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.

Anne Bonny, Pirate Bitch: Misbehavior Understood

(Attention readers:  Salty language and racy stuff here, so don't read it if you are easily offended or know your parents would rather you not. Honor system!)

Damn. Anne Bonny had it going on.  She misbehaved in a big way!

Sometimes I feel guilty for misbehaving. Misbehavior, as I see it and do it, is gleefully departing from social norms in such a way as to raise eyebrows and reap certain negative judgment. Why spend such a short time on this plane of existence without kicking some outlaw ass for a while just to get it out of your system? And, it is pee-in-pants hysterical to mess with the Bible-thumping-prune-faced-pursed- lipped-string-of-pearls-clutchers out there.

I believe that the degree to which one misbehaves is directly in proportion to how much time one thinks is left to bite off a generous piece of this life and wash it down with a good, no spectacular, bottle of wine...

Consider middle class life expectancies of the 1700's. Most people, let’s say women because men had a whole other scene to deal, would expect to die in the cradle of neglect-because-it’s-not-male, croup, thrush, typhoid, plague or exsanguination by lice. But if you make it past puberty, (huzzah!) maybe, just maybe, you could enjoy a timely death in your late 20's of small pox, syphilis and/or/including childbirth.  That is if your man, who "owned" you like he owned his ox or donkey, didn’t beat you to death for misbehaving or sell you into indentured servitude.

Given the choice, it'd been a pirate's life for me.

It was for Anne Bonny, female pirate.

Born illegitimate in Ireland to a lawyer and the maidservant, who misbehaved in the eyes of the pious so dramatically, they were forced to board the next slow stinking ship to the Americas where they settled, and prospered, in Charleston. That’s where Anne, anger management issues showing early, got a rep at age 13 for misbehaving in a colossal piece of foreshadowing by stabbing a servant girl in the stomach with a table knife.

Must’ve been having a bad day.

Rumor had it she also nearly killed a dude with her bare hands in her later teens.  The idiot attempted forcible relations with her landing him in hospital within an inch of his life. He must not have known about the anger management issue Anne had.  She met her first husband, purported to be a gold-digger bottom-feeder sailor and part-time pirate, and moved with him to what was the hub of piracy in those days,  Nassau.  Ever alert for any opportunity to indulge her predisposition for misbehavior, she ditched him in favor of a higher-roller in their pirate social circle, eventually landing on the dashing testosterone-exuding Captain Calico Jack Rackham, literally. Probably on top. For this misbehavior, Anne, was sentenced to a nice public adultery flogging, and would’ve “tasted the cat” except she blew the joint and went to the sea with Rackham as the first full-fledged woman pirate. In a real stupid Men-from-Mars-Women-from-Venus misstep Capt’n Jack offered to buy her from her husband invoking a lovely legal convention called "divorce by purchase."   I bet she nearly stabbed him in the stomach for the insult. Probably would of but weighing killing him against screwing him, screwing won.

In fact, the screwing would eventually save Anne’s life.

They say that Bonny and Rackham, who teamed up with a second female pirate named Mary Read, misbehaved quite effectively pillaging up and down the Eastern Seaboard and the Caribbean for years. Apparently Anne fought and fucked with the ferocity and competency of any man onboard. And it is rumored that Anne really misbehaved and played on Mary Read’s team, sporting in that naughty girl-on-girl category as well. If Rackham was anything like modern men, this fantasy-turned-reality misbehavior had to be a sheer delight. Yo ho ho!

In fact the only three people onboard who were able to stand and fight when they were surprised by the Governor of Jamaica’s ship intercept were Rackham, Bonny and Read. I suspect they were engaged in misbehaviors that would make grown men, like even Larry Flynt, blush at the time. The rest of the crew was too drunk to watch or fight. They were all taken prisoner.

For their gross misbehavior against the Realm, all were sentenced to hanging. But, avast! Anne and Mary turn up preggers, thank you Jack Rackham, champion sperm donor! The girls “plead their bellies” so they didn’t get strung up under English Common Law.

Rackham? Not so lucky even though he in all probability was the father of both pirate fetuses.

Anne, who had ever-higher standards about with whom she fought and fucked, knew when to cut her losses and didn’t mince words. She said to Rackham as they shuffled in shackles next to each other in prison, "Sorry to see you here, but if you had fought like a Man, you need not have been hang'd like a Dog."

Bet it was the hormones talking.

Rackham hanged, Read died in childbirth, and lo and behold, Anne Bonny’s now rich plantation owner lawyer Daddy bailed/ransomed her out, brought her back to Charleston, and married her off to some guy named Burleigh. In addition to birthing Rackham’s’ ill-begotten spawn, she produced 8 more kids! This Burleigh dude must’ve figured out the real deep, um, motivation that made Anne Bonny settle down and toe the line. Do I have to actually spell it out? You know what it was…Misbehavior!

Keep us happy in the sack, and we can be inclined to keep the misbehavior where it belongs.

I believe Anne lived fast and hard because, at a very young age, all she saw around her were the exigencies that would snuff her life out in a heartbeat. I will always wonder, if she had known she was going to live 82 years, would she have misbehaved in such a celebrated way.

She saw two choices: Submit to that brutal unacceptable 1700’s life of a pious god-fearing woman/thing, or fight it.

She fought like a bitch.

Misbehavior understood.