sweasel.com

Funny?… well, it is disconcerting. Oddly, had you simply mentioned wrapping a weasel in duck tape I’d have been all for it, but now, having seen the end result… nope, can’t say I go for it much.

What would have been funny would be taping it to Hillary’s face.

The funny part comes in when it is time to remove the tape.

I think I’m just sensitive. It evokes an especially traumatic memory.

I’ve mentioned before I was a Special Needs Weasel. One of the teachers decided a good group art project would be for everyone to cooperate in casting a life mask. Of me. Frikkin’ genius.

If you’ve never seen this done the old-fashioned way, you grease up somebody’s face with Vaseline, stick straws up her nose, recline her on a table and then pour a couple of inches of plaster over her face to make the initial mold.

Reminder: retards. Of varying intellectual capacities.

Plaster gets hot when it cures. Very, very hot. So, just minutes in, this began to be a pretty horrible, claustrophobic experience. And then somebody plugged up one of my nose straws with plaster.

Now, I’m really in a panic. I come right up off the table…and many strong, gentle, retarded hands push me back down again. (Ugh. I’m starting to hyperventilate right now, just typing this). I roll sideways and hook my fingers under the chin of the mask, but it turns out they’ve gotten plaster in my hair and I can’t get it off. I hinge it up so I can breathe, but it was some time before I could be pulled free.

I wish I had the resulting cast. I looked like Han Solo being dipped in liquid nitrogen. Frozen horror.

Interesing post on your Special Needs days, Your Grace.

I have a cousin who’s almost autistic, so I tend to be sensitive somewhat.

But then one of my favorite blogs/websites is extremely offensive and focuses on teaching kids with special needs. I’d link to it if I weren’t afraid to offend.

Ouch. And I don’t really aim that at the plaster, though I got panicky just thinking of your panic. Good thing they didn’t send you to one of those ‘rebirthing’ centers where they wrap you in a blanket and hold you down so that you can properly go through the birthing process again. Wayward youths have been known to suffocate to death during such sessions.

You should have been put in an excelerated or gifted program of some sort if you were tested that smart in English and you most likely were exhibiting artistic ability. Did any of your ‘tard teachers pick up on how dumb you weren’t? If not, then they were either high on something or needed to wear helmets themselves.

Bahh…to the ADD diagnosis too. Most cases are kids that need to run off some of that monkey energy before being made to sit still for so Goddawful long. A parent of one of my students jumped my case when I didn’t send home notes on her kid, who supposedly had ADD. I just saw a typical little boy and told her so. She started dosing him with ritalin shortly after and he became a zombie.

Oh, sure, PnB. They knew I wasn’t dumb. I was a behavior problem — that’s different. Most of my classes were just me and the director’s daughter. It amounted to tutoring for three years.

But they did mix us together for certain things, like recess.

Musli, everybody’s got a cousin like that. Mine’s my brother.

I didn’t become a behavior problem until I went to college.

(Yes, now that you mention it, it was your blog…and it was a really great comment, too)

Then it wasn’t mine since you commented there today. 🙂

Unless you had come back and started to comment again… nah, why would anyone come back?

That’s so funny that you call it leaving weasel droppings. I always liken myself to a dog runnning around the neighborhood. You know how they have to leave just a little bit of piss on everything?

Personally I like your opinions and I think other people are like me, and dig it when you visit their blogs.

Yep, I always get stoked when I’m poking around blog land and I see one of Weas’s droppings some place. I think to myself, go Weasel! When you post at our site I get really excited, especially when those dumbass truthers start poking around.

Look, Ms. Weasel, ferrets!

Okay, that poor weasel is more than just disturbing. It’s the stuff of nightmares. Who knew that little beady eyes could show fear?

I was hitting my blogroll this morning, leaving weasel droppings in various comment sections . . .

Um, you forgot to leave a lame comment at Innocent Bystanders. Now I’m pissed. What are we, chopped liver? We don’t rate a suckitudinous comment from you?

Sheesh.

Behavior problem? Is that what they called it for you?

For me, I had “Authority Issues”.

Good grief, by your definition of ADD, I’m there. I’m all over that. Oh well, I’ve found a job where it works for me.

Air Traffic Control?

*crackle* OK delta-niner-niner heavy, we have have you at 28 thousand on approach, make your heading 0-8-3 OH LOOK! A SQUIRREL! *crackle*

Well, nuthin’ personal here, Weasel, but uhm… one minute post you’re Ms. Marpole whizzing through the English countryside on your bike with wicker basket…. and then next minute post you’re “Bride of the Weasel of Frankenstein”.

I can see how some people might perceive that as suggesting someone with behavioral problems.

Lokki on the other hand, was in the Special Advanced class in the 4th grade. Till they made me go and see the Psychiatrist with all those funny pictures. Then they threw Lokki. But they paid later, oh how they paid! (* According to annonymous and unreliable sources who are probably just repeating nasty rumors about Lokki because he is more handsome and clever than they)

Uhm, ThrewLokki OUT, that is.

You know, now that I think about it, the only one who likes to keep me around is Akismet…. Hmmmmmmmm

Hey, Lokki! have you noticed the ‘edit’ feature m’lady installed while you were abroad? You have 15 minutes to edit any comment you make. Just click on your posted text anywhere while your timer is running. It’s pretty neat.

I love Weasel comments. They always involve me being wrong in some way!

P.S. CLINTON WILL STEP DOWN BEFORE THE CONVENTION!

GOOGLE IT!

MP – I find that to be true of me in general – not just here at Weaz’s. I’ve even tried intentionally reversing my real opinions – y’know – if I feel one way, I say the opposite. I end up still being wrong.

*What I think is happening is that Reality is actually defined by the opposite of what I think whenever I think it. I suspect I might be a kind of “Lathe of the Moronosphere- NOT” being. So far though, I have not been able to turn this to my fiscal advantage.

Hm. P’raps if you named your next blog GeniusPundit, I’d be too intimidated.

Clinton? Hillary Clinton? I’ve heard that name somewhere. Didn’t she used to work on the Obama campaign?

S.Weasel, you are TOO FUNNY! I obviously need to wander around the web more…You remind me, more than a little, of Rachel Lucas, but with awesome weasel powers of artistic quirkiness! Oh, and cool “edit” feature, for the dunces like me who always punch “Post” before I finish my thought!

I like your thoughts, Davy. You should finish many more of them.

Rachel Lucas is on that long list of blogs I keep meaning to blogroll, but forget because my blogroll is a little difficult to update and, anyhow, half the places I visit already have her linked so I’ll just follow on from there…

Rachel has cultivated a particular charm, fairly unique, for men, in making honest attempts to see women from THEIR(men’s) perspective. She often comments, in her own brilliantly quirky fashion on Dr Helen’s columns(another blog by a woman that really demonstrates unusual generosity toward men, and thus gets a surprising volume of traffic), and Dr Melissa, too.
I see some of these women’s blogs share audience, esp. the ones that lean a tad to the right.
I dropped in here for the first time yesterday from Stashiu3 and laughed so hard at your art(I am a fan of minks myself, and they share much in common with their weasel cousins)I had a coughing fit, and ceased to breath for awhile…You really are too cute(sorry, but it’s true)!

If I named my next blog GeniusPundit I’d be run out of town for false advertising.

I prefer my standard aim low, get excited about anything approach to blogging.

Very low.

I loved that picture. 🙂

Truly a disturbing graphic, it will probably be with me awhile, ack, pfft.

If I have it right here when something bad sticks in your mind you can wash it out by giving someone else something that sticks. So, being a giver.

The Rodeo Song

“…cause I’m off to the rodeo”

Have a good weekend.

Well I was thrilled that you left a comment on my ferret post. And thanks Musli for showing the weasely path there.

I noticed that IB hasn’t blogrolled you, so Michael has some nerve complaining!

I’ve always longed for a ferret, Lipstick. (Actually, I gather you have to keep them in pairs?).

When I go to the supermarket, I always drop by PetCo to ‘visit the weasels’. I especially like the white ones, for some reason. I guess because they look like little ermines. Or big ermines, actually.

Miss Weasel is very generous with her droppings. Amd IB totally needs to blogroll her. What nerve!

I’m not bothered. I gather Michael has the sort of blogroll policy where somebody currently on it has to die to free up a slot.

I don’t want it that much.

I love to check out the PetCo critters too, Weasel.

We did have a solitary ferret — the shelter tried to pair her with others but she just hated it. Loved people though.

Now we have four and they entertain each other and sleep on top of each other.

Your cousin is your brother?

So those stories about Kentucky are true…

Tennessee. And pretty much.

Dang! Well, I had a 50/50 chance of getting it right. I couldn’t remember, and was too lazy to research it.

Always research.

Wow. I didn’t know you could use duck tape to fix a broken weasel. Did it work?

Reminds me of an exchange I read on alt.humor.best-of-usenet.

Q: I’m thinking of breeding my gekko. What should I do?

A: Wow. Really? For starters, I’d wrap it in duct tape or it’ll bust wide open.

Okay. Sorry. Stuck in my head.

Okay. Sorry. Stuck in my head.

I heard it as ‘hamsters and electrical tape,’ but each to his own.

Now I am stuck with the recollection of my friend J. thinking that one of the funniest things he had ever heard, and determined to tell our ship’s XO about it by shouting it across a crowded bar at a reception held in our honor at an American Legion Post in a small Oregon town that shall remain nameless.