YSaC, Vol. 1023: Something with poison, but attractive to the eye.
chiuahuas poppies – $250
i have a male 250 and femeal 300 chiuhuas poppies there tan on color parent on location if you what to get one you can 5551212* and see it
As far as I can tell, this person is selling 550 puppies. That’s a LOT of puppies. At $250 each, they stand to make a cool $137,500. That or it’s $250 for the lot, which is a pretty good deal at only 45 cents per puppy. Then again, they may be selling poppies, in which case 45 cents may be about right.
A Chiuhuhua poppy is an interesting concept. Is it a poppy from northern Mexico? A small, hyperactive flower that spoiled rich girls buy as fashion accessories? Or perhaps a relative of the extremely rare…. wait for it…
Pugtunia:
I’m sorry. I’ll go sit in the corner now. Thanks for the link, Kim!
*Note: Phone number changed to protect the Sparky. When, when will someone think of the Sparkies?
The Afghan hound isn’t Afghanistan’s only official dog breed.
Ahh…the rareified tan poppies…
Grabs grumpy catulator…
At a total of 550 plants for $250 each, that’s….
42 cans of tuna
Dammit.
*shakes catulator, which only makes it grumpier*
Okay, try this again…
This time I get…87 rhutabaga sammiches and pink elephants on parade.
That sounds more like it.
Wonder what the street value will be when I cut it with the even rarer pugtunias….hmmm….
*looks around for catulator and notices he’s gone cat-a-tonic, clutching favorite toy…sighs at his unbearable cuteness*
I’ll just check later, I gotta go make a call….mama needs new shoes!
Squee! I would SO love to have those in my garden! I think the poppy on the left is the femeal.
The pugtunias have the same looks on their faces that our cats do when I dress them up. Shame, anger, dreams of revenge.
Indeed, it is well known that the males tend to be tough and stringy, so the one on the left is an excellent choice and goes well with a nice cabernet.
I wouldn’t even attempt to dress up my cats. I’d like my blood and internal organs to stay inside my skin.
I have video of our siamese in a hoodie, walking backwards trying to get out of it. Priceless!
Bugsy, the Insane, is actually quite fond of women’s clothing..particularly soft sweaters. He will open the dresser drawer, drag a sweater out and then put his head down on top of it and scoot it across the floor until he is successful at getting it over his head.
He will then prance around showing off his new outfit.
I told you, he have a crazy.
I may have mentioned this before, but one of our cats apparently thought trying to wear a plastic bag would be a bold fashion statement. She poked her head through the handle, but then suddenly decided that plastic was so last fall, so she tried walking out of it and failed. The bag just followed her. So she tried jumping out of it. Still around her neck. She started to run, and the bag followed. Freaking, she started tearing ass all around the apartment, but no matter how fast she ran, that bag kept up with her like a champ. It took half a dozen circuits around the apartment before we could block her path, catch her, and remove the bag ourselves, then watch her go hide under the couch for a few hours. Just to make sure it was really gone.
She’s terrified of plastic bags, now. Just the crinkly sound will send her sprinting.
My last cat was harness and leash trained (being deaf, it was the only safe way he could go outside) but the current one, when I put the harness on him, walked backward all throughout the house in an attempt to get away from it and then sat down. Attaching the leash did not induce interest. I decided that was it – no leashes or clothes. He did scare himself with a plastic bag once, rather amusingly. It was a large plastic one but with the hard plastic handles (not grocery style) and I laid it on its side, as he has liked large paper ones that way. He poked his head in, crawled and turned around in so that his face was poking out of the bag, and then, as he arranged himself, caused the bag to crinkle. It made noise! Frm behind him! So then he ran out of it, in terror.
He’s usually pretty smart. That time? Not so much.
I have had multiple instances like that one MF. I have had to tackle my kitty several times. I have a friend whose dog has a sweatshirt that he wants to wear all the time. He looks like E.T. when he sits down. Except a dog E.T. A handsome dog E.T.
We had a black cat (Max the third I think) ages ago who managed to get himself stuck halfway into a bag of cat food.
The hole was just big enough for him to crawl in, but he got stuck halfway. He tried to run with his back legs but he hit a wall and just laid down and mewled pathetically until we got him out.
There were other instances of cats in food bags like that, but that’s the only one I really remember vividly.
Bugsy, TI, Esq. is also VERY fond, overly fond really, of brushes. Hairbrushes, lip brushes, blush brushes, etc.
You name it, if the name has “brush” in it the cat is all over it like a cheap suit.
However, what he does with the brushes is the best part.
He will go to GREAT lengths to steal a brush – from digging inside a purse carelessly left at cat-level (and yes, I do warn everyone who comes into the house not to leave their belongings at cat-level) to stealing brushes left in not-quite-closed drawers.
He then proceeds to carry his treasure to a recliner in the living room. He sets the brush on the floor, then takes BOTH front paws and shoves the brush under the chair.
I accidentally discovered this brush fetish one day when I walked in on him during one of his hiding sessions. I literally stood there, gape-mouthed, with the dawning knowledge that I wasn’t the crazy one losing brushes. It was my cat burglar, Bugsy, who had been stealing them all along.
Turned the chair over and there were SIX brushes under there. He was not a happy kitteh when mama confiscated his treasure.
It was then he proceeded to exhibit similar behaviors with his toys…only this was rather self-defeating as he’d take a toy and shove it under the dryer. Since the dryer rarely gets moved (yes, I am clean…but not that motivated) he soon realized he was running out of toys and stopped. He did get them all back when we got a new dryer. The delivery man was all like “Whoa, you got a toddler here?” when he saw the toys. “No,” I replied, “just a crazy cat.”
Bugsy TI esq is not alone in this behavior. My cat does this with nail polish. I call her klepto cat. I had a similar experience when I realized practically every bottle of nail polish I owned was under my dresser. She also steals hair ties but that’s obvious because she covers them in kitty slobber and plays with them like they are made of pure uncut catnip.
I have to buy dry food in big 14-lb bags and then transfer the food into a lidded bucket, otherwise Fearless will gnaw a hole in the bag trying to get to the yummies inside.
One time I had done this and left the empty bag on the floor for the herd to explore while I put the bucket up. I come back and the bag is no longer flat, I can see the tip of Fearless’ tail sticking out of the top and hear an odd raspy noise. A quick peek confirms that she was indeed licking the inside of the bag. Firefly then drops down into the crouch-with-butt-wiggle that signifies that an attack is emminent at the sight of the now-twitching bag. She pounces and there is some mad scrambling from inside the bag as Fearless tries to get away from whatever it is that has attacked her. She manages to get out of the bag and takes off at full speed.
Head-first into the refrigerator. It made a surprisingly loud thud.
She still likes to lick the inside of the food bag after I empty it, but now she only sticks her head in. Nothing in the world will get her all the way in.
My cat story:
My Sam was scared to death to ride in cars and absolutely hated to be caged up. He wanted to be loose and invariably ended up on my neck while I was driving. So… in order to give him freedom from being enclosed, yet safer in the car, I decided to teach him to wear a harness that could be latched to the seat on car rides. Well… it worked the first time we went to the vet. The next time I put his harness on… Sam laid down on the floor like he was paralyzed and absolutely refused to move. You could nudge him with a foot or attempt to pick him up and he never broke pose. He would meow pitifully, not moving, until the harness was removed, then miraculously all his legs started to work again.
In spite of how curious he was, he was never destructive or a hoarder. I could leave a plate of food on the table overnight and he might sniff it, but never took a bite. Dry cat food was all he ever ate.
I miss my cat.
Ooh, I have a klepto-cat story too!
When I was little I had a tortie named Misty who loved pipe cleaners. At the time Mom did a lot of work with porcelain dolls and used white pipe cleaners for something, I can’t really remember what. Cleaning the greenware, maybe. Misty was always stealing the pipe cleaners from Mom’s workroom and I was always getting blamed for it, even thought I told Mom it was the cat. Apparently she thought “The cat’s stealing your stuff.” was not an acceptable excuse.
One day while Mom was at the sewing machine Misty goes in to the workroom, paws open the carton of pipe cleaners, (the box was sitting in a bin right next to the sewing machine, so she was right beside Mom) takes a couple out, and walks away with them in her mouth, leaving a trail of dropped ones behind her. I stopped getting blamed for the missing pipe cleaners and Mom started keeping them out of cat-accessible areas.
One of our other cats, Tilly, scared the living bajeebers out of us several years back. She was out on our balcony and we were … well, doing whatever we were doing at the time. Tilly disappears. After looking around we discover she’d apparently squeezed through the gap between the wall and the railing that led to our neighbour’s balcony. So we try to get her to come back making those “tsk”ing sounds and promising food — a word she knows very well. So she start making her way back — by jumping on top of the balcony railing.
Did I mention the top of the railing is narrow? And round? And that we live 6 floors up? Yeah, we’re already freaking. She takes a few steps onto our side of the balcony on the railing. Her back paws slip. Both of us scream her name.
It was only by the grace of rough, matte paint and sharp front claws that she didn’t plummet to the ground below. She was able to hang on and right herself, then jumped down onto the concrete of the balcony and into the apartment.
She’s not allowed on the balcony anymore.
Aww…I miss your cat, too, L-squared.
You feeling better today?
My late great Charlie cat used to steal green beans from my mother while she was stringing and breaking them for canning. And then he would hide them in my bed. And the beans would go flying when I changed the sheets. My siamese likes to steal Q-tips from the bowl in the bathroom and fling them around the house.
Much better, CJ… thanks. Hope you’re top o’ the world too. All the cat stories, it just hit me….
Snark away, folks… I need to laugh. 🙂
When we lived in north Florida we had one of those houses with a two-story foyer, the kind that has a straight staircase leading up to a landing overlooking the living room. Our dear departed black cat, Velvet, who was declawed on the front paws but not the back, would sit on the wide banister at the top of the staircase staring down into the living room doing her best Mistress of All She Surveyed impression.
One evening my husband, Darryl, was watching tv in the living room while I did something domestic, addressing Christmas cards, I think it was. Darryl quietly got my attention. Velvet had decided that the banister would be a much quicker way to descend to the lower level. Her clawless front paws were gaily skidding hither-and-yon down the wide, smooth banister while she was desperately trying to brake with her back (clawed) feet. The look on her face was pure “eeeeeeek!” while she rapidly slid down but the best expression was when she gracefully landed at the bottom. Darryl and I were HOWLING with laughter at this point and Velvet turned, gave us one of those “I MEANT to do that” looks and casually sauntered back upstairs to recline again upon the top railing, surveying her domain.
I sure miss that cat. She had a great sense of humor.
Had a cat once who apparently had not heard cats had given up the ability to taste sweets–he was mad for donuts. All donuts. Old-fashioned, glazed, crullers, bearclaws, even jelly-filled. But, pie crusts? No. Cake? No. Cake frosting? Egads, one had to tithe a portion of the bowl for licking clean lest we have a 17# version of lynx rufus about the house until the surly wore off.
Cat got to where he could tell we’d gone to the donut shop. We went through an entire cycle of learning experiences. Like discovering that the cat knew how to open the box the donuts were in. Then, that he worked out how to undo the tab-into-slot locks on the boxes. Then, that he worked out it was better to snatch a donut entire, than to “sneak” only the one bite. Or, that, presented with a donut box with the Betty Crocker cookbook on top holding it closed, that mere cardboard could be chewed through . . .
Eventually, we would just eat our donuts at the shop . . .
I do not have a cat story. I do, however, have a horse story.
It seems my red roan mare, Sunny, prefers a vodka/soda with a squeeze of lime as opposed to beer. Yes, it’s true. Mr. Eyebrows and and long-gone boyfriend of one of the Eyebrows daughters were engaged in a discussion out back by the barn one fine day. They set their beverages down on the tailgate and went off somewhere for a couple minutes. They returned to find Sunny with her head stretched over the fence, slurping the cocktail. The beer remained untouched. We park the truck further away from the fence nowadays.
My current cat beast came to my house aged about 13 months and linebacker-built 20# with concurrent needs for exercise and play. If there was not enough play going on, the play would be brought to (or upon) me. So, there are toys about the house. Some of the best of these toys make crunchy-crackly noises–which, I’m given to understand is from putting crinkly plastic in the toy.
So, HRH feels a need to investigate all bags brought into the house, often times inclination to mischief is averted when the crinkly bag makes “toy” noises. Which is a good thing, since someone has worked out how scimitar-sharp toenails will open things letting out tasty things trapped within.
Now, the Spløof is completely nonplussed by vacuum cleaners, can openers and the like–but all laundry baskets are EVIL!
(Instead of can openers, the bolt-into-the-room-it’s-TREATS! sound is lift-the-tab pop-top cans, which is very vexing if the can contains pudding, or soup or some such.)
Archie-darling! You will join us on FB, won’t you? Windy can hook you up. I’m FB retarded, totally.
Please say you will! We have ever so-much funsies!
Yeah, Archie – all the cool kids are doing it!
I bought a little rain slicker for my dog once but she was having none of it.
I bought a little poncho for mine, but it looked better on the moose.
When I lived with my sister, many moons ago, I brought my cat Schanni with me. We came home from shopping one day to find him with a wide plastic ring around his neck. The water cooler needed a new bottle on it, and my sis had taken the empty off, waiting for my brother-in-law to replace it that evening. Schanni had seen the water down in the cooler, and either wanted to play with it or tried to drink it. The plastic ring acted as cushion between the big glass bottle and the metal cooler. It became his new necklace until we got home and figured it out. He was suitably embarrassed for the rest of the day.
Most things look better on a moose. For instance lipstick.
Eyeliner, spray paint, TacoThong…
Sweater hams, Bearnaise sauce, melon hats…
Short ribs, strapless gowns, barbershop quartets…
Wait, what were we talking about again?
When Bridgete was little, we had a cat named Frisky. Frisk was famous for many things, like he played fetch with these twisted up pipe cleaner things we tossed for him. But once day, he was down in the basement making all sorts of racket when he suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs trapped in a baby clothes hanger. (If you have no experience with them, they are somewhat smaller than regular hangers, but boxy so you can put the top and bottom on the same hanger; and the center part is like a open square) We laughed so hard at the poor little guy, I swear we fell down on the floor. I have a picture of him trapped in the thing…somewhere…in a box with all those other pictures of cute little Bridgete.
Frisky was also allergic to spiders which we learned when he came up from the basement another time with his whole head swollen up twice it’s normal size and wheezing. Fortunately we lived minutes from the vet.
Hi Bridgete’s Mom… y0u don’t post nearly often enough!
Thanks LL. I’ll try to be better about that.
Speaking of cats, TacoMa’am is considering getting a cat/kitten to help distract Tron (and to appease a husband who has wanted a cat for a while now). We’ll see how that gambit works if said cat does indeed join the Taco ranks. Who thinks ‘TacoMinion’ is a good name for a cat? BurritoApprentice? TostadaUnderling? ChurroCat?
First though, T-Ma needs to schedule some time to go over and meat (hehe) the kitten that’s being put up for adoption. Since TacoMa’am is allergic to about half of the cats she’s ever met, she’ll need to go rub any prospective cat on her face* and see what happens.
*Seriously, this is the test we use. Her brother’s cat**, one of our friend’s cats, and one of my parents’ cats she has no problem with. But the other cats my parents have and our other friend’s cats are allergen city. One touch of one of those cats is face-puff city. Weird. I know there is a protein in the skin that causes the allergy, but without taking a cat in for a skin protein analysis I don’t think there is a good way, other than the face rub technique, to determine if they have this allergen.
**Mellowest. Cat. Ever. Tron tried to play with the cat and all she did was lay there, purr, and give the squinty “Oh, *yawn* what’s up?” look. Tron got bored and wandered off to terrorize some grandparents instead. It was a decisive win for the cat; Tron couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t run around and let him chase her. Even other mellow cats I’ve had don’t out-mellow this gal.
Speaking of allergies to cats…my 6-yr. old granddaughter has off-the-charts allergies to a bunch of things, including cats.
Except Bugsy, TI. The doc said it’s probably because of her exposure to Bugsy since birth. She’s built up an immunity to him and has little, if any, reaction when he’s around.
My name vote is either ChurroGato or GatoMagico.
I think you should call the cat – ‘User’.
SexyClaws!
LL, you made me Geek.
“This is Tron, and this little guy is his User.”
Frijole feline? Queso Kitty? Pequeno Pussy?
I think you should name him/her “Scapegoat”.
“So, who’s the new kid?”
“Heh..heh..’Scapegoat’.”
Tron can thank me later.
TM, you could always call it ‘Master Control Program’… just for extra geekiness. Guess it depends on who is in charge… 8)
Edit: other choices I like… ‘Clu’, ‘Sark’, ‘The Kernel’
I have an old cat that loves beer, but only out of the can. We assumed that was because she could stick her tongue in the hole of the can but not the bottle, but I think she just prefers it from the can.
We once took some bottled beer (what we usually buy) and put it in a bowl and Lucy cat just looked at us like Wha??? But when she hears a tab top pulled, she knocks everything over getting to the beer.
Taquito Poquito? Taquito Freaquito? Oh I know… Taquito “Maquico” Gatito.
I have the same problem as Tacoma’am. I was allergic to my childhood cat but bathed him frequently enough that he only gave me hives most of the time. I loved him anyway. I would never have parted with him. After he passed away I looked for another cat even though I knew I would probably have the same problem. The first few kitties I met gave me hives. Then I met my current cat who I insist is really a mixture of cat, raccoon, and squirrel. She was a feral rescue kitty so I don’t rule her out as some sort of freaky lovechild. I adore her. She doesn’t bother me at all and she is the perfect little kitty for me. So I sympathize with the face rubbing test. I would be doing the same thing. Just pop some benadryl afterwards.
“With poison in it, but attractive to the eye and soothing to the smell! Poppies! Poppies!”
Or did the witch mean “puppies! puppies!”?
“I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog too!”
When I was a kid, I thought she was saying “puppies”.
Oh wow. Just… wow. This post is so amazing I can’t even begin to think of witty comments. The original listing is amazing enough on it’s own but then paired with the pugtunias picture… And I’m just speechless. Wow.
[David Attenborough]
Pugtunias, along with their close relatives pugonias are notable for their curly stem, squat stature and raucous snort when they become excited at passersby who stop to smell them. Few do however, because it is widely known that doing so would usually cause the flowers to emit a spray of mucous that is uniquely unappealing.
Collieflowers on the other hand are highly sought after because of their silky golden coat, hearty stalks, pleasant demeanor, and how well they pair with cheese sauce…
[/David Attenborough]
I got a mixed bouquet of Iris Setters and Daismatians once, it’s hard work keeping them all in the same vase.
That sounds very pretty though. After you anesthetize them anyway.
Collieflowers make a nice, refreshing, snack – cut up into bite-sized pieces with a side dish of Ranch or Blue-cheese dressing. A nice appetizer for a Cocker-tail party.
I’m not ready for the full femeal, can I just have a sample?
But what’s a femeal? Is that a new feminist word for female? Or is it edible? Can I use it to make my onion rings crispier? Or cornbread even better? I want to know before I pay for it.
The femeal is much the same as the meal, but is fortified with extra iron.
Except in Iberia, where Fe is a term for slyph.
Whether femeal is food for or of faeries is unclear–but given the implied correlation of poppies, could be an agricultural supplement of ground-up slyph.
O, oh my Deare; how well doth thy garden grow!
What labours thus to so beautifully show?
Glories Poppies array-ed row upon row?
Oh, Keebler 20-10-5 you say?
How droll.
MF winds the internet!!!!!
My apologies. I had beans for lunch.
I think Taco *did* something to my keyboard. ::glares in suspicion::
“Femeal” is Spanish for “ugly food”. Duh.
McDonalds tried to market a HappyfeMeal, but no one could afford it…
I bet the toys in the Happy FeMeal were a real diamond ring and a pair of designer shoes.
Batteries required.
And a purse, complete with choohaha.
I’ll be in the corner.
*snerk*
It wasn’t until after I read that comment about three times I decided I needed to go to the corner, too.
I’m blaming it on the fever.
Oooh…look at all the pretty colors….
*wanders aimlessly, in circles, until suddenly finding a corner*
Damnit, CJ! I just get up to speed on the newest code word and you go and invent a new one. *sigh*
Oh c’mon Archie. Don’t get your trumulpies in a twist.
TM, you mean I have multiples of those??? Egads!
Well, once again YSaCL is the one-stop shopper’s paradise! Once I get me some of these poppies I can store them in that cage from yesterday’s post. That’s assuming I can extricate myself from the hovel, er, home of the cage’s seller when I go to pick it up.
I leeke-a cheeooooa pooppeees qooeete-a a beet! Zeey ere-a su verm und foozzy, und su pleyffool. Yes, cheeooooa pooppeees ere-a su mooch foon! Bork Bork Bork!
The only femeal Chihulyhuhu I ever met was a real bitch. It was like this. And I was all “where is your eye patch?!”
If you don’t know Chihuly’s work, google image search him. His glass work is amazing. And he wears an eyepatch which makes him super hip.
Comment awaiting moderation? Windy could you help a llamaderp out?
Derp Derp Squee!
Derp De-Derp De-Derp Squee Squee!
Done. It was the links that did it.
Thank you Llamanun (BBUY). And of course Taco for my theme song.
I forgot to say the picture of pugtunias made my day.
First I “awww”ed over it, and then I realized that the look in their eyes would haunt my dreams forever. “We are already funny-looking, snorty dogs,” it says. “Why must you further humiliate us?”
That picture will now haunt me for all references to “lotus eaters” . . .
Lara, sorry, I can’t get in to the Command Center ™ from my place of employment without breaking a dozen or so rules. But I would have done it as soon as I got home.
So a female chihooha is $50 more than a male?
I didn’t even know males had chihoohas.
I’ll be over here in my corner with a stack of freshly iced coffee slices if anyone needs me.
I think Sparky is mistaken. Males have daschunds.
Get outta my head GC!
I’m tired and drinking a margarita. Thus, “freshly iced coffee slices” really confused me. My mind kept separating “iced coffee” and “coffee slices” into separate, recognizable terms and I had weird mental images of coffee slices with ice on them.
I just imagined coffee slices which someone had lovingly rubbed with ice…
Probably depends on the size of the femeals ‘chihoohas’.
GC, I’ll be right over to join you in the corner. Would you like me to bring you anything?
A chocolate mouse, please.
My cat will take one too, all this talk of the “incidents” involving the plastic bags has brought back repressed memories.
When will animal shelters realize they can get so many more puppies adopted if they advertise them like this? Put a costume on the animal, take a picture, post it on the intertubes, and presto! A little Duckshound goes home with a happy family. A Pit-tunia finds a forever home. A puppy for every Sparky!
I think it is contrary to the animal shelters mission to give a puppy to every Sparky.
Official-type announcement. Monkey in the box. We had a three-way tie with posts too long to fit in the box, so I said scr#w it, and picked my favorite. But I did want to put Meredith “Sweater Hams” Malfoy into the box. I guess you can’t have everything, even at YSaC.
How do you say scr#w? I mean phonetically it seems difficult. Is that Birdese? Did you see “Rio”? Once in awhile I break down and say Squawk squawk sqauwkity squawk!
The # is silent.
Well it depends on what dialect Windy is using. In the Eastern Ish dialect the # has more of a deep thrummy sound. Similar to that of an engine dieseling.
So really I would phonetically pronounce it: scrhumwhumwhumw-.
As you can see the w at the end is modified by the # to appropriately indicate a sudden cut-off of the word when spoken.
Here in the north, we pronounce it “throat-warbler mangrove.”
I thought that was the pronunciation of Raymond Luxury Yacht… man I need to brush up on my obscure dialects.
Having grandchildren has enhanced my vocabulary, thusly…
I now say son-of-a-seagoing-serpent, what-the-flippity-flop, my-aunt-fanny and dagnabbit.
Sometimes, “shit” still slips twixt my lips…*snerk*…but, usually I stop short and say “shurrrt” or even “snerrrk”.
The grandkids have picked up on every one of those, and the ones their parents use, of course.
Oooohhhhhh, fffffuuuuuuddddddgggggggeeeeee.
I’ve replaced just about everything with “Funk”.
Mostly you’ll hear me scream “WHAT THE FUNK?!” or more recently “WHAT THE MONKEY?!” Sometimes I just scream “Monkey” in frustration. “MONKEEEEEEEY!”
FM is only partially to blame, as I’d used monkey as a swear substitute in pre-FM days. But, FM did drag it back into my vocabulary with her presence as a kind of memory catalyst.
Thus I propose a new “WTM” net-speak abbreviation.
You’ll shoot your eye out, toothy doggy.
Personally, I suggest “CHEESEBURGER!” It is quite effective in expressing any number of emotions and can be said in many different ways. For example, “Son of a cheeseburger.”, is appropriate for mild irritations. This can also be shortened to “Slider” or “White Castle”.
I do appreciate Taco’s “WTM”, however. I can see it becoming a regular part of my vocabulary as I continue my summer construction projects.
Plus there’s always the incomprehensible screaming grunt of rage. It’s one of my favorites.
“GGRRRRAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”
Thank you for that tribute, Taco. I now think of you when I put on my thong.
I catch myself letting the s-word slip in front of Mini Monkey and turn it into “shiitake”. She now uses that in front of her friends, and they think she’s cool. Of course she loses her cool points when she gives them “the pinky”, the alternative in our house to “the bird”.
My mother’s take on the incomprehensible, one-size-fits-all word to use was:
Ratsnaglefrumnitschferd
It was quite effective and oft heard at our house. And, it came about because one day my then-6 yr. old sister spilled soda on her new t-shirt.
“Son of a BITCH!” she exclaimed.
My mother’s jaw hit the floor, and I the older (and wiser in the ways of cuss words) sister stifled a laugh.
After the “talk”, the above word became the norm.
Your mom must have been a hoot to listen to when she had to go downstairs and fix the furnace.
I feel left out – Mom rarely held her tongue around us (as witnessed by her little nickname for me; “Smartass”) and she could curse like a longshoreman when the mood struck her.
Filthy (words) story time!
One day when I was but a wee kitten, Mom was getting something out of the attic. This required her to fetch a ladder, set it up in a narrow hall close to one wall, and remove the ceiling hatch before climbing up. When she stepped off the ladder and into the attic, the ladder shifted a bit and one of the legs came to rest on the top of the baseboard. When she tried to climb back down the ladder tipped over, causing her to fall downward. She managed to catch herself by the elbows on the lip of the hatch opening and dangled there, two thirds of her hanging in the breeze, until Dad could right the ladder and get her down. In those thirty-forty seconds I learned most of the dirty words that exist in my vocabulary today.
Youngest Eyebrow daughter’s first word was “poo poo” and, since we were in an agricultural support service business (aka sh*t spreading) at the time, we thought it logical and appropriate. It took us awhile to realize that our argiculturally-disinterested but artistically-inclined daughter was referring to the color purple.
I’m fond of swearing in other languages. Usually people know what I mean (e.g., merde or Scheiße) but for some reason are not nearly as offended, especially around their English-speaking children. And sometimes people don’t know what I mean (e.g., vai tomar no cu or vas chier), which is even more fun. I just have to be careful around native speakers of said language.
I have a close friend who says “Sweet Betsy Ross!” when annoyed. It is awesome.
If you have to ask, it’s been too long . . . <sigh>
I’d like to take my moment in the spotlight to highlight the plight of Chigro-Americans in this country. They’ve had to flee to the South cause they can’t take the Northern climes, but down here they have to put up with Jim Chigro laws. Separate but equal ain’t equal, folks. The dream of being accepted will be realized. Refuse to play Uncle Chigro, my brothers! Next, the White House!
BUG POWER, MY CHIGGAS!!!!!
OK, who wound the monkey up?
*Walks away crashing cymbals and chattering incoherently*
[non prurio-corey]
Tiny (six-legged larval dermal-feasting) correction.
The term is Trombiculidae-‘merican.
Were HHNF handy, she’d point out that Chiga is the Bantu-derived dialect of Uganda.
[/corey]
“Monkey”. “Box”. Heh.
[OT]
During my wife’s vacation, our friend taught Tron his first real word, “Mom”. He doesn’t know what it means, but he does know his parents are happy when he says it. Sometimes he seems like he’s just about got it, then he’ll just use it randomly when playing with his ball. *Shrug*
He also kinda says ‘Dada’… but I’m pretty sure he thinks it means candy, cookie, and PLAY WITH ME!!! depending on the situational use. I’m not going to count that one as a word quite yet.
But since he’s fairly behind the language curve, we’ll take anything we can get at this point.
[/OT]
TM, just say the “forbidden” word once, and he will repeat it perfectly, with proper intonation, immediately. He also will use it with parents, grandparents, and publicly, normally at full volume.
He’ll be welcome in the corner with the rest of us….
That would be a great first word right there.
I can’t wait until he hits the rhyming phase and starts to ryhme with things like: Pit, Bucket*, and Hunt.
*At the age of 4 I rhymed with bucket… at the top of my lungs… at a very busy “pick-your-own” strawberry patch. It didn’t take me long to hit F as the first letter, much to my parents delight**!
**May have contined 100% less delight than indicated.
At least Tron’s first word is technically for one of you guys. My boy’s first articulate word was “Georgia,” the name of the kitten I brought home when he was just about to turn 2. *sigh*
Bucket, bucket, mo mucket…
I see what you did there, you freaky-puppy, you.
TacoMa’am’s first word was apparently “Quack”. I’ve no idea what my first word was, nor Lyle’s actually.
My oldest’s first word was “cotch”…we think he meant “catch”, but it didn’t sound like that at all.
Soon, he moved on to his second word – cat. He stuck with cat for a long time before expanding his vocabulary to mama and dada.
My 3-yr. old granddaughter actually started talking at 9 months. At first, we thought it was baby gibberish, but when you’d point to items that she would correctly identify, we knew that yep..she was, in fact, talking.
She hasn’t stopped yet.
My mother says my first word was a sentence. I was about 11 months old and we were at a traffic light. Pointing at it, I said, “Mommy, see the light?” Only it probably sounded more like “Mommy, see da white?”
Freaked her out. She said I spoke in sentences from day one.
I still haven’t shut up either.
Oh, Tron doesn’t shut up… it’s just a long stream of very important sounding gibberish. And when that doesn’t work, he’ll either bring what he wants to me, or bring me to what he wants.
Yesterday was pretty funny. I was sitting at my computer when he ran up to me with his sandals, plopped them in my lap, proclaimed “A-da!” and put my hand on them. It was pretty easy to translate that: “Dad, we’re going outside to play; put these on my feet.”
He also drags me over to door he wants opened and puts my hand on the nob and announces “deg deg clel!” which I think is “Work your magic! I need to get in there.”
We’re still trying to figure out if he can actually talk and just choses not to; because he obviously knows how to communicate on his own terms.
My first words were, “Hi, baby!” – which apparently is something my mom said to me a lot.
A story of “first word” and “first word to Grandma”: one of our daughters (who will not be identified to protect her… something) was at the “jabbering long phrases of nonsense syllables” phase.
She was sitting on her grandmother’s (my mom) lap “reading” a story to Grandma – “jabber, jabber, jabber”, turn the page, “jabber, jabber”, turn the page, “Shit!”, turn the page…..
Grandma was impressed, Grandpa snorted coffee, and I pretended to be deaf.
Oh my, Grampdaddy. Too funny.
Not first words, but kinda sorta related. When I was somewhere around 9 or 10, My grandmother once recanted the tale of me when I was knee high to a grasshopper. I was already talking up a storm of course, this having apparently occurred somewhere around the time I was 4 or 5 or 6 or something like that. Evidently on a visit to them, they heard me one night talking in my sleep. Except to hear them tell, it wasn’t so much talking as swearing like a pirate. Angrily. Admittedly in my formative years I had fairly shocking mouth on me — even the other kids at school were scandalized/impressed depending on their proclivities. I don’t remember this at all — but of course I wouldn’t, being asleep and all, but neither do I remember anyone talking to me about it the next day. I think maybe I shocked them beyond their ability to tactfully broach the subject.
Ah yes. Baby profanity. The best.
So she recounted it then took it back?
Yes, my grandmother was weird. The police hated her whenever she turned up as a witness to something.
*sigh* Recounted. Stupid brain picking the wrong stupid words. Get a moran, brains!
[Librarian Corey] How old is he? Kids are very different in how they develop language skills. There was a child in storytime who never said anything but “To infinity and beyond!” His mom was sort of worried about his lack of vocab. Some day that kid is going to bust out a full sentence on his mom who will be suitably shocked and pleased. So as long as Tron isn’t uber old (say five) I wouldn’t say he is behind on the language curve.
[/Librarian Corey]
My niece discovered curse words very early. This was not surprising since her parents have a tendency to say the f word every other word. I don’t mean fun.
Fun, Lara! That’s a fun way to funnily raise a fun child!
Taco – my little brother was quite late learning to talk. Mum got herself all wound up thinking something was wrong (too much knowledge etc.) but the Doctor she took him to told her it was just because he had no need to talk at that time. Why? Because his fabulous older sister (by 2 1/2 years) would translate for him! Apparently he would say something to mum which she heard as jibberish, but then he would look at me and I’d explain to mum (apparently with put upon and patronising tones and expressions) that “he wants his blanket/toy/food”. Man I wish I could still speak baby…
And there were no lasting effects – now we have a hard time getting him to shush unless he’s inhaling enough food for six normal people. Which is most of the time.
Son Alain was like that, Jen. Alexia has been a speed talker since day uno, and has never let her mild stutter stop her. She talked for Al all the time, and referred to herself in the third person as “Sissy.” Was very hard to get her to stop that and talk to him like a normal person. He is a stop and go kind of talker, mostly quiet, but when he is wound up about something or had a story to tell, he can be very entertaining for long periods of time.
It’s just wrong to feed fertility drugs to your dog. Or did they fertilize some flowers? Both?
Move over octo-femeal. You what to get more babies to beat this.
That’s what they are! They’re genetically engineered pugs! Ahhhhh!
What’s next? Weiner dogs that are actually dogs made from frankfurters? THIS IS SO WRONG!!!!!!
(totally OT but supreme-ly awesome) I left my USB stick flash drive thingy in my pants pocket yesterday, got all ambitious about laundry last night and washed and dried my pants. Realized it this morning, tried the stick, it seems to be totally undamaged. Too bad my car door remote wasn’t as forgiving a while back. Or as cheap to replace.
I had a cell phone that made that trip. Did not hold up very well. Luckily the sim card survived so I was able to buy a cheap-o replacement and put the sim card in.
Cells don’t like to go swimming in mom-in-law’s pool, either. Write that down.
Storytime!
One of the ladies who used to work here was what I call “prim and proper”. I suspect she attended afternoon teas, replete with short, white gloves and the little pillbox hats with netting on them.
Anyway, Ms. P&P had a company cell phone.
One day, I am sitting at my desk (it faces the door to my office – never could abide sitting at a desk with my back to people..one reason I hated the cubicle farm) watching her pace back and forth in front of the door muttering to herself.
Either she’s gone ’round the bend or she’s got a problem and doesn’t quite know how to ask for my help., I thought.
“Excuse me,” the knock on the open doorframe told me that Ms. P&P did need my help and had mustered the right words to ask.
“Hi, Ms. P&P, what’s up?”
“Well, I think I need a new cell phone.”
“Oh, why? Is it time for an upgrade?”
“No, I just got this one a couple of months ago.”
“Oh, well did it quit working? Because, if it did you can try shutting it off, remove the battery for a few sec….”
Holding up a hand to stop me she replied, “No, that’s not it..I think I may have damaged it.”
“How?”
“Well, you see…..I…umm….” Her agitation growing as her voice lowered, I was intrigued as all manner of ways to damage a cell phone – some included throwing said phone hard – entered my thoughts, none of which I ever imagined Ms. P&P capable of.
“Yes?”
“Well…uh….” She came closer and whispered, “you cannot tell anyone. Not anyone do you hear?”
I nodded as I could see she was really distraught.
Just what the hell had she done to the phone? I wondered.
Still standing next to me, she cupped her hand to my ear and whispered, “I dropped it in the toilet. Actually, it fell out of my back pocket as I was, you know..preparing.”
O.M.G.
I have no idea how I didn’t completely lose it right then and there, but I managed to hold it together as I gathered the necessary information to replace her phone.
It was only after she left the office that the absurdity of the moment really sank in and I laughed.
I laughed and laughed and laughed.
/end storytime
Dude I used to work with did the same with his beeper* He not only baptized it, he gave it a swirly, it hit the bowl the minute he hit flush. It was never seen again.
*Yes, young folks, I used to have a job that required a beeper! How old does that make me? Do they even make those anymore?
I have a beeper for my job.
But we call it a pager, ’cause it’s hip.
But don’t worry, I only wear my pager ironically.
I assumed that since everyone in the world now has a cell that beepers (‘scuse me, “pagers”) were now obsolete.
The place I work for is extra cheap. Why buy cell plans for your employees when you can utilize obsolete technology for 1/20th of the price?
Preparing. I’ve never heard that term used for quite that purpose. I’m going to have to work that in at some point.
“Excuse me for a minute, I have to go to the little boys room and prepare.”
And then just leave them to wonder what’s about to happen.
I have been leashed to “beepers” (all you got was an audible signal) and “pagers” (either voice or text information sent) in my working life.
Worst case was when the boss insisted I have a pager as well as a push-to-talk enabled cell phone; all while I carried my own cellphone. All of which would go off, in each medium available, near-simultaneously. Which was very annoying when I could see the boos in his office, down the hall, not having bothered to turn around.
Did some consulting work in the middle 80s with a Master Electrician; his company’s rules required that they have a beeper, and that it be turned on during all working hours. He complied with that to the letter–it was always on, if inside a copper mesh in the bottom of a metal toolbox.
My mum has a pager ‘cos she deals with neurotic pregnant ladies, so when they page her at 3am asking ‘can I drink herbal tea in my third trimester?’* she can ignore them till morning.
But anyway, pagers are super-rare here in Godzone – so much so that last time the beast malfunctioned (pages not coming through for 3-4 hours after being sent) I called the telco for her and it took me three tries to get someone who would even acknowledge they ran a paging service. The first two people said “Oh no, we haven’t run a paging service sine the 90s”. Ahh I love the smell of competence in the morning.
*True story, but mama’s benchmark is still the lady who called her at home at 4:30am to say “I can’t sleep”.
I had the same thing happen. I carry an old 256mb stick with the slide-out connector around. Ended up putting through an entire wash and dry cycle, thought it would be dead for sure. Amazingly enough, it fired right up when I plugged it in — even the LED activity light still worked.
I’ve fortunately never lost any other gadget to water though — but if you do, handy tip: Pull the battery (if possible, and as soon as possible after the incident) and bury it in a bowl of dry rice for a few days to a week. The rice will absorb the moisture and the device may eventually spring back to life.
*Scribbles notes to self and is reminded, again, why I heart you guys*
I should clarify: Bury the device in rice, not the battery. The battery is sealed and can just be toweled off. Also, don’t try and turn it on to check to see if it still works after it’s taken its bath. You can short it out this way and possibly fry it. Just yank the battery (if it’s removable) and bury the device in Uncle Benz*.
* I’m already in the corner. Nyah.
Bonus quote: “I love rice. It’s great when you’re hungry and you want two thousand of something.” -Mitch Hedberg.
Kitty litter works too. When I dropped my cell in the washer, I took out the battery, wrapped the thing in a washcloth to keep out the dust, and stuck it in the (clean) kitty litter bucket for a couple of days. Worked perfectly after that.
The only thing you have to be careful of with kitty litter is that it has tiny grains that can get all up in your gadget’s clockwork through any available opening. (Particularly the headphone jack and the sync/charge port if it doesn’t have a flap) so you have to be careful, especially if you have one with a slide-out keyboard. It’s also abrasive, which isn’t good for the indium-tin oxide coating on capacitive touchscreens. Wrap it in paper towel or toilet paper (the thinner the better) if you’re going to stick it in litter to keep the junk out. And, it goes without saying, keep your cats away from it.
Yeah, I was worried about that so I wrapped it up pretty good before I put it in, I put an extra washcloth on top of the litter as well.
I am rolling on the floor.
I am laughing my arse off.
I am imagining all the things that could go wrong putting a cell phone in kitty litter.
FM, is that one of those camera phones?
Like, what if the phone rings and you go to pick it up and it’s a cat poo? You’re all like hello, hello, whazzup, and it’s just poo. Ew.
I don’t know why, but I just read that in Phoebe’s voice from Friends.
OMG…so did I!
I enjoyed all of the pet remembrances and stories today. Thank you all for giving us all the gift of knowing how much you love them.
Yes, they were great stories. I laughed and laughed. 😀
Monkey See, Monkey Do,
Monkey good at flinging poo!
Funky, Punchity Punch Punch!
G’Night, Emerald City!
Oh, I’ve always wanted to see the Emerald City!