The weaselbone connected to the hambone
January 11, 2008 — 11:25 pm
Comments: 41
Alas, poor Stoaty
Fate has not ceased to take large and fulsome dumps upon the head of an innocent weasel. Oh, no. Woke up this morning with a vile cold; the timing is perfect to make it an airplane bug. Thank you, thank you. Please, sir, may I have some more?
This here thing is, indeed, a weasel skull. Isn’t eBay wonderful?
I’ve got a cow orker who collects skulls. Buys them on eBay. Really, seriously, the nicest guy you’d ever want to meet, but a little henpecked. So he doesn’t tell his wife that he buys them. She wouldn’t like it. And he doesn’t tell anybody else in the office. He has that much sense.
Just me.
I am the secret repository of the knowledge that Richard has a skull collection hidden in his basement. And now you are, too.
I’m not easy about this. I’m, like, “dude…please. Promise me you aren’t making an altar down there.”
He swears he’s not. He shares with me his skull cleaning and refinishing secrets. It’s not as easy as it sounds. I guess. There are some who swear by boiling, and them as owe their allegiance to beetles. There’s matte paint and shiny paint and clear varnish.
He leans in my cubicle, gives me the thumbs up and whispers happily, “gazelle! Forty bucks! Three teeth missing and one little hole in the temple!”
I’m thinking it’s a pheromone. A secret, stealthy eau de nutball that makes ’em come sniffing ’round my back door.
Of course, that wouldn’t explain you people.
— 6:51 pm
Comments: 16