sweasel.com

I always like seeing these Weekend Rest Posts. You never know what quintessential tidbit of philosophy from the preceding week Weasel will skillfully weave into the photo background montage.

How the hell can a husband hide a skull collection in his basement from his wife? I mean, successfully? Maybe its a case of mutual deception.

‘Course the BTK killer hid his perversions from his sweet, loving wife for decades. She caught him once or twice.

Not that collecting skulls is perverted. Its the hidden part I’m addressing, ya unnerstan’.

Soooo…sick…holy shit, what the heck is this thing? Last night, I had uncontrollable shakes for hours. I COULD NOT get warm. So I turned the heat way up and got the heating pad going and then (you can see this coming, right?) woke up two hours later running sweat with my heart pounding. Sore throat, runny nose…so it is a cold, on balance. I guess. But my skin hurts to touch, you know? And it takes everything I’ve got to walk downstairs.

I ain’t going nowhere today. Which is a pity, because I’m low on groceries. No cold medicine. Weasel is alllll about symptom relief.

McGoo, he’s got a workshop in the basement where he “makes sawdust”…I don’t think she likes to go down there. Though for all I know, they’re buried in the crawlspace or something. Brrrr.

No time to worry about the skull-guy right now. You probably need some hot tea with whiskey and honey in it. It won’t do jack shit to the cold but it’ll make you feel better.

Ah-ha. Wood shop. When I wrote the question (How can he hide…) I was actually thinking “Unless he has a serious wood shop” because a neighbor of mine years ago used his to hide shit from his wife. But she found ’em eventually…the boy magazines. They are divorced now.

Best wishes for a speedy recovery, M’lady.

Your Grace: Hope you feel better quite swiftly. Soon we’ll be like the Japanese, wearing those white face masks wherever we go. (I’ve seen pictures: not sure how common it is.)

Let us your minions know how we may be of service to you.

But she found ‘em eventually…the boy magazines. They are divorced now.

Were those magazines for boys or magazines of boys? Significant difference there.

One day, while driving for an errand, I saw a brown paper bag on the road in our development. The top was ripped open (from being run over by cars) and there were magazines in it. The top one had a buxom lady (of the night?) with “Jugs” splashed all over the page. It was gone when I came back.

My first thought when I saw it was, “Oh my! I’d better remove it before kids see it!” It was then, at the ripe age of 26, I had realized I had become an old fart.

What’s the difference between “old coot” and “old fart”?

Oh Noes! You won’t be able to attend your bon voyage party tonight! And that was like the reason I was going….
Yeah, this new cold that’s making the rounds is actually something they are calling “para-influenza” – what’s that, like half the flu, or something?

Stay in bed, and most importantly, stay the hell away from me.

Last things first: Old Farts smell worse than Old Coots, Musli, and Old Coots tend to flock together socially, whereas I think Old Farts tend to be loners (for olfactory reasons?).

But its a very good question, Musli: quite often the terms are assumed to be completely interchangeable, and to a certain extent, they are. My opinions only here: I’m no expert (I’m practicing to be an Old Fart, though) others might disagree with me.

Question: “…For boys, or of boys?”
Ans: Which do you think would cause an instant divorce, Musli? “Of” , of course.

I remember when he told me. What surprised me most was his tone of voice. I think he actually assumed *all* men had a stash of boy-perv mags hidden somewhere.

That’s what I like about living: people never cease to amaze me. Life has *got* to be a play performed solely for my amusement – ’cause no one I know seems to get as much fun out of it as me.

Awwww…Jess. I just had Nerves on Skype trying to encourage me to go anyway. I went to Stop and Shop and bought a chicken (why is it when I’m sick, I immediately start roasting a chicken?). It isn’t even done yet, and I’m feeling better already.

I promise — no throwing up involved in this one.

Speaking of old coots…they’re baaaaack. The coots roused Uncle B early this morning, and they were digging for the machine gun again. Didn’t find it. But I’m gratified that they brought a metal detector expert guy, and he didn’t do any better than I did. The whole back yard lit up for him, too.

Thanks, McGoo!

Re the magazines: I thought that might be the case, though TNWWI unless one is pretending to be a heterosexual in a marriage. (I have difficulty summoning up charity for adulterers.)

I suppose I’m a good-smelling fart: not very social but squeaky clean (in many ways than one, and certain ways maketh me to sigh). Or a loner coot. A fart-coot? A coot-fart? A coort?

Weaz! Stout heart! Atta girl! Honored Lady!

I was worried…

I think you and Badger should make a game out of the Digger Coots. You need to document every location and hole dug (for us minions: a map would be nice), and you need to see if you can convince them its somewhere else on your property. Anywhere else! The object of the game is to see how many completely different places you can get them to dig.

Fun is where you find it, folks.

Re Badger’s coots: woohoo! They’ll find it still. I suppose. Or not. Either way.

You know, if you got a live chicken, you could sacrifice it to Zarabanda, a deity of the Palo system, one of the African religions brought by the slaves. You’d have to put it in his altar-pot for a few days, stinking up your place, but if you’re nose is stuffed you wouldn’t know, no? Don’t ask me how I know this.

Roasted chicken for a cold? Snuz to me, I always
though of chicken broth and a doctored up hot
toddie were the ticket.
Maybe a dash of single malt scotch would do it, yeah,
that’s the ticket!
Get well Stoaty.

Well, yes, I was going to make chicken soup, but I realized I needed chicken to do that…so I got soup fixings, but I’m roasting chicken first. The toddy…yep, yep.

Musli, you have the most screwed up religious history of anybody I know. From Islam to Palo Mayombe through to…Mormonism, is it? If there was more in between, I don’t want to hear about it.

If you’re making that chicken soup from scratch and with all-fresh ingredients, then feeling better and getting better is your destiny.

Chicken soup is strong juju.

I spent some time on Wiki yesterday trying to figure the difference between a gable and a dormer because weasel opened that can of worms and I couldn’t let it go. I myself have a capecod style home (not many of those in Arizona) with a gable roof and dormer windows. Near as I can figure the gable refers to the pitch of the roof (the window cutouts are on the side walls between the pitch of the roof) and a dormer refers to the opening cut out of the actual roof material for a window. Dormers can be gable dormers or hip dormers.

I know, no one likes a showoff.

I am glad you’re feeling better already.

Looks like a packed house tonight! Geoff’s not going with me – should I make a general announcement that he and I have split up? Will the caching community be shocked?

*chuckle* I am well-travelled spiritually and religiously speaking. (Unfortunately, as one might have noticed, religion and spirituality are obsessions of mine, and in such obscure ways as not to be very useful either. No one wants to hear a lecture in what’s in a nganga at a party, y’know.)

True story: while in high school, no one could figure out what religion I practiced. Rumors were afloat that I was a heretic Muslim, Hindu, Jew, witch, pagan, and/or Satanist. The last was most popular as it was more sensational: but untrue, alas for them. Well…eh, nevermind.

Sounds like you’re going to have fun tonight, paranormal influenza notwithstanding. (You may want to try dashing holy water against yourself whilst exorcizing the demon of influenza. It worked in the old days, no?) In any case, I hope you feel very well very soon.

Dawn, that’s pretty much my understanding. We have “gable vents” on most houses in the Midwest. They are little louvered openings on a wall up near the peak of the roof – to let the hot air out of the attic and encourage cross-ventilation.

Too bad you’re not in Rome, Weas. As will be detailed in my trip discussion when I get to that point, there is a Miraculous Disease-Healing Wooden Baby Jesus in a church up on Capitoline Hill.

Hope you feel better soon. Chicken soup will no doubt help.

Yeah, this new cold that’s making the rounds is actually something they are calling “para-influenza” – what’s that, like half the flu, or something?

A good friend of mine caught this ‘para-influenza’ from her son right before Xmas that landed her in the emergency room. Started out with the fever, slight sore throat with a tickle that kicked off a cough. Xmas Eve she couldn’t breathe. She had bronchitis on top of pneumonia which triggered asthma.
She is not one that gets sick, but she was working overtime, then stayed up many nights taking care of her son, who spiked 105 fever for several days. Whatever bug this is can kick you in the ass real good especially if you are already tired and stressed.

As soon as she started down the road to recovery, her youngest caught it. Fortunately, the kids didn’t get the secondary infections.

Hey Jessica, maybe you can wear one of those masks to the get-together or better yet, put the weasel in a plastic bubble.

Party or not, I guarantee nobody wants to hear about your nganga recipe, Musli.

Jessica, you’re not bringing the new fella? I’m so disappointed! He’s a tasty morsel.

Funny, it’s always been my ambition to play in a rock band called Miraculous Disease-Healing Wooden Baby Jesus.

I love the idea of a lonely Cape house stranded in Arizona. You guys have London Bridge too, don’t you? Are you angling to become the Island of Misfit Toys or something?

Okay, this post was as graceful as a shopping list. Anyhoo…it’s a funny bug, this one. I felt so AWFUL last night, but I’ve been just kind of…drifty and floaty today. My throat is sore, but my nose isn’t blocked at all. I’ve dozed all day long. Eh. Maybe it’s the Dayquil. Cold medicine makes me high as a kite.

Dano has to work – he never has a night off, which SUCKS. Geoff now might come – sigh.
I am in a horrid mood – that’ll make me loads of fun tonight!

Hey, how much is the Newport bridge toll? I can’t find my roll of tokens.

“Are you angling to become the Island of Misfit Toys or something?”

First time I spewed my monitor in months, Weaz. Lemonade, with real sugar in it. It’s never gonna stop being sticky…

Aw, shit. Its in the kkkey boooord tto. Rtts. kbai

Weaz is probably out getting her much-deserved accolades. So watch this:

http://minx.cc/?post=251827

This guy is my Hero today.

Say? I don’t suppose Weasel’s sickness is this Norovirus crap that is making it’s presence known over in Jolly Olde?

See here: http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/health/article3176710.ece

The interesting thing about this crap is….projectile vomiting.

Swell. Hearty projectile vomiting.
Gut-wrenching, bone-displacing, muscle-tearing, joint-shattering projectile vomiting.

Loverly.

Island of Misfit Toys – John McCain anyone?
Have you met our Lady governor?

McGoo, you can go to Ezra’s website for the complete lowdown… videos and a transcript of his statement under duress before being questioned on his ‘intent’. Start near the bottom and a scroll up.

http://www.ezralevant.com

A Canadian of my acquaintance once sneeringly told me that Albertans are American wannabes and should secede from Canada.

porknbean,

I went there already. Interesting position. This guy will bear watching.

Your Grace: how was your shindig, if you went? How many antagonists did you “unwittingly” infect?

According to Meet the Robinsons, Canada becomes the 51st state, as God intended.

Why is Canada spelled the way it is, eh?
To make it easy for Canadians to spell: see, eh, en, eh…

Thank you, thank you; please tip the hostess.

Norovirus! Thank you! I was trying to remember the name, but I kept coming up with “parvovirus”. As that’s a disease of dogs, I was reluctant to go there.

I worried about norovirus at first, McGoo, because it was ALL over the news in the UK. But my stomach is just fine, thanks. In fact, my nose is still clear and my throat is still sore…it’s like the first twelve hours of a bad cold, but for 72 hours.

Hey, I just got 12 hours of sleep out of one dose of Nyquil — that’s what I call value for money!

Well Stoaty, I’m glad its not the N-thing. Projectile vomiting is not neat except to joke about.

I had a dose of something a while back, and learned that the Nyquil gel-caps are magical in the efficacy.

Did you moon them last night?

I take that as a “no”.

Weasel, in 40 years, when you’re old and gray and sitting in your wheelchair machine-gunning coyotes in your back yard, you’re gonna suck your gums, smack your lips, and mumble, “I shoulda’ mooned those folks back at DullGrey Corp. in ought-eight!”

And then you’ll be sorry. And it’ll be too late.

Mark my words.

Oh, last night wasn’t work, McGoo. It was friends. Not that I’m above mooning friends, you understand, but I’d just as soon none of them knew what ravages time hath wrought on the stoaty posterior.

So I settled for giving them a disease.

Oh! My bad. I hope you had a good time infecting your friends! I know I would… 🙂

But my words about DullGrey Corp still stand, Weaz. I will belabor the point no more.

Just got a call from a local liberal journalism mag Dad subscribed to (so’s he could chuckle over their articles each month).
They asked for Dad and I said he was in Israel with the Presidential entourage and would be back in a few days. The fools bought it – just like they bought my last stupid excuse 6-8 months ago. I think I said he was in surgery with an elephant. Maybe that was the time before. They all blur…

They gave me a number for him to call about his “voluntary” subscription (which they have continued even though he has not paid it for over six years).

Dad died in ’01. When do you think I should tell them? I’m thinking 2010.

You should have said he was playing cards with Bush and Rove and would get back to them after they finish planning how to implant micro-chips into the brains of libtards while nucleating San Francisco.

Even if you told them he passed, McGoo, they wouldn’t make a note of it, so keep funnin’ with ’em.

Oh yes, porknbean, that’s the way it started years ago. They called after I’d already informed them of his passing, and I said something silly and they bought it. Since then its been a game to me.

I notice on Drudge that Chelsea is “speaking” now.

How long until someone catches her in a lie? Given that her parents both treat lying like a normal bodily function, it’s only a matter of time.

Well McGoo, Hillary’s mother says Chelsea is a lot like Hillary. God help everyone in her path if that is true.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/femail/article.html?in_article_id=508015&in_page_id=1879

It was an insult to the intelligence of even a 12-year-old. Mickey Kantor, chair of the 1992 campaign, who was present when Chelsea watched the interview, observed: “She watched and understood. That was how two parents worked it out under public scrutiny.”

Later, Hillary’s mother shrewdly observed: “Chelsea is a lot like her mother. She just makes the best of everything.”

Funny I thought Chelsea looked more like Eleanor Roosevelt

http://www.teachwithmovies.org/guides/roosevelt-eleanor-DVDcover.jpg