Monday, September 28, 2009

Random Nuggets of Wild Animal Spoor

May I respectfully encourage everyone to comment on blog utterances with abandon?  Don't be a'skeered. Go ahead! It's fun.

Here're some comments I left at my favorite Bloggers' sites like little random nuggets of wild animal spoor marking the trail where I have been.


~ I awakened draped across my bed clutching a half-eaten quesadilla in my hand once. It was still good at room temperature. I think I was trying to multi-task. Then there was the dinner-plate sized housekeeping spider that captivated my peripheral vision and I forgot all about the quesadilla and the sleeping.

~ My Dad does what that horse did. It's esophageal spasms...Same string of horrifying finger-poised-on-the-1-button-having-already-dialed-91 neck contortions followed by the saliva thing and the eventual gacking up of whatever hairball could afflict such a cranky old man. And, yes, after incinerating every last ounce of adrenalin trying to figure the thing out, seratonin overachieves and sleep, albeit weird, takes over. I can attest...

~ pibloktoq is my kind of melt-down. Not just for Inuits any more!

~ Are you Hunter S. Thompson's secret love child? Just askin'...

~ God just gave St. Agatha new boobs to to teach those medieval titty twisters a lesson. Which backfired not on God, but on St. Agatha. Unfair! God likes to use us to flip off people with whom he REALLY has an issue. Like that time I got engaged to an atheist who converted to Catholicism who then turned gay and became a priest.

Wait. Was it my boobs?

~ The Rick James version of the Bible can indeed repel vampires.

~ Booby perfection indeed! It’s funny how God or Mother Nature or whatever entity is in charge, throws down just the right message at the right time. I have Parkinson’s, and like your RA, the whole freakin’ thing pisses me off to a somewhat lunatic degree at times.

And then up pops a Booby Mushroom, and all is well again!


~ Tim Gunn should definately think about spreading his genetics around a bit. Clone a Tim Gunn Army and we’d not only achieve world peace and civility, but we’d look pretty hot too! Gather around Designers and carry on!

~ She patted her hair, tucked in any fly-away ends and checked her lipstick for smears. She then arranged her face in that reveal-nothing rictus of a dutiful Senator's wife. "It's about time I was the one calling the press conference," she thought.

~ Mom: I just read your blog and it was great.
Me: Thanks Mom.
Mom: Only one thing though. Do you need to be so, well, earthy? And when did you get a DVR?
Me: Well, Mom blogs are our “voices” and that’s how I talk. And I didn’t get a DVR.
Mom: Who’s Tim? Is he nice? Why are you calling yourself Booshy?
Me: (Ding! Light goes on) That’s not my blog you read, it’s one of my favorite ones someone else writes. You clicked on it from my site!
Mom: Oh well she’s very good. Never mind then.

~ ‘Tis all about yer scabbard and how well the sabre fits! We’re all thievin’ wenches deep down inside, so quaff your rum and boff yer bums…There be ships to pillage and spoils to divvy up!

(oh dear God! shoot me before i pirate talk again. is an exorcism in order?)

~ Just thought it was harmlessly quirky when he turned into a seething pile of aggressively horny man-sex when I said something about kangaroos in a faux Australian accent…

Until I heard his GPS.

I’m going to snuff that Olivia Newton John Jezebel dashboard poser when he’s not looking!


~ Cool adventure! Those were some smart horses jackrabbiting for distance with their legs tied together. My fart-tard horse at camp would succumb to a basic restraint requiring no knot tying - the "stomp hobble." Just got him to stand on his own reins. Goin' nowhere. If I came back in a month, I swear my equine Einstein would still be there, a moldering corpse with the reins still under his dorky hoof! I stomp hobbled him frequently in the center of the ring where others of his kind could point and laugh at his doofy-ness; payback for when he bit me hard in the stomach once.

~ It’s Florida here. I frequently hear the soft “tick, tick, — tick, tick, tick – scurrrrrry,” of dinner-plate sized arachnids (There ya go Tim, exacerbate THAT!)as they traverse the bedroom ceiling at night in the flippin’ dark. Catch these freaks of tropical nature in a maglite beam and they jump aggressively forward in a blur of eight-legged alien horror, challenging like drunken hairy wind-up toys from Planet 9. And yet, with plastic cup and a paper plate I still catch and release. Trying hard not to irritate my already shaky karma.


~ Oompa-loompas spontaneously generate. Just leave damp rags, jolly rancher watermelon candies, and some taco meat in a warm dark corner free of drafts and they'll emerge in 10 days in their nymph form.

~ In the throes of that very same technicolor yawn, caused by too many shots of tequila and possibly the ingestion of the worm, a roommate of mine in college decided to pull up a laundry hamper and just bare her soul about how much she disliked my every molecule of being. She did hold my hair however in an act of thin compassion.

3 comments:

  1. Verily, you do leave the best comments. ;) Short stories in themselves, the shortest, much like those shorts that are almost underpants, and always skillful, like the people that manage to wear those underpant-shorts without showing any ass cleavage at all.

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  2. Linnnn: that comment about the conversation with your mom...STILL cracks me up...made Tim about wet himself when I showed him. If I'm having a bad day, that's what I read...I can just SEE the lightbulb going off all, "ohhhh..."

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  3. I forgot about the spider one!!!! For me, a well described story that sent me into self-induced panic.

    Damn you :)

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