Found a coffee mug in my late mother-in-law's attic. It belonged to my late brother-in-law and is a "Burma Shave" mug.
What a find! I took it home, ran it through the dish washer, poured myself a cup of coffee....ecchh! Tastes like soap!
So I washed it three more times in the washer. That did the trick. Now it's one of my favorite coffee cups.
Remember the Burma-Shave signs? Humorous rhyming verses on a series of little red signs you could all read aloud together as the car sped along on vacation. They stopped putting those up in 1963. Here's a link where you can get a Burma-Shave rhyme daily in your email.

Here are some pictures of something I grew in my bathroom. If you want to try your hand at this, I suggest a growth medium composted of dead skin cells and Irish Spring soap. Sprinkle with water daily in a dark place and wait...Great on salads! Doesn't do anything if you eat it, though...


(click to enlarge)

Remember the Beverly Hillbillies talking about eating "crawdads"? Like it was something they liked to eat? Well, here in South Louisiana we don't have those, and we don't have any crayfish either. Talk about those things here, and all you'll get is a smirk or a stare. We eat crawfish here, by the steaming shoeboxfull!
A typical family gathering will have all the adults (both genders) drinking beer, stripping tails, and sucking heads...

Average groundhog accuracy is pegged at 39-40%, as every schoolchild knows. However, I find that the claims for individual groundhogs are typically much higher. I wonder if anyone has done a statistical analysis to determine where the methodology might be going wrong...

Staten Island Chuck

Punxsutawney Phil

General Beauregard Lee

Wiarton Willie

Sir Walter Wally

Uh, oh...It looks like somebody has already gathered links to a number of working prognosticators...

Groundhog Central

But what about the statistical analysis, betcha nobody did THAT!

Well, it turns out that somebody HAS done statistical analysis, via a scientific collaboration spanning multiple research facilities. Check out "Project Groundhog".

Nonetheless, I find I do have something to offer to this discussion that nobody else has thought of yet...


"Hound Grog"

...not for all the tea in China.

...not for all the Scan-trons in Scranton.

...not for all the gays in Gueydan.*

...not for all the laughs in Lafayette.

...not for all the chicks in Chicago.

...not for all the bats in Baton Rouge.

...not for all the punks in Punxshatawney. (Have you had your Phil yet?)

No, No, No! not for all the parisites living in Paris....

...not for all the new eyes in New Iberia.




*pronounced like "gay-dawn" with the "n" barely audible

...I'm sure there's a round of toasts and a tearful group hug by the NUTSG,
(National Undescended Testicle Support Group).


NUTSG mascot

Lysis is a word that refers to the rupture of a cell membrane, perhaps due to viral or bacterial attack. Anal, well you know what that is! So is it any surprise that I turn down all offers of analysis?


also on my mind today... definition: "Coupe D'etat" ...When the daycare center is overrun by angry infants.

Looks like we have a new holiday tradition to add to the several thousand we already had: circulating the Calvin and Hobbes snowmen over the internet. This is one of my favorites, cracks me up every year!

 

In somewhat the same vein, here's a picture I took in front of a nearby node of commerce.  What do you suppose Santa has failed to deliver, for which he has been strung up??

Here's the webpage to buy a full size B9 robot of your own. You can even (for a price) get the man who was the voice of the robot in the TV series to do custom-recorded phrases! A bargain at $ 25,000. Well, come on, they're hand-made and thoroughly researched for accuracy...
In which room of the house will you put yours?

Tears were streaming down my face from laughing at this encounter between Triumph the Wonder Dog (from Saturday Night Live) and a crowd of costumed Star Wars fans waiting to get into a theater.

The greatest oracle, exceeding even " the great Google" is none other than Huthehel...
Indeed, the more difficult the question, the more obscure the reference, the more likely it is that anyone to whom you ask it will loudly proclaim,
"Huthehel knows!"

Whackosity: adjective, (derivative; "whacko ", "whacked-out ")
The degree to which someone or something is ''in whack'', which is the opposite of being ''out of whack".

example: "The Religious Left movement is attempting to restore whackosity to religious life in America."

We live 2 neighborhood blocks from the parade route in our town, but in the 9 years we've been here this is the first Mardi Gras I can recall having anything other than very cold and damp weather. It's sunny and mild, with a light breeze. Today is a day off for many in this part of the world, including ourselves, so the Countessa & I took a walk to see what was going on. I was able to catch some beads, about 20 strands, enough to look heavily-draped. People have staked out areas for camping along the parade route. Lots of families are here with children, and although some parade-goers are drinking beer, it's mostly a mild affair without much obvious drunkenness or debauchery. Silly hats and feather boas abound. All along the parade route trees and phone lines are laden with beads that were thrown willy-nilly by frenzied float riders.

There are parades on several evenings in the week leading up to today, and the main thoroughfare is blocked-off each time. This keeps us from being able to enter or exit from our neighborhood, so it is often necessary to leave work early lest we be stranded away from home until past bedtime. Last night I knew I would not be able to go home first and then get away to attend meditation group, so I went straight there after stopping off after work on the other side of town for some sushi. After meditation we had a "Shambhala Day" celebration, one day early 'cause we all knew nobody would show up today for the event, being occupied with parades, etc. That was a good use of my time, and when I got back to my neighborhood the streets had just been reopened.

Today I got a few pictures of the parade. It would have been more, but I was spending part of that time catching the beads. Pictures can be seen above in the scrolling photo album. The man driving the trolley car is a coworker of mine. He drives the trolley by appointment for groups and parties as a second job. The King's parade is one such gig.




Before Mardi Gras & after...

I don't know where Bob got it, but this is funny...

Date: Tue, 14 Feb 2006 16:56:26 -0800 (PST)

Picture this .....
We've  all had trouble with our animals, but I don't think anyone
can topthis one:
Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No  matter how legitimate my excuse, I  always get the feeling that my boss thinks I'm lying.

 On one  recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway,
because the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply  mentioned that
I  had sustained a head  injury, and I hoped I would feel up to coming in
the next day. By then, I reasoned, I could think up a doozy  to explain
the bandage on the top of my  head.
 The  accident occurred mainly because I had given in to my wife's
wishes to adopt a cute little kitty.
Initially, the new acquisition was no problem.
Then  one morning, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I
heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the  kitchen.

"Honey! The  garbage disposal is dead again. Please come reset it."
"You  know where the button is," I protested through the shower
pitter-patter and steam. "Reset it yourself!"
"But  I'm scared!" she persisted. "What if it starts going and
sucks me in?"
There  was a meaningful pause and then, "C'mon, it'll only take you
a second."
So out  I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping that my silent
 outraged nudity would make a statement about how I  perceived her
 behavior as extremely  cowardly. Sighing loudly, I squatted down
and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is  the last
action I remember  performing.
It  struck without warning, and without any respect to my
circumstances.
No, it  wasn't the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing
metal teeth. It was our new kitty, who discovered the  fascinating
dangling objects she spied  hanging between my legs. She had been poised
around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink.  And, at the
precise moment when I was  most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I
unwittingly offered and snagged them with her  needle-like claws.
 I lost  all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements,
blindly  rising at a violent rate of speed, with the  full weight of a
kitten hanging from my  masculine region.
 Wild  animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight"
syndrome.

 Men,  in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option. I know
this  from experience. I was fleeing straight up  into the air when the
sink and cabinet  bluntly and forcefully impeded my ascent. The impact
knocked  me out cold.
When I  awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Now there
are not many things in this life worse than finding oneself  lying on
the kitchen floor buck naked  in front of a group of "been-there,
done-that" paramedics.
Even  worse, having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics
were all snorting loudly as they tried to conduct  their work, all the
while trying to  suppress their hysterical laughter...and not succeeding.
Somehow I lived through it all. A few days later I  finally made it
back in to the office,  where colleagues tried to coax an explanation
out of me about my head injury I kept silent, claiming it was  too painful
to talk about, which it  was.
 "What's the matter?" They all asked, "Cat got your  tongue?"
If  they only knew!
Why is  it that only the women laugh at this?

Smoochies, BB