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Monday dog’s breakfast


Dog’s breakfast. I’ve always loved that expression. It’s a Britishism for ‘mess’, but it conveys a cheerful appreciation of assorted vilenesses. Like a Whitman’s sampler of rotting garbage. I imagine Queenie loping through the neighborhood, going, “ooo! A delicious dead squirrel’s bottom! And — oh look! Fresh cat shit!”

Anyhow, here’s some carrion. Enjoy!

Uncle Badger introduced me to the vehicle above, the Mazda Bongo Friendee. Okay, I’m not sure that one’s a Friendee (a subspecies of the Bongo line), but as “Mazda Bongo Friendee” is the gayest car name ever, I’m running with it. It came out in 1966 (I didn’t know there was a Mazda in 1966!) and is sold in the States as the Ford Econovan.

magoostattoo.jpgGnus called my attention to this image (detail at right) and wondered if a minion we know might be moonlighting. Since McGoo isn’t here to defend himself, I figured now was a good time to post it.

The whole site is worth clicking around. Some pretty pictures. Some strange pictures. Some mildly pornographic ones. All in Portuguese, for extra added WTF?!

Bloody Mess

Half an hour ago, I was moving a chair to clean behind it, and I caught the leg against my right big toenail, tearing it half away. What a bloody mess. And by “bloody mess” I don’t mean, “I say, Rupert, this New Delhi business is a bit of a bloody mess, eh wot?” I mean, “Oh fucking hell! Blood! Everywhere! What a mess!”

See? Cleaning is unnatural.

I don’t appear to own any bandaids. I used to. What happened? I’m thinking of putting a strip of duct tape around it, but the idea of tearing it off again gives me the vapors. The nail is going to go, but I’d like to see it go gently into that dark night.

The really rotten part? I was stone cold sober. I mean, then. Not now. Certainly not now.

Finally, Dawn thinks “amok” deserves its own thread. It’s pretty interesting, I admit. I did not know this:

Running amok, sometimes referred to as simply amok (also spelled amuck or amuk), is derived from the Malay word mengamuk, meaning “to go mad with rage” (uncontrollable rage). In typical cases of running amok, someone, although having shown no previous sign of anger and/or any inclination to resort to violence, will acquire a weapon and in a sudden frenzy will attempt to kill or seriously injure everyone they meet. Amok episodes of this kind normally end with the amok-runner being killed by bystanders.


The explanation which is now most widely accepted is that amok is closely related to male honor (amok by women is virtually unknown). In many cases where the background of the amok-runner is known, there seems to have been some element of deep shame which prevented the man from living honorably, as he saw it, in his own society. Running amok was both a way of escaping the world (since perpetrators were normally killed) and re-establishing one’s reputation as a man to be feared and respected. Some observers have related this explanation to Islam’s ban on suicide, which, it is suggested, drove Malay men to create circumstances in which others would kill them. Evidence for this explanation is that the incidence of amok seems to be less where amok runners are captured and tried, rather than being beaten to death on the spot.

So it’s basically Islamic suicide by cop.

What worries me is why Dawn wants a whole thread to talk about it. I’m thinking…cry for help. Then I’m thinking, “hey, I don’t live anywhere near this woman. What do I care?”

I’m practicing my [cyber]neighbor-of-the-perp speech: “No, I’m shocked. Absolutely shocked. She was a quiet woman, kept to herself. None of us knew her all that well. Still, we never expected anything like this.”

Ow. Here comes the toe hurty.


Comment from Dawn
Time: June 25, 2007, 6:16 pm

Like Uncle Badger’s friendee car is not a HUGE cry for help.

Comment from Uncle Badger
Time: June 25, 2007, 6:22 pm

OK.. I wasn’t going to say this.

Then I thought…. nah… fuggit.

Doesn’t the Mazda have a little Japanese face?

Comment from Enas Yorl
Time: June 25, 2007, 6:28 pm

Ow! Poor weasel toe. I messed up one of mine going up the stairs and it took forever for the thing to finally come off. It took about year to grow a new one. I still have the old one though – it’s in with my collection of Big Scabs.

Comment from Dawn
Time: June 25, 2007, 6:32 pm

I lost a big toenail in boot camp from marching so much. I am just one big old mystery. You should post pictures.

Comment from whtshrbbt/amuirin
Time: June 25, 2007, 6:38 pm

Please, please don’t post pictures (of the hurty toe)

Comment from jwpaine
Time: June 25, 2007, 7:01 pm

I lost a toenail while breeding horses. No, not what you’re thinking, you naughty beasties. Our younger stallion is not particularly tall, and we were breeding him to a very tall mare, which required we stand her in a ditch and bring the stud in on the berm. He’s also one of those horses you wouldn’t immediately describe as “hung like a horse”, so I was down in the ditch, providing, um, guidance and aim.
Just as the romance was being consummated, the stallion, in his earnest ambition to make the mare “take it all, bitch!”, slipped off the berm and the full weight of him alighted (like a butterfly, really) on my right foot.
Naturally, the consummation was thus interrupted, and we had to get them both re-aligned. The second attempt went off without a hitch, and after the two horses enjoyed a smoke and shared something personal, we put them back in their respective paddocks, and I went to the house to examine my foot.
I could barely get my boot off. My entire foot was swollen like an inflatable suzy-creamcheese doll (if suzy-creamcheese had been a smurf), and the nail of my big toe was already loose (it came off the next day). I’d like to say I spent the rest of breeding season (another six weeks) watching from the sidelines, but my wife is leery of handling stallions (more so after this episode) , and I didn’t want her to, anyway, since I like her, a little, anyway, and I’d hate to see her get stomped, if for no other reason than I like dinner served regularly and on time.

Comment from Gnus
Time: June 25, 2007, 8:12 pm

Ouch, ouch, ouch! Losing toenails. I was almost moved to poetry, but I sat real still and the urge went away. I’ll sympathy-limp all evening out of respect.

Comment from whtshrbbt/amuirin
Time: June 25, 2007, 8:40 pm

Jw’s horse-pimping almost moved me to dirty limericks.

Comment from Pupster
Time: June 25, 2007, 9:03 pm

Amok and ruckus are two of my favorite words, and I’ll have to add ‘stand her in the ditch and bring the stud in on the berm’ to my list of phrases that I’ll never get to use in context.

Buckwheat. You are gonna burn yourself out there Stoaty; I count 4, maybe 5 post-worthy topics above, and you cram ’em all in one post while you nurse a sick toe with vodka and duct tape.

Did you notice that today’s sign is Toe? Put a (buckwheat) pancake on your head and call it a night.

Comment from Tamika
Time: June 25, 2007, 9:14 pm

I feel sorry for both the Mazda Bongo Friendee and your nail. That model doesn’t really look good no matter how I make myself believe it’s nice thinking that it from Mazda, maker of excellent vehicles and reliable Mazda fuel injector.

Comment from Brandon
Time: June 25, 2007, 9:15 pm

Boy, I lost a toe-nail before but more in a Weaselesque type way than a stallion slipping off the berm sort-of thing. Makes me wonder if I am not missing out on some joy in life – but not for long.

Comment from Dawn
Time: June 25, 2007, 10:03 pm

Brandon lost his toenail going down slide rock barefoot. He also broke two toesies.


Comment from Lokki
Time: June 25, 2007, 10:20 pm

So you want’s McGoo – you gets McGoo. But remember You’all asked for it.

There are strange things done in the internet’s night
By the men who write bad haiku;
And Weasel’s posters’ verse is often cursed
by visitors who read it through ;
Now while those at this site have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever knew
Was that night on the blog where I went whole-hog
and I imitated old McGoo!
Now old McGoo seldom wore shoes, as the nail of his big toe shows.
Why he left his shoes at home to barefoot roam, his podiatrist only knows.
He was always odd, and being normally shod seemed to annoy him like very hell
And he’d often say in his homely way that “I just likes the way they smell.”
On this particular day we were rhyming away when JW Paine appeared.
Talk of a battle of wits between unarmed twits! It was really pretty weird.
Then Dawn ran wild, Shakespeare-style, with references nobody knew;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was ol’ McGoo.
And that very day, as we posted away, at our desks where we should be working,
And getting our projects done, and not just having fun writing trash and then just lurking
McGoo e-mailed me, and “Lokki,” says he, “I’ll cash in on this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you – won’t refuse my last request.”
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll plagiarize my last refrains.”
A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
and then he babbled on about that last post by Dawn (LEGOs??!!); but God! He looked ghastly pale.

Now I’m no Injun Chief, and not a very good thief, and so plagiarism makes me feel bad.
But Rabbit is waiting ( and so’s that nutball she (was) dating) so I promises ol’ McGoo.
“Don’t worry” says I, which was sort of a lie, “I’ll write real bad just like it was you. “
Uncle Badger won’t guess and as for the rest, Pup is the only one who might
But if I dumb it real down, and then spread it around
thick as English bullshite
No one will know it’s not Weasel’s banjo that’s playin’ this requiat
Yup everyone will think it’s just you with six drinks and no shoes that calling everyone asshat.

Some verses I stole from the ol memory hole, and I liberally cribbed from all you ;
Some lyrics I found that was just lying around, and I heaped it deeper and higher;
I quoted a squirrol , and some guy Enas Yorl , worked in “my cat’s “K” tatoos”
And I borrowed some Gnus and took off my shoes, and I pretended to be ol’ McGee.

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the net has its own stern code.
In the hours to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the flat-screen’s soft light, while the minions, round in a ring,
pecked out their posts to the stubbed toed Host — Oh God! how I loathed the thing

I could not decide how long I should try to write some ugly old mess;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I decided to try my best ;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep outside.
I guess he’s well pickled, and it’s time that I tinkled “; … then the door I opened wide.

And there stood McGoo still wearing no shoes, beamed in from virtual space;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and said: “Your poem’s a real disgrace.
But Hey, what the heck! It’s just what they expect, and it’s better than they deserve—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, I’ve always been a gnarly old perv.”

Note to self – fix last line before posting

Comment from whtshrbbt/amuirin
Time: June 25, 2007, 10:31 pm

Lokki, that was um..

that was… *gulp*

Someone buy this guy a drink.

Comment from jwpaine
Time: June 25, 2007, 11:10 pm

Man, that was awesome!

Comment from Dawn
Time: June 25, 2007, 11:47 pm

I miss McGoo. (sniff)

Comment from Enas Yorl
Time: June 26, 2007, 12:55 am

***Clappity clappity!!***

Author! Author!

***Clappity clappity!!***

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: June 26, 2007, 4:28 am

Well, I’ll be damned. This blog is like perpetual Christmas. I wake up every morning, and Sandy Claws has taken a dump under the tree.

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: June 26, 2007, 5:01 am

Sorry, Tamika…the spam filter ate your insights. It usually takes more than one hyperlink to annoy it, but it’s extra special sensitive today, I guess.

Comment from Lokki
Time: June 26, 2007, 7:45 am

Authors Notes:

1. My sincere apologies to Robert W. Service, his descendents, and his work, “The Cremation of Sam McGee”. Now call off the attorneys, OK?

2. Any slights to any internet psuedonym were purely intended in the spirit in which Steamboat would have made them.

3. I’ve got to admit, in the sober light of dawn, my verse lacks the real McGoo’s cleverness, scan, relevance, and spelling ability.

However, my muse, one Ms. Marie Ann Tonette, sniffed when I suggested that I wasn’t worthy.

“The peasants have no McGoo?” she said. “Then make them read Lokki!”

Comment from Gnus
Time: June 26, 2007, 8:40 am

Lokki, words fail me.


Comment from whtshrbbt/amuirin
Time: June 26, 2007, 10:31 am

That was a Magnum Opus, Lokki. Don’t apologize for it; blow it up, frame it, and set it to music. *nods*

Comment from Uncle Badger
Time: June 26, 2007, 12:16 pm

You know, Weasel’s horoscopes are starting to worry me.

Yesterday, toe. Today, Bandaid.

If it says ‘armageddon’ tomorrow, I’m staying in bed!

Comment from Enas Yorl
Time: June 26, 2007, 1:46 pm

If it says ‘armageddon’ tomorrow, I’m staying in bed!

Oh, come on! You wouldn’t want to miss the Four Horsemen parade!

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: June 26, 2007, 1:59 pm

Relax. Wednesday is Saltine.

Comment from whtshrbbt/amuirin
Time: June 26, 2007, 2:22 pm

Saltine recipe:

Comment from Soup
Time: June 26, 2007, 2:26 pm


Comment from Uncle Badger
Time: June 26, 2007, 2:30 pm


That’s just crackers.

Comment from Pupster
Time: June 26, 2007, 3:27 pm

RE: wabbit’s wecipe

Is placenta the same thing as those little green bananas?

Comment from whtshrbbt/amuirin
Time: June 26, 2007, 3:38 pm


not exactly. I imagine both items embody a unique texture, however.

Comment from jwpaine
Time: June 26, 2007, 3:46 pm

I notice in the comments to that recipe Whitish points us to that “[placenta] was really popular in American culture during the 1970s.” You know, I believe it has been a long time since I enjoyed placenta.

“Hey, Grampa! What’s for dinner?!”

Comment from Lokki
Time: June 26, 2007, 4:54 pm

This whole post sounds like my life while I was dating.

First you’re only interested in a little Bongo, just the sort of Friendee type, nothing serious.

Then bang! you stumble and your life is a bloody mess.

So you get drunk enough to write some sad poetry, and before you know it you’ve gone crackers enough that
you’re stewing a Placenta.

Comment from whtshrbbt/amuirin
Time: June 26, 2007, 5:57 pm

Lokki, you outdid yourself today. Bravo. Pick out whichever one of us you hate the most, and you can pass on the McGoo torch.

Comment from Lokki
Time: June 27, 2007, 10:35 am

Amuririn (?) –

I’m too humble and too new a minion to be entrusted with such a task.

I’d propose a competition where we have tryouts….

Sort of an American McGoo if you will.

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