definitely don't want to talk politics today. I'm totally OD'd on the subject since yesterday was pretty much all politics, all the time. I will say this -- George Allen refuses to concede the Virginia senatorial race. Why should the fact that he's a bad sport and sore loser on top of every other black mark against him surprise me? He'll huff and he'll puff and he'll posture in a last-ditch effort to incite all the sycophants. That's what braggarts and bullies do.

I will say, too, that all across America, the people have spoken -- loud and clear. "We're mad as hell and we're not gonna take it any more!"

I don't know that yesterday's Democratic upsets were precedent setting, but there's no question that the voters sent a message to Washington. I'm not sure that Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld is any more culpable than any of the other engineers of the current sorry state of affairs, but he's the designated Republican whipping boy of the day. Of course, it's not like he'll have to move into his car and go hungry. Somebody in the Ol' Boy network will give him another cushy job.

Oh. I said I wasn't going to talk politics, didn't I? Ergo, I suppose it would be impolitic of me to wonder aloud... Nope. Nope. Not going there. Wouldn't be prurient -- er, prudent.

We have Twisted Linguistics for you today. You knew we would; it's a never-ending pursuit. I am so grateful to Roxan for cruising the Web and ferreting out these things. It gives me a bodacious headache when I have to do it myself. I, being a lazy sort whenever I can get away with it, will let somebody else do the work in an L.A. minute. As long as one of us does it so we can continue to hone our English skills on the whetstone of perverted spelling...

distrabution - A celebration which is a rather dissonant type of tribute.

repercusions - Curse words specially designed to be yelled at Repo men.

sghoprt - A surprised sneeze combined with an unexpected belch.

dialkectical - One of those 1-900 Sex Lines catering to a particular fetish. We won't tell you which one, so don't ask.

pyramidea - A type of OCD where the afflicted thinks about pyramids all day long. *(Roxan, I think it's also a virulent new STD.)

sugests - Sue's only kidding.

derferd - How they say fuck off in Latvia. Not really. Or it could be. I don't know.

rearive - Itchy red bumps on the butt.

Pic(s) of the Day

FOR SALE: One Useless Cat
(Thanks to Southern Writer for passing these along)













Buckets of Rain (or Confusion Reigns)



Roxan hauled in a few more Word Criminals for us tonight. They were wily and tough and resisted arrest, but she's tougher. She got 'em.

Rememberance - Putting back together someone who's been disarticulated.

nearley - You know where Bubba lives; it's up the road, over near Ley.

Democratiticly - A topless Democratic Convention.


It's still raining cats and dogs. It's depressing. At least it makes for decent sleeping, which I'm getting ready to do.

Blogger's still acting up, and I haven't yet had time to take Southern Writer's advice, but I will. Tomorrow. I suffer big-time from Scarlett O'Hara Syndrome. (I lie; I'm not suffering at all.) And may I say how much I don't like the new way spell-check functions? What was wrong with the old format?

My ISP has been strangely warped this evening. I worked a little Voodoo on it, crossed my fingers, and so far, so good.

There's still no winner in the Webb v. Allen senatorial race. It's so close that nobody's willing to try and call it. At one point, it was 49% v. 50%, with only 300 votes separating them. One minute, Allen's ahead; the next minute, Webb's ahead. I don't think I'd be off-base to predict a recount demand once it's called. We shall see.