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Alas, poor Stoaty

weasel skull

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.


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: January 11, 2008, 6:58 pm

And by “back door” I’m really, SERIOUSLY not talking about my butt.

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: January 11, 2008, 7:05 pm

Okay, my heating pad just packed up. This is NOT FUNNY.

Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: January 11, 2008, 7:12 pm

Weaz, glad you nipped that personal point in the…um…butt.

That sure looks like an Alien skull to me. I bet if you pry the li’l mouth open there is a second set of deadly jaws.

Your friend is strange. But strange is good…

A year or so before my Dad passed away he sent me a fully articulated child’s skeleton. Well – a fake one, actually. Y’know – from one of those medical houses, or science model companies.

I never figured out why, and he never said. I still have it. Packed away.

Deeply packed away.

Yep – you have an Airline Cold! They’re sometimes the worst – and really make you suffer. You’ll probably be miserable for 2-3 weeks. My suggestion to you – while you’re still strong – is to spend a day at the airport alternately making and cancelling reservations at as many airline counters as you can. And really breathe on the employees there when you’re doing business. And sneeze on all the stall handles in all the restrooms, too.

Share the wealth – I always say.

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: January 11, 2008, 7:20 pm

I can do better, McGoo. Tomorrow night, I have a thing to go to, partly in my honor. A going-away thing (premature, but they started planning it a long time ago). I figure by that time, I’ll be madly contagious, but I won’t sound bad for another day or so.

I can give all my manky friends headcolds and they’ll never know.

(As penance for my sins, God is making “Don’t Give a Dose to the One you Love Most” run through my head now…)

Comment from quark2
Time: January 11, 2008, 7:23 pm

Start with the Zicam™ immediately before
you start breathing on people at the airport.
You’ll be well just before your final flight. ;0

And, ermmmmm on the skull.

Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: January 11, 2008, 7:40 pm

Now that’s cunning, Weaz! Planning this whole thing so’s you can dump on those who would honor you. Whoa…

And its only appropriate that they honor you. Its simply your due…

…And Badger will remain blissfully uninfected! Diabolical!

Don’t send him any letters that you’ve spit on, Stoaty! Use email.

The thing about those Airline Colds is that they are well-traveled, and know a thousand local customs and niches. They blend in with the locals and no one’s the wiser. They are also hardier – having been reared on airline food and forced to live in drafty cabins and overhead bins. They’re tough and resourceful. When cornered, they can be lethal. So watch out!

I still think it would be simpler if you’d just moon them.

Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: January 11, 2008, 8:26 pm

Oh – by the way…

I hope you get better soon, Weasel. I don’t want it to be an Airline Cold. I want it to be a silly mistake that quickly remedies itself – leaving you none the worse for wear.

Comment from Dawn
Time: January 11, 2008, 9:24 pm

I am off to a crafting party. I guess once you hit 30? you start getting invites to quilting bees rather than the clubs.
I have had contractors at my house this past week finishing my master bath and putting in baseboard. My hubber built our house four years ago and never quite got it all the way done. Weeeee…..no more baths in the hall bathroom…
and they’re almost done with my walk-in shower! Dawn is very happy.

Comment from porknbean
Time: January 11, 2008, 10:46 pm

Of course, that wouldn’t explain you people.

Birds of a feather flock together. Ahoy, fellow inmatie.

Comment from Uncle Badger
Time: January 11, 2008, 10:57 pm

Dawn, I feel for you. Badger House had a major drain blockage on Christmas Eve… which meant that this mustelid has had to shower by driving into town and using the one in his flat, ever since.

I’d love to tell you that Her Ladyship wasn’t troubled because (as everyone knows) weasels never wash. But the truth is, she can happily soak in the Tudor Bathroom (as she calls it) – and I’m too fat to fit in the tub. Well… actually, I’m not but badgers don’t like baths.

Anyway, yesterday, the Shit Man Cometh. I call him that because it’s what he be – a perfectly nice gentleman in a shiny blue boiler suit… covered in shit.

He cleared the drains (I wish he hadn’t shaken hands with me – Howard Hughes and I were like that ) then went on his merry way, promising to come back and fix all the drains for good in two weeks’ time.

Until when, I am, as it seems are you, never quite sure which crapper will work, or which shower will go bang or which… well, shall we leave it at that?

Oh yes, and as for Her Ladyship’s cold… the poor dear sounds forlorn.

And now, I am about to exact my revenge upon the world. I have wasted the past three evenings doing my annual tax return. And I have at least another three evenings to go. The end result of this will be a poor badger forking out yet more money for the scum and detritus that constitute our political masters to hand over (minus a certain, substantial, consideration) to the scroungers, spongers and morons, who elect them to office.

My revenge will be to eat a steak and kidney pudding – knowing the very act will subvert everything in which they believe.

Tomorrow I shall eat duck and on Sunday… woe betide the local sheep.

Comment from quark2
Time: January 12, 2008, 12:46 am

You’ve heart my heart stomach, steak
and kidney pie. Hunger!

Comment from porknbean
Time: January 12, 2008, 2:46 am

Local sheep beware, the udder muncher is on the loose.

Comment from Gibby Haynes
Time: January 12, 2008, 11:25 am

My god, that is small. And yeah, it looks like the aliens out of Alien. Shit.
What do commerical shitmen use these days Badger? Some kind of sucking machine? I’ve got a set of bamboo drain rods, which you connect together and then – joy! – force the shit, nappies and assorted effluvia away from the network of degraded ceramic pipes under the garden. Usually to the network of degraded ceramic pipes under next door’s garden. And so on. Why waste money on extortionate shitmen when you can do it yourself? Why should other people have all the fun?

Comment from Anonymous
Time: January 12, 2008, 11:36 am

Skulls, shit, taxes, colds, phremones and quilting bees… sigh.
My kind of people

Good Morning all.

Comment from geoff
Time: January 14, 2008, 1:40 am

Q. How do you make a pheromone?

A. Knock down his pyramid.

Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: January 14, 2008, 4:55 am

This site is all about esoterica. I love it.

Bamboo effluvia rod.

I can’t wait to use that phrase in a sentence.

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