No Innuendo Meant

"Did you irritate the sumo again?"

"Pearls before swine sounds like a good way to spend an evening."

"I've never seen a more shiney ladle."

"To ring the bells you have to have the biggest hunch."

"Soupy Sales."

"I found myself identifying with Uriah Heap."

"I like to call this the Clambering Monkey."

"That's Little Jor-El."

"Well, I did get the high score on Dig Dug..."

T

Crime Story of the Week (thus far)

http://www.twincities.com/mld/pioneerpress/10021822.htm?1c

Theft: A man tried to leave Snyders Drug Store, 1121 Larpenteur Ave., on Oct. 15 without paying for three packages of Pampers diapers. Before fleeing, he allegedly told a store employee who confronted him that he had brought the diapers with him. Police later caught him in a parking lot by Larpenteur and Hamline avenues. He admitted to the theft. The diapers were worth $40.

I love this.

Absolutely LOVE this man's guts.

"I'm telling you, clerkie...I brought these THREE packs of diapers with me into the damn drug store! Ain't no law 'bout a man keeping his diapers with 'em, is there? They're like Linus' security blanket to me; see, I got a mental condition and boxes of Pampers are the only thing that keep me sane!!! Quit laughing! I know a person with a Migraine Alert dog...now that's fucking funny. Where you taking me? Gimme back them diapers!!!"

So it goes.

I salute you, crazy Pampers Pilferer.

T

Quote of the Day: Marvel Superhero Division

"Matt (Murdock aka Daredevil...who's blind) naming his daughter Iris is like Charles Xavier (wheel-chair bound founder of the X-men) naming his kid Kneecap."

Thanks to Matt Tracker for this hilarious bit of a quip.

T

Fear of Lawn Decorations

Sure, you might sometimes worry yourself into a froth thinking that those little Lawn Jockeys and Garden Gnomes are secretly plotting (under cover of the night, naturally...wouldn't want us Non-Nocturnal-Types to catch wind*/sight** of their nefarious cabal) to impregnate our women and enslave us menfolk (to work their cheese mines and pull their tiny rickshaws...betcha didn't know about these things, eh?)...but I worried most about the giant Panda (carved from the trunk of a former tree-trunk) down the street from me and his/her solitairy plans to eat me whilst I sleep (I'm sensitve to the telepathic abilities of inanimate objects with Human Flesh Hunger Pangs, y'know).

That is until I noticed that some 'poachers' toppled it recently.

Take THAT, Wooden Panda Golem!!! My corpse will now never find itself digesting slowly in your bole-ish gullet!


T
*Ya ever smell a Gnome or a Lawn Jockey? Don't. Just Don't.
**And, whatever you do, DON'T stare at them! They've got photographic memories and WILL find out where you live!

Medical Advancements encouraged by Gin

"Y'see...they gotsit all wrong dere at the Mayonnaise Clink with their fancy-schmancy pacemakers. I've been kickin' an idear 'round me bean now for something goin' on five months--give or take that month-long stint in County (couldn't get much in the way o' clever thinkin' done there...had to worry 'bout my safety, knowwhadImean?)-- that fellers with bad tickers could save themselves a sockfull o' nickels (yeah, that can be a weapon and a reference to alotta moolah) if they get themselves a helper monkey...one of the littler kind (easier to bring 'round witcha...a gorilla or 'rangOtang gonna be disruptive at, say, Church or a trip to the salon) and have the lil' bastard constantly massaging and squeezin' your blood pump, dig? Sure, ya might need to have some sorto incision made so it could get in there and all...but that ain't no big deal, right? From what I've seen on the Cable TV and heard from me chums in the Zoo-bidness, the monkeys love grabbin' shit...like all the time. Their little monkey doodads, shit, food, other monkeys, ropes, twigs, rocks, whatever. Take this natural tendency o' there's and puttum to work keepin' people alive. The grocery bill for a monkey...y'know, a few bananas a day...a change o' diapers...maybe a lil' hat so they look sophisticated and all (maybe with a sign that sez they's On-Duty and shouldn't be messed with) has GOTTA be cheaper than the bill for a pacemaker, y'see what I'm saying? And What a conversation starter that'd be! Probably really score with the chicks, too. At least with the ones with soft spots fer monkeys...and I've known quite a few in my time, that's fer damn sure."

T

Children ask the Darnedest Things: Pre-X-mas Clarifications

Santa does not HAVE a taste no matter how long you let him metaphorically 'soak in your mouth' AND the Clauses do not eat their elves and reindeer during 'lean' years.*

T
*A stray Eskimo or three, sure...but never the Help.

Pitching Woo during a game of Pigmania

"Say, baby...on my next turn I'll roll a Leaning Jowler just for you. Kiss my pigs for luck."

T

Overheard at the Deli in the Year 2015

"The bologna embargo is finally over!!! You're gonna eat like a Queen tonight, Mrs. Johnson, that's for sure."

T

Ineffectual Calls for Help: Lame Superhero Division

"Hep me, hep me, Orbiting Man-Child!!!"

"Dammit, you're right, Lieutenant; this is beyond our men's abilities. Get Dangling Parti-disciple on the Verb/Noun Disagreement Phone!"

"That rogue won't get far with the stolen loot...not with Pawn-Shop Pacemaker and the Congestive Heart Failure Orphan League on his tail."

"Mr. President, this looks like a job for Human Meatbox!"

"Laugh while you can, vile cretin...Ladle Arms will see to it that these spuds have adequate gravy!"

"If Pete Moss had his communicator on, he should be here momentarily to assist in your sod debacle."

"You have no idea the vengeance that The Poodler will unleash upon you and your hoary host!"

T

Setting the Record Straight

I'm not sure who would have told you such a thing (a nefarious lout with ill-will towards me?) but I can assure you, Timmy, that my dog does not have a hollow leg full of Jello. I could tell that you were excited by the thought combining, as it does, your love for animals and flavored gelatin (you do know where gelatin comes from, right?) but in no uncertain terms my beloved canine is not equipped in this fashion (via a modified pet prosthetic/dessert dispenser retrofitted to his frame after some gruesome accidental/intentional amputation). I mean...look at him. He's a squat and compact 60 odd pound English Bulldog; a hollow leg full of Jello isn't going to hold up under the weight. This sort of feature (if it were possible...but, than again, who knows...I don't keep up with the Medical Journals and Redbook as much as I used to) would be much better suited for a lighter dog...say a pug or Boston Terrier (heck, come to think of it, you could hollow out the whole dog, fill it full of Jello or maybe even custard and you might really be on to something...keep it in mind for when you get older and feel inspired to ignite a new culinary rage). So dry your eyes and put the spoon away, okay?
Unless your interested in eating some of his particular salivary output; he's definitely full of a vast quantity of drool...which, if you think about it, is kind of like a really watered down/uncoalesced gelatin...er...so maybe you're on to something...

T

A Peak Inside the Mind of my Mother, Ruthie

An actual message on my voicemail from my mother

"This is your mother. Say, could you listen to 102 FM today? They're going to say my name on the air some time today and, when you hear it, could you call in and pretend you're me? I'll win $500 and I'll share it with you. Really...I'll share the money with you if you do it. Let me know..."

I deleted the message before it reached the end.

While I'm flattered that she thinks so highly of my vocal impersonation/celebration of her (honed over the many years of mocking her shrillish Edith-Bunker-esque voice) I'm not convinced nor as confident as she that it's good enough to pull a fast one on any of the highly trained/educated disc jockeys employed at this station (Today's Country is their modus operandi).

T

Harpoon as Conversation Starter

Looks pretty impressive over your mantel (er...not so much a mantel as it is a makeshift-two-by-four-as-shelf over a Polaroid of a fireplace, right? And that's not so much a pic of a fireplace as it is a picture of an aged monk setting himself aflame...which is an odd thing to have on the wall below a harpoon--the placement of which implies that, at some point, you skewered the holy man with it, maybe even post-burn...which brings to mind fleshy S'mores for some reason...but that ain't no warmed over marshmellow/chocolate ooze seeping through his 'graham cracker' hide--but I digress). Where'd you get it? Is it a family heirloom? Was an ancestor of your's a whaler from way back? No, no, no...I wasn't implying that your great-great-grandfather had a weight issue (did he? Oh, he liked S'mores, eh?) but that he hunted whales aboard some vessel in a century past. Yes...that's right...WHALERS hunted whales and was --at one time-- the name of a professional hockey team. Uhm, the WAILERS were Marley's back-up band, yes, but, y'see, it's spelled differently...it's what you'd call (well...maybe not you) a homonym. ?!? Stop sniggering...I said HOMONYM. No, a homonym is not an overly 'sexed up' homosexual...you're thinking homo-NYMPH...and I don't think that's even a real term, okay? I'm also pretty sure that no Rastafarians played for the Hartford Whalers nor are reknowned for their Whale Hunting skills...er...I s'pose they might enjoy the occasional S'more but I wouldn't have the slightest idea if they would involve the treats in their same-gender sexcapades. Ahem. So, back to my original question; Where' you get the harpoon? A Thrift Store? Pfft...talk about false advertising. Yes, it IS rather phallic and NO it doesn't give me any 'funny ideas' involving you, me, a vigorous 'hug' and post-coital snacks.

T

TipTone's Etymology Corner
or a French contribution to Hip Hop Culture

MACK
as in a Mack Daddy, Mackin', et cetera is derived from the French word Maquereau which translates to Mackeral. So the next time you hear your favorite Rap Star or local youngster wanna-be proclaiming their Mack Daddy stutus you'll now know that this particular braggadocio is letting you in on their fish-siring/spawning prowess (intentionally or not...at least that's what I'll be hearing from now on).

"Yo...I am the MACK DADDIEST! Look at the size of my school!"

T

Reading the Baby

Pass that lil' un over here and lemme get a looksie. Hmm...what is he? About 3 months old? Okay. About 15 pounds or thereabouts (can never remember how to covert that to stones, y'know...s'funny I can't recall the conversion since I spent a majority of my tweens overseas as an apprentice to a horse mid-wife...don't ask...I was deep in the yum-yum, if you catch my leaning). Anyway, back to your pride and joy here. Notice eyes...they'll usually give me a pretty good idea as to the child's future occupation. Hmm...one's a lil' drifty...kinda lazy (there's a joke I could make about it not wanting to go out and get a job...but I'm sure the hospital staff must of told that one a hundred times post-birth, eh? No? Er...nevermind). Well, I can rule out pilot, seamstress and janitor...them jobs call for sharp peepers and this kid just ain't gonna have that trait, corrective lenses/surgery or not (ya ever see a portrait of Betsy Ross, a pic of Chuck Yeager or given your building's custodian a good long stare? Oh...heh...of course not...the lazy eye on the baby was inherited...heh...you can't really stare at anything properly...on a positive note you ain't gonna get in trouble for prolonged leering, eh?). Let's move on and see what else I can figure out. Head's still a wee bit spongey...naturally...but lil' Jebediah here's is especially so. This could mean two things; a career as a stuntman (probably specializing in being shot of a cannon and/or launched from Hollywood-style catapaults) or missionary work in a Third World country. Oh, don't look that way...we're not done yet and there's still a lot of baby to read. Whoa! Now check the mitts on this tyke! Those are some impressive hands for one of this age. I think I've got it now. I can say with a certainty that with paws like that your lil' un will flourish as a grave robber (hell, he won't even need a shovel...them hands are gonna grow into some amazing flesh trowels, mark my words). Then again, the pinkie on the left hand seems to be missing a knuckle. Hmm. With that in mind you're probably looking at an offspring with a serious future as a sandwich artist; whether it be juggling them, constructing them or rendering murals/sculptures/whatnot in swear-to-the-heavens-real-honest-to-gosh sandwiches...like if you took a Dagwood sandwich and carved a bust of Lionel Ritchie out of it. Now THAT'S art!

T