sweasel.com

ohhhh, maybe what was in your pickle jar was a marupial remnant.

Ohhhhhh…oh, dear. I hadn’t thought of that.

Did you know every stick of furniture in my house will fit into the kitchen and one bathroom? Yep. Of course, I can no longer reach the fridge or the shower, but I still have toilet access!

Be thankful you don’t sit next to me. It’s going to get ripe in Weaselvania.

So, is it Marsupial In A Pickle Jarness, or Her Royal Marsupial In A Pickle Jar?

The protocols of this loyal subject thing are fraught with hidden dangers.

How long will you be ensconced in your Lovely Palace of One Room and Two Subjects Dear?

Marsupial in a Pickle Jar, ma’am will do fine, thanks.

Four days at least, Musli. I don’t know if they work weekends.

Okay, Marsupial In A Pickle Jar, Ma’am. Do we have to curtsy or anything new, or is tugging on our forelock still jake?

You still have a forelock, you fall on your knees and thank the Gods of Male Pattern Baldness.

Speaking of pickles…check out this bunch.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=539609&in_page_id=1770&in_page_id=1770&expand=true#StartComments

Dumbshits. If they think it is okay because the bank has too many charges and they pay too many taxes….look in the mirrors dingbats, you vote the taxhikers in.

Wow, those people are pretty stupid PnB! It’s easy for the bank to figure out who withdrew money that day and just charge thier account for the full amount they got.

The Internets are slow today. 🙁 Or not very active.

I learned what “to be rickrolled” is today. Thanks to XKCD.

Also thanks to XKCD, here is this for you geeky types.

Speaking of small spaces and things in the basement, this — I’m linking to SDA rather than the article, as I liked her title and comment.

Heh, I park at Ann Arbor Pioneer when I go to games at The Big House — http://www.skylinepictures.com/Michigan_Big_House_um1_large.JPG

It’s kitty corner from the lower left of the picture.

Unfortunately, Marsupial In A Pickle Jar, Ma’am, the Gods of Male Pattern Baldness have smote me mightily.

…and with malice aforethought, I suspect.

My husband was smoted by them Gods, starting at the age of 16. Fortunately, our son has escaped their antics. For now. He has a lot of hair. Which is interesting as both his grandpas are bald too.

Yeah – my pattern baldiness started when I was in college. I haven’t had to carry a comb in my back pocket in decades! I hated the way combs tore up my pockets.

Marsupial In A Pickle Jar, Ma’am ?

Hmmm….

That’s really not that bad. I had a friend when I was a teenager who had an actual human fetus in a pickle jar on the shelf in his bedroom. His mother was a nurse. It was some sort of teaching aid that was no longer being used and he wanted it. Was fun after you got over the initial shock to see other people’s reactions to it.

Oh, how we laughed…..

My hair lasted until I was about 35, then departed (to coin a phrase) for parts unknown (to coin another phrase).

Punny! I love punny stuff.

I got a spam mail entitled “A Calvary Greeting” from some Christian-sounding African woman. She wanted me to help her move money out, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. But what the heck is a Calvary greeting? Is she implying I’m about to be hauled off to be crucifed?

I’d stay out of gardens, if I were you.

Yes – pattern baldness has got many of us by the short hairs. Someday they’ll get a lock on the causes of baldness. They’re combing past medical records for even a single strand of evidence. No one’s gonna brush this subject aside, but – being understaffed – the researchers are a bit “hairried”. Some have even been (bu-dum – paah!) “hairassed”!

That was pun! But a nup is a nup.

My Great Aunt Mary lived to be 102. My grandfather took care of her in her declining years (she outlived him by a year, too), supposedly because she bought him a Christmas present one year (his mom was a religious nut and wouldn’t permit it). Somewhere, there’s a picture of me sitting on her knee…and she was born the year the Civil War began, if that ain’t something else.

Anyhow, my grandfather engaged two nurses — elderly sisters — to look after Aunt Mary in her own home at one stage. The sisters called one of my relatives aside one day to show her something special — a whole closet full of infants in jars. They lovingly pointed out the adorable little fingers on this one and the beautiful hair on that one. God knows what the backstory was…stillbirths, I guess.

Greetings from the basement! Well, not actually from the basement…I couldn’t get my connect working last night. I drank and played solitaire on the computer…which was, I have to say, unexpectedly enjoyable.

Ah. Remote-agent Weasel – reporting, eh?

Tell you what; with your restricted posting/surfing at work, and connect issues in the basement, the quicker you get to Jolly Ol’, the better.

<sigh> In oh, so many ways, McGoo. I think I’ll nip out to the local coffee house at lunch. They have free wifi. I can’t check my mail from work, and my spamencup will runneth over if I don’t empty it for four days.

I blame Bush. And Global Warming.

And male pattern baldness.

I blame Al Gore. I dunno why, but he seems a likely candidate.

On second thought, he’s not a good candidate at all. He couldn’t keep W from stealing Florida.

Steal Florida? Pff! You couldn’t give me Florida. It smells of old people and cocoa butter.

The best statement about Al Gore.

Vulgar though it may be, this made me laugh out loud. The end was perfect.

Hehehehehe. This has a nice spin. Different site. Maybe run by the same people.

The sisters called one of my relatives aside one day to show her something special

*rubs eyes* That is so…I don’t know what that is. I hope after she passed, someone gave them a proper burial.

The word you’re struggling for is “Faulknerian” I think.

The nurses got fired, pronto. What happened to the things in jars, I don’t know.

Of course, people were a LOT less squeamish about those sorts of things once. Doctors routinely kept interesting specimens in jars…things they’d cut off of people, spontaneous abortions (especially deformities), evidence from murder trials. Museums used to feature a lot more of that sort of thing, as well.

I believe they have now shuttered the Natural Mummy room at the Smithsonian, but it was once one of my favorite exhibits.

Cabinets of Curiosities!

There is a difference between a doctor or institution doing it for teaching type purposes and a private citizen doing it for God knows what reason. People collect a lot of weird crap, but dead babies is …well….over the line?

Were these jarred babies your great aunt’s or the nurses? If they were the former, why would the latter get fired?

Oh, they belonged to the nurses! If they’d belonged to Aunt Mary, I’m not sure I’d’ve shared.

A cabinet of curiosities, as McGoo references, was generally owned by a private collector — usually a wealthy eccentric gentleman. Many modern museums were built around the kernel of such a private collection.

But, yes, the nurses were distinctly creepy-weird. Probably got them from a hospital.

I’m posting from the local coffee house! Do I look different?

You smell like coffee beans and laptop exhaust. Have you been playing with those damned Nerd kids down the block again!?

Fetus preserves. Ew.

There! Back at my desk. I had three pages of spam. And a large iced coffee.

I’m prob’ly going to vibrate like a marital aid for the rest of the afternoon.

Ohhh…I thought those were your aunt’s kids and the nurses found them and were showing them off. Odd birds indeed.

That’s a very genteel way of referring to such a device, Your Highness.

I lament the fact we have become so sterile and acceptable. Curiosity is a good thing. Within limits, of course.