Tempestuous - stormy, wild, raging
Galactic - having to do with the galaxy/outer space
Iconoclastic - making fun of things people believe in without questioning
Flatulence - the release of a mixture of gases known as flatus produced by symbiotic bacteria and yeasts living in the gastrointestinal tract of mammals. Flatus is released under pressure through the anus, often accompanied by odor and sound. Releasing flatus gases is colloquially known as farting.
Gawd have mercy, I am one tarred lil’ tookas.
(Translation from hillbilly & Hebrew = My butt is worn out.)
(Also familiar to fans of Bender the Robot in Futurama - his famous quote, “Kiss my shiny metal tookas”.)
(You know it’s an interesting post when I start out using big words, talkin’ ‘bout farts and quoting rednecks and space robots)
[Bender has stumbled upon God while drifting through space]
Bender: I was God once.
God: Yes, I saw. You were doing well until everyone died.
God: Bender, being God isn’t easy. If you do too much, people get dependent on you. And if you do nothing, they lose hope. You have to use a light touch, like a safecracker or a pickpocket.
Bender: Or a guy who burns down a bar for the insurance money.
God: Yes, if he makes it look like an electrical thing. If you do things right, people won’t be sure you’ve done anything at all.
- - -
Bender: Wow, your kid is great. How hard did you say you had to hit him?
A sentiment I understand.
I have many tempestuous rants today. Lemme getcha a chair.
These youngens…who invented children, anyway? Isn’t there a better way for us to repopulate the planet? Could they torment me any more? (That’s just a rhetorical question kids, don’t actually try it.)
The boy. His car. My car. Need I say more? His recently purchased Modus Transportatious is still on the fritz. This means we still “share” my car. And by share, I mean I fill it up with gas and he drives it for thousands of miles. LOL (Just kidding - I steal money out of his wallet to pay for the gas *snicker*)
The girl. Went out with her friends last night, even though it was a (summer) school night. They have a pool. I took pity. She said she’d be home by 10. I was pacing the floor at 11:15. No more pity.
- - -
The cats. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Outside. I can’t take it one more minute…tripping over sixteen little feet, all of which manage to get under one of mine, just as I go to take a step. Having them leap onto my back digging their little claws into my fleshy flesh until they draw blood. I won’t leave them out there forever, but it’s time they started getting a little fresh air. Gawd knows I could use it. The mama kitty (who is doing a very good job - I just peeked out the window and she has them all herded together, as they stumble around in dazed confusion on the front porch) is the most flatulent cat on the planet. She farts incessantly. I am surprised she hasn’t deflated as flat as a throw rug LOL And stinky? OMG! If the government could bottle her farts and fly them over to Iraq, they could build their own Improvised Explosive Devices, such that an unsuspecting terrorist would be sprayed with the nastiest, longest-lasting foul odor known to man.
Oh, but we don’t need any help over there. Everything’s goin’ swell (if you are a manufacturer of prosthetic limbs and have a contract with the Veterans Administration) Almost 18,000 troops have been wounded according the Department of Defense. The US death toll in Iraq hit 2500 yesterday.
Let’s all start singin’ (Apologies to Country Joe and the Fish:)
Yeah, come on all of you big strong men,
Uncle Sam needs your help again.
He’s got himself in a terrible crock
Over in the desert, down in Iraq
So put down your books and pick up a gun,
We’re gonna have a whole lotta fun.
Well, come on Wall Street, don’t move slow,
Why man, this is War-a-go-go.
There’s plenty good money to be made
By supplying the Army with the tools of the trade,
Shares are good in Otto Bock*
Lots o’ lost limbs over in Iraq
And it’s one, two, three,
What are we fighting for?
Don’t ask me, it’s just so sad,
Next stop is ol’ Bagdad.
And it’s five, six, seven,
Open up the pearly gates,
Well there ain’t no time to wonder why
Whoopee! We’re all gonna die.
Well, come on mothers, so his arm is a hook?
Pack your boys off to Kirkuk.
Come on fathers, don’t hesitate,
Send ‘em off before it’s too late.
Be the first one on your block
To have your boy come home in a box.
*Otto Bock is the global leader in developing and manufacturing prosthetic technologies and devices. Prime buyer is the VA.
- - -
The head arrived. It is broken (been that kind of week)
Now, I sell stuff myself on E-Bay, and I have the good sense not to put something made of GLASS in an old biscuit box with a layer of newspaper around it. Sigh. Yeah, it was insured, but that’s not the point. It is useless as a gift. Grrrr………
On a happier note, I’ve got a little Link Love. Karen over at Write Stuff, has a guest column today by yours truly. I could use a hug, or a nice comment *snicker*.
From the comments: “And tell me, why is Old Horsetail Snake not on your b**groll? Huh?”
Hoss, sugar you’ve ALWAYS been on my blogroll. Like a stain I can’t remove {giggle - just teasin’ ya, you know I love ya and you are a fabulous blog friend}
OK, ‘nuff nonsense outta me. Things to do, rooms to air out, money to steal LOL
Hope all o’ y’all have a wonderful weekend!
Posted by Marti @ 
