sweasel.com

This site claims “poop” meant fart at the time.

Sweasel.com: the things you need to know.

I’ll bet it sounds a lot more dirty and arousing in the original German. Germans are into that kind of shit.

Robins are not to be found in The Expurgated Version of Olsen’s Standard Book of British Birds.

Better than vice-versa!

That’s because the foul thier nests.

Is this were “flipping the bird” came from?

Man, I was gonna stay away from this subject, but I read your link, Stoaty!

So if “poop” originally meant “butt”, how does one explain “poop deck”? A deck where one falls down a lot?

And as for poop meaning “breaking wind backwards”, … well, is there any other way?

I’m completely confused – a not-unpleasant (or unfamiliar) state of affairs, I must admit.

Thank you!

Ahhhh, the good old days, when brave Sir Robin could do what he does best without embarassment.

Seriously, has anyone else ever read any of the OLD brothers Grimm stories? Those were pretty brutal till they got softened up by some right-thinking lady (she did it for the children sometime in the late 1800’s) I vividly remember one story in which, at the end, someone was punished by rolling them down a hill, inside a cask which was studded with nails pounded facing inwards…

Some Veg: Yup, I’ve read them. My favorite was the version of “Cinderella” where the step-sisters sliced off parts of their feet to make them fit the slipper.

Of course, the blood running out the shoe alerted the Prince each time, along with a bird (or some woodland creature)screeching a rhyme to him “Look back, there’s blood on the track…”

Gruesome, wonderful stuff that.

In Snow White, the wicked stepmother is forced to dance in a pair of red-hot iron shoes until she dies. And Sleeping Beauty/Little Red Riding Hood et al. play on fears of young girls being deflowered. Awesome.

I really should quit saying, “I’m pooped” when I mean, “I’m tired.”

The poop deck is the aft deck of a sailing vessel. Normally it’s the roof of a raised structure.

“Pooped” is when a large wave breaks over the poopdeck. An event that gets many new sailors rethinking their love of the sea.

Our local yard has hundreds of slightly-used bluewater sailboats.

Little Robin Do Rag,
Kickin it in a Caddie,
Best have you a gat,
You can’t run fat, Fatty.
Word.

I’m glad Robin has a rhyme where he doesn’t die!

I wonder if there’s a Walter Potter tableau for this one, perhaps with a tiny bellows?

Thrush robins here depart for only a very few weeks. Seems like they are gone for the last of Advent, the Christmas season and Epiphany. Then they send scouts… seeking worms and grubs in the half-frozen river beds.

I saw the first pair today… not quite certain why they were here, amidst the winter juncos and chickadees and sparrows. Here where the hard frozen earth belies the short heat at midday. Here where the quick green rise of rye and grass and parsley turn to black in the hard frost most every night. For here comes February, cruel February.

Lord, how I dislike February….cruel February. Might be the shortest month, yet it parses out the cold day to day. It poke these old bones and joints what ne’er sleep well, waiting… waiting for sweet and fluid Pisces, sister to my Scorpio.

Lent comes…That I understand and embrace.

This short season is ne’er short enough. Cold and calculating each wretched short day and long wicked night.

-SPIT!-

Ha ha ha ha …. Second time I looked @this, and both times when I read the words immediately heard Warren Zevon singing, “He’ll pull your lungs out, Jim.”

She is very beautiful. We do not.

Indeed songbird… good photo 🙂

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