sweasel.com

This from London and is being reported by Ace, so it must be true: swearing is apparently good for morale and teamwork:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20071017/od_afp/britainemploymentlanguageoffbeat_071017133515;_ylt=AiR2X.m.4eY9YV_MmaFxgWms0NUE

Hot damn!

I’m wondering if – given the thousands of words of self-indulgent silliness that occurred yesterday on the previous thread – Weasel’s choice of photo is psychologically indicative of her desire to float safely above any deluge that occurs today.

That she pre-arranged this post beforehand only confirms the prescient powers of our host.

The Zogby online poll today had an interesting question that proves that Weasel’s blog is extremely influential.

From the following list, in your opinion what is the worst offense for those who have offices or cubes that provide little privacy? (Choose one)

Eating smelly food
Talking loudly on the telephone
Barging in without knocking or an appointment
Yelling to co-workers through the wall
Using offensive language
Not sure

Hmmm. They didn’t mention resting chins on half walls and telling stories ad nauseum. And I wish they would have added “all of the above” as a choice.

Say, that’s a nice bucket. And the rodent only sweetends the deal.

Sweetends? Never heard of that word before…and yet there it is. Huh.

Yeah but is that the seal’s bucket?

You’ve never heard of “sweetends”? I can’t imagine why not – it’s a perfectly cromulent word.

Toro – mower of choice when ya croak.

Doin’s from near where I grew up. If we’uns know about anything it’s how to have a good time.

Gnus,

It’s John Deere for me or nuthin’!

And I want a combine harvester to bring up the rear.

Sweatends – verb – (1)to stir with a soiled finger or other bodily extremity. (2)to improve a bargain thru carelessness on the part of the seller. (3) to justifiably screw someone financially.

From the Icelandic “svetindz” which means – literally – to scorch ones privates in overly warm bathwater during Winter Festival.

Physicist Stephen Hawking once said, “When I hear of Schrödinger’s cat, I reach for my gun,” paraphrasing German playwright and Nazi Poet Laureate Hanns Johst’s famous phrase “Wenn ich ‘Kultur’ höre, entsichere ich meinen Browning!” (“When I hear the word ‘culture’, I release the safety on my Browning,” often paraphrased as something like, “When I hear the word ‘culture,’ I reach for my gun.”)

However, Physicist Stephen Hawking has also said, “When I hear of Schrödinger’s ferret, I reach for my ass to see if it is still safely attached, then I reach for the emergency gin bottle which I keep nearby at all times, then I reach for Ms. Plushbottom’s bottom; then I get slapped”

Despite the cool misty evening air and the distance, Agent 7 was able to clearly see the figures moving inside the mansion though the softly lighted windows of the Coastal Property. As he watched the silhouetted slim and graceful figure of Lady Weasel glide past the lighted square,he pondered the dark words that Hawkings had said about Schrödinger’s Ferrett. “Well, not exactly said” he thought, “More like vibrated through his electronic voice thingy”, but the point remained – even thinking of Schrödinger’s Ferrett could get you hurt.

Agents 1 through 6 were only memorialized as faint blood stains. Was his loyality to Drakinor stronger than his fear of being ripped to tiny, bloody bits of bone, hair, flesh, and fat? More important, was the check he was pulling for this job big enough to make it worth having the distinctive characteristics of his foreskin being the only remaining identifiable part of his corpse?

The clouds parted to cast a beautiful light on a single daisy growing under the fruit trees where he was hidden. The sudden appearance of this omen brought him a flash of appreciation of the delicateness of human life. The fowl chickens that Covenington had brought with him for his amusement hadn’t eaten this one yet, as they had all the others. Against all odds, beauty has survived a rapicious attack. “Well, what the hell”, he thought, plucking it and carefully fixing it to the lapel of his Ninja™ suit. “Just as well hung for plucking the life of a flower as for arranging for the bloody and savage murder of a house full of innocent people”,unknowingly including in this mental list of potential victims a scullery maid who wasn’t nearly as innocent as she’d been when she’d met Covenington a few days earlier.

As his emotions started to drift towards a sniffle, his Ego slapped his whiny little Super Ego, and nodded approvingly towards his Id which had just pointed out how uncomfortable he’d been when Agent 7 was on the dole and clipping coupons so he would afford to eat cat food. It wasn’t easy to get a job in this field, particularly when you had no name, no work history, and all your references were very, very dead. “ No, better to do a nice job here and off to Spain for the winter, than having your sadly silly salvationist scruples scupper your supper.”

Just release Schrödinger’s ferret, using a very long pole, and Bob’s your uncle’s lunch. If he stayed inside the car the odds of being killed were comparatively low. So be it. He slid the window down a bit, and using the patent pending ferret release-pole, flicked open the latch on the ferret cage. Having done Belezubub’s work at Drakinor’s command, he shifted his car into gear and drove slowly down the garden lane away from the house and impending death in the form of a ferret.

Author’s note: * – Most people have heard tales of ferrets wherein they often are described either as a vicious weasel-like beast used for hunting rabbits and rats, or as some strange, smelly creature Englishmen tend to place down their trousers for wagers. While these things are, of course, true of most ferrets, Schrödinger’s ferret is a particularly degenerate form stemming from an inbreeding of a badger, a drunken weasel or two, a down-on-her-luck-gotta-pay-the-rent-somehow ferret, and no doubt a touch of Covenington-couldn’t-find-a-chokable-chicken thrown in. Like vampire bats, the bloodier, the better for a Schrödinger’s ferret. Put a Schrödinger’s ferret down an Englishman’s pants and Bob won’t be your uncle any more. He’ll be your aunt.

Yarrr! Hallo, minions. You know, I don’t think I can watch BBC news every night. Such a limey buttload of anti-American, anti-Western, pro-Muslim, condescending lefty shit I never heard in all my life (except the last time I was here). I’ve been screaming at the TV for half an hour.

This is going to drive me to drink. Like, right now. Cheers!

Hi, Weas! It’s gotta be well past yard-arm time over there. Hoist one for your minions.

We’re trashing your site with purple prose and bodice-ripper fiction. Hope you don’t mind. We used your name (and that of your S.O.) because – well – we’re not too good at thinking up names. Besides, you weren’t here.

Why am I not surprised at the “tiny’ Leftward tilt of the BBC? That’s a pity. But – y’know – I just refuse to believe that – in the end – the Brits will stand for this recent crap forever. Too soon to tell, but I wonder if the Brit “man in the street” really feels the way the Leftist media “Deciders” are tilting everything?

I guess we won’t know that ’til you move there and get to know your neighbors.

Yeah, it’s 22:59 here, whatever the fuck that is.

You post whatever you please, McGoo. I haven’t had time to read your collective opus with the attention it undoubtedly deserves, but I will reserve that pleasure for my return.

I’m just happy tumbleweeds aren’t blowing through the place. I hate sweeping up tumbleweeds.

Oh, Weas!

Tell Uncle Badger that no offense intended with the “Badgerbugger” name. If I have my way, he’ll be a total hero when all this works out (unless on of the other idiots – er, I mean contributors – kills him off or sumpin). (But if they kill him off, I’ll bring him back! Ha!). Besides, he’ll always be unflappable, in control, and totally impervious to any danger or hostile act!

Oh, yeah. I hope you don’t really have a great, great, great grandmother named Millicent.

Awwww…damn and blast. I’ve just heard from my cat-sitter. She can’t find the key I left for her.

Bad words! Curses! Blue language!

That’s about 11 in the PM. Its drink-up time.

This is the same sitter that “went upstairs” once?

Hmmmm.

Yep. Same one. The cat’sll be okay for a while; they have three bags of dry food (which they will chew into in emergencies), two full toilets and access to the outside. The catsitter, however, may have a stroke.

No Millicent. I had a terribly wealthy great aunt named Pearl, though. Had I been named Pearl, I might be a rich woman today. As it is, I was named after her sister (among others) and I didn’t get a penny.

Lokki,

Soooo….Schrödinger’s ferret is much like a Daily Kos kid, or Moveon.org?

Jes’ teasin’. I killed off Putz. Just bring ‘im back if ya need ‘im.

Oh! Then you’re ok. Cats are really good at getting along without people.

I bet the sitter is crapping marsupials, though. I would be.

We’re writing your future history, or an unreasonable facimile thereof. Never hire a gardener nemed Mushbeezer.

Why Weasel loves the BBC

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml;jsessionid=43QN0CJBD3QNDQFIQMFSFFOAVCBQ0IV0?xml=/news/2007/10/17/nbbc217.xml

or not.

Oh mighty Akismet! It’s only one link, albeit a long one!

Lokki!

Weas & me (lovely english – yes?) did an experiment the other day! If you leave off the “http://” but leave the wwwdotwhateverstuff, Akismet is spoofed! I sent your own two links with no repraisal.

Can’t delete your bookmark. Nominated you for best individual blog.