Mark McCain and his friends Nick and Timmy were playing tag outside the schoolhouse when they noticed the drunken Indian Chief Stalking Horse walking down the road. He was carrying a strange machine and following behind a fella driving a medicine wagon. Now those were the people who went from town to town selling elixir for what ails you. But Lucas McCain always called it snake oil which was not any good for anybody.
"Say what do you have there Chief?" shouted Nick. He was the boldest of them. Of course if he wasn't the boldest he never would have seen Miz Coleman's teats. He described as cold and pale like a glass of milk with a blueberry floating in them.
"Ugh. Me don't know. Just told to carry weight. I just no sabe." Chief Stalking Horse was not all that bright. In fact the wooden Indian in front of the cigar store once beat him in a spelling bee. "Come see children. Machine heap good. Very smart."
So the children all followed the wagon and the staggering redskin into down in a strange parade of foolishness.
When the got to the center of town, they stopped the medicine Wagon and Chief Stalking Horse put the machine on the back. It was bright and shiny and looked very new and expensive. The drummer running the show started shouting.
"Come one come all and see the splendiferous exciting and entertaining font of wisdom straight from the great city of Chicago?. Just put in a penny and pull down the lever and get a message from beyond. Brought to you by the miracle of science and the hand of God."
"Why that's bull hoey" shouted Jake one of the town layabouts. "A penny. Who would pay a penny for that?"
"Why any fair minded gent who wanted to give fair value for his entertainment. You don't expect to get your answers for free. This machine is far smarter than you. It was tutored by the great minds of the Univeristy. You should bow down to it an give your misley pennies to obtain the fruits of it's labors."
"Ugh. Es bein. Yo soy muy entiendo. I go first," slurred the slighted soused Sioux. Or Apache. Or Puerto Rican. Nobody was sure.
The Chief put in his penny and pulled the lever. Lights flashed. Levers moved. Gears turned. There was a ping. And a slip of paper came out of the bottom of the machine.
"What does it say" asked someone in the crowd. "Read it to us" exclaimed another.
Since the Chief could not read it handed the paper over to the drummer. He made a great show of unfolding it and holding it close to his eyes so he could read it.
"The beginning is over and now is the time to end it. Time to go back. Grace."
"Dern what's that mean?" asked Mark. "I don't get it."
"Neither do I"said young Nick as he stole a glance at Miss Hettys teats.
But somehow it seemed that the Chief knew. He looked down at his torn and battered moccasins and muttered to himself. "I miss mi big Papi."
It was all very strange.
41 comments:
The machine is betamax?
Excellent you got big papi in there!
"Strange day indeed."
Sal Mineo had to be the heartthrob of every gay boy in the 60's.
"ping" - good one!
bow down
******
Oh thank God somebody else remembers that crap.
(Sorry but I've got four years of reading and going wtf? pent up--you can't talk about the crazy that went on there with people in the real world)
The Indian--he's Dominican--I just figured that one out.
I think most of the Hollywood Indians came from Sicily and Syria...
Did someone actually write that crap, btw?
So, as long as we are crowd-sourcing solutions to difficult problems, does anyone have any suggestions on how to get skunk funk off of dogs? Carpet? Bedding?
Sixty Grit said...
So, as long as we are crowd-sourcing solutions to difficult problems, does anyone have any suggestions on how to get skunk funk off of dogs? Carpet? Bedding?
*************
The tomato juice thing --washing the dog in it--that doesn't work.
I seem to remember using an absorbent powder--I bought it at Home Depot IIRC--and it was made for that function.
It wasn't the run of the mill carpet dust crap...
It's a janitorial product they dump it on vomit.
Sorry that's all I got--can't remember the name of it.
Am I missing more fun over at TOOP? (I don't care what's going on at TOP anymore.)
Sixty-- you've got to oxidize those stinky thiols to oderless sulfonates and sulfones:
R-SH + [ox] ---> R-SO3(-)
which are more water soluble. Thiols can be washed out with detergent, but it takes forever because our noses are so sensitive.
Typical household oxidants are bleach and hydrogen peroxide. But beware of bleaching fabrics and dogs.
(I don't care what's going on at TOP anymore.)
I just left another "banal and insipid pun" over there...
Re: skunk funk.
For the dog's coat: The peroxide, soda, dash of dish soap thing worked for us. Didn't know about protecting the eyes with mineral oil so we skimped around the face and lived with some lingering odor there for 2-3 months--worse when it was humid or rained. The key is to leave the mix on for 5 min before rinsing so it can do it's work. Also, as article notes, the sooner the better.
Thankfully, he didn't surprise or chase the striped kitty again but we kept a large bottle on hand after that.
I missed the ping!
The extra miles walked in those torn and battered moccasins of another is another story.
Actually my favorite line was the description of Miz Coleman's teats.
Hey MamaM, did you see this over at TOP yesterday?
A couple songs later is something I remember loving as a child. "My Heart Belongs to Daddy,"
Funky!
Chip S. said...
Hey MamaM, did you see this over at TOP yesterday?
A couple songs later is something I remember loving as a child. "My Heart Belongs to Daddy,"
Funky!
*********
Son of a bitch--it is coming.
I just left another "banal and insipid pun" over there...
There are other kinds of puns?
Hey MamaM, did you see...
Oh no. Say it isn't so. I hadn't taken the leap and gone to the heart and meat of the matter below the fold.
Here's the picture, to accompany the words, of Mary with the auburn hair dressed in ermine, singing to her adoring crowd, about "making a play for the caddy" in a redo of "Leave It to Me" with a surprise ending!
There are other kinds of puns?
Homophonic
Homographic
Homonymic
Compound
Recursive
Visual
Graphological
Morphological
El Pollo: Jack of all trades!
Better yet:
El Pollo: Jack of all trades, master of one!
A Paranomasiac of the first water, beyond Bromide.
Question of the day - if Sixty Grit gets rabies will he foam at the mouth more than usual?
Discuss among yourselves.
Sixty Grit can't get rabies.
Rabies lives in fear of getting Sixty Grit.
I thought Sixy was a snake handling prod.
What is he doing with a Jewish priest?
Clever puns:
While staying with friends he asked where the salt was and they told him it was in a jar on the shelf. When he looked the jar had fallen over and the salt spilled out. This was it. The chance of a lifetime! "The salt, dear Brutus," he said, " lies not in the jar, but on our shelves. "
Argument from Authority:
Fowler:
The assumption that puns are per se contemptible ... is a sign at once of sheepish docility and a desire to seem superior. Puns are good, bad, or indifferent, and only those who lacks the wit to make them are unaware of the fact. "
Actually my favorite line was the description of Miz Coleman's teats.
That was an evocative image indeed.
Great series, Trooper! betamax characterization = stroke of genius.
Sal Mineo does have our soused sad Sioux's sweetness.
So there I was, walking across the Kanto plain, when I walked up a winding path to a Shinto Temple.
Folks over there are different, they don't all worship some grinning fat pasta-loving guy, no, they have their own thing going.
Sometimes you see parades with tattooed gangsters lording over the citizens.
It's the kind of place where Troopski would feel right at home.
I was talking to a guy named Yamamoto-san and he said "I have 3 words for you, Grit-san, 3 words. Torah Torah Torah."
And there you have it - my spiritual journey summed up in a neat little story.
Even good puns are bad. But they're like dill pickles: you either enjoy the sour taste or you don't.
But now I find
I'm more inclined
To keep my mind
On my beauty
(Intro. to the M Martin version of My Heart Belongs to Daddy)
Aside from all the other issues involved with the shut-down of comments at TOP and subsequent jeering and gaming going on at TOOP, I'm having difficulty with the new Althouse set-up because I don't enjoy the provocation and questions present in the posts when there's no place to process the peculiarities noted or respond with answer. I have enough thoughts awaiting insight and resolution without adding more to the mix. Right now, reading over there reminds me of listening to my mother or a young adolescent: only one opinion matters, with little humor evident, and no room for disagreement or conversation.
To tell you the truth I haven't gone back there since the hostage video. I always went there for the commenters and now that they are mostly at Lem's place there is no reason to go there.
I like to stop by and check her site meter - NO TANKS IN BAGHDAD!!!
Someone could start a thread with the same Althouse Topic @ Lems, but I guess that's forbidden or something.
Fuck Little Larry Meadie and his ugly fucking wife.
And, as much as I hate to say it, Lem too.
He wants to be bent over like that, it's for him to decide but I hate it.
I try not to pay attention to it much but his new amazon take thread pushed me over the edge a little.
You need to let it go dude. They are going to come to a bad end. It is only a matter of time.
That doesn't mean we can't mock the shit out of them.
Genial contempt is the order of the day.
I know Troop. Thanks.
I just have an instinctual disgust for people that act the way they do--and for the people that enable (and even encourage) their behavior.
Mostly I try to avoid situations that irritate me. It's why I lurked at Alt for such a long time, just enjoying the comments but not wanting to get involved myself.
Then I got fed up with how I was acting once I did start, so I quit...about a week or two before the blow up started.
LOL. My first time back was right after the Zimmerman verdict, I wanted to see what kind of comments were being made. And there weren't any. Man that was weird.
Next thing I know, I stop over at Lem's and Larry's lumping me in with you and whoever else as the people that forced them to do what they did because we're pathetic loser beta men or whatever.
Larry needs a punch in the mouth. I guess in some way he's lucky we don't live in an alpha dominated society anymore, cuz the way he acts...
LOL.
But yeah. I need to chill about it.
I just wish that bad end would hurry up.
"So, as long as we are crowd-sourcing solutions to difficult problems, does anyone have any suggestions on how to get skunk funk off of dogs? Carpet? Bedding? "
Been there. I met an old girlfriend I hadn't seen for years once at a Renaissance Fair in California. Like always, I had my dog with me in the back of my truck. We all got pretty drunk, like we do, and went to a nice Hilton Hotel, which was dog friendly. We took the dog for a little walk in the parking lot when he saw a skunk and tore right through a fence to get it. The skunk got the better of the deal, since he died instantly. The rest of us were in for a treat. I sent the woman to get tomato juice, while I washed the dog with a hose. He had already rubbed his face raw on the pavement trying to get it off.
When she got back we all, including the dog, slipped quietly into the elevator and went up to our room, leaving a cloud of foul the whole way. We put the dog in the tub and washed the hell out of him with the tomato juice. I think it helped, but my smeller was burnt out by this time.
We just stayed in the room with the widows open until checkout time the next day, left a large but inadequate tip, and slipped back out.
The dog didn't smell much when he was dry, but every time I washed him for the nest 3 months that smell came back until he was completely dry.
My advice is roll the dog in the bedding, roll that into the carpet, and burn the whole burrito in the trunk of a 68 Cadillac.
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