F is for Wryday (24)

September 16, 2010

(#24? Yes, this keeping themed posts in sequence is proving to be a challenge!)

Now I know this is a very old one too, but I thought it clever at the time (I was less enlightened then, of course) so, just for the record:

Letter from an Irish Mother to her Son

Dear Son,

Just a few lines to let you know I’m still alive. I’m writing this letter slowly because I know you can’t read fast. We are all doing very well.

You won’t recognise the house when you get home – we have moved. Your dad read in the newspaper that most accidents happen within 20 miles from your home, so we moved. I won’t be able to send you the address because the last Irish family that lived here took the house numbers when they moved so that they wouldn’t have to change their address.

This place is really nice. It even has a washing machine. I’m not sure it works so well though: last week I put a load in and pulled the chain and haven’t seen them since.

Your father’s got a really good job now. He’s got 500 men under him. He’s cutting the grass at the cemetery.

Your sister Mary had a baby this morning but I haven’t found out if it’s a boy or a girl, so I don’t know whether you are an auntie or an uncle.

Your brother Tom is still in the army. He’s only been there a short while and they’ve already made him a court martial!

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Giving birth to something better

September 15, 2010

I’m grateful to Helen on Catholica for providing a link to a wonderful article in the National Catholic Reporter which compares, in a very poignant way, the beginnings of life with the end:


Small things that have no words
Sep. 14, 2010
By Melissa Musick Nussbaum
My mother claws at her chin. The skin is red and raw. Sometimes it bleeds. If a protective scab forms over the wound, my mother scrapes it off.

The gerontology nurse tells us this behavior is typical of senile dementia. There is nothing to be done, except, perhaps, to “give her something else to do with her hands.”

My mother has a tremor. When her mother had this tremor, we called it “the palsy.” My mother’s hands are never still, the constant movements involuntary. These movements cannot be directed towards a useful “something else.” Her hands wander to her chin; they worry the skin there as if it the chin itself were alien and unwanted, as if beneath the loose flesh is something she needs, or seeks, or is.

She has the palsy. She will have it until she dies.

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W is for Worday (6)

September 15, 2010

I suspect these have been circulating people’s inboxes for years, but they’re clever even if the resulting word association is a little sus:

PRESBYTERIAN:
When you rearrange the letters:
BEST IN PRAYER

ASTRONOMER:
When you rearrange the letters:
MOON STARER

DESPERATION:
When you rearrange the letters:
A ROPE ENDS IT

THE EYES:
When you rearrange the letters:
THEY SEE

GEORGE BUSH:
When you rearrange the letters:
HE BUGS GORE

THE MORSE CODE:
When you rearrange the letters:
HERE COME DOTS

DORMITORY:
When you rearrange the letters:
DIRTY ROOM

SLOT MACHINES:
When you rearrange the letters:
CASH LOST IN ME

ANIMOSITY:
When you rearrange the letters:
IS NO AMITY

ELECTION RESULTS:
When you rearrange the letters:
LIES – LET’S RECOUNT

SNOOZE ALARMS:
When you rearrange the letters:
ALAS! NO MORE Z ‘S

A DECIMAL POINT:
When you rearrange the letters:
I’M A DOT IN PLACE

THE EARTHQUAKES:
When you rearrange the letters:
THAT QUEER SHAKE

ELEVEN PLUS TWO:
When you rearrange the letters:
TWELVE PLUS ONE

MOTHER-IN-LAW:
When you rearrange the letters:
WOMAN HITLER


Wryday 22 redux

September 10, 2010

What can I say? I thought Basil was one out of the box:


W is for Worday (5)

September 8, 2010

Just arrived in my inbox …

The Washington Post has also published the winning submissions to its yearly contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words.

And the winners are:
1. Coffee, n.. The person upon whom one coughs.
2. Flabbergasted, adj. Appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.
3. Abdicate, v. To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.
4. Esplanade, v. To attempt an explanation while drunk.
5. Willy-nilly, adj. Impotent.
6. Negligent, adj. Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.
7. Lymph, v.. To walk with a lisp.
8. Gargoyle, n. Olive-flavored mouthwash.
9. Flatulence, n. Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.
10. Balderdash, n. A rapidly receding hairline.
11. Rectitude, n. The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.
12. Pokemon, n. A Rastafarian proctologist.
13. Oyster, n. A person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.
14. Frisbeetarianism, n. The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

And a couple of my own:
Understanding: n. The practice of vertical burial.
Demand: v. Removing males.


F is for Wryday (25)

September 2, 2010

These videos are almost companions to ‘Strum that thang‘ but they gave me a chuckle so Wryday is the place for them!

You need to put up with the MC at the beginning of this video, but once he gets off, check out the drummer:

A singing baby with a mooostache takes some getting used to, but it is amusing: