DUNESCAPE
September 16, 2009
YADA YADA
September 15, 2009
grape >>>>> yada yada >>>>> raisin
plum >>>>> yada yada >>>>> prune
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THE OWL AND THE CIVET
September 14, 2009
“Did anyone ever tell you you have beautiful eyes?”
“Who, me?”
“Yes, you. Who else? Eyes are windows to the soul, they say. Do you like my eyes?”
“Who, you?”
Yes, me. I’m the only one here. I … Oh, I wish I could turn my head all the way around like that. Do it agian, won’t you?”
“Who, me?”
“Listen. Never mind. The bottom line is I’ve got a boat. It’s green. I painted it myself. And before you say “Who, you?” I’ll say “Yes, me.” What I’m trying to get at is do you want to go to sea with me? That’s the long and the short of it. You fascinate me. I have never been so attracted to another creature. I’m all vulnerable here, cards on the table and all. What do you say?”
“Sign me up. To tell you the truth, I’ve always had a thing for bushy tails.”
“Who, you?”
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TRANQUILITY ABOUT TO BE DISTURBED
September 13, 2009
. . . . . . . . . . shepherd . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
ewe. . . . . . . . . . ram . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . lamb . . ewe . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . ewe . . . . . . . . . . ewe . . lamb . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ewe . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ewe . . . . ewe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . ewe . . lamb . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dog . . . . . . . . . . .
fox
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . mahout . . elephant . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .sniper . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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FROM DOC’S LOON FABLES 10
September 12, 2009
Three Pals
A coatimundi and a raccoon, cousins, and their best friend, a skunk, were somewhat worse for wear after a long raucous night of barhopping. They were weaving their way home to the woods, falling against trash cans and giggling fitfully.
“I’d a showed that badger a thing or throo,” said the skunk, causing the three pals to fall in helpless mirth to the snow-covered ground.
“Throo!” squeaked the coatimundi, kicking the air.
“Throo!” squeaked the raccoon, gasping, weeping. “Stop! No more! Don’t talk! I’ll die!”
When the attack of hilarity subsided to chuckles, the three managed after a fair number of setbacks to gain their unsteady feet. Staggering left, then right, but ever forward, they made for the woods until the skunk made a sudden stop.
“Whassa matter?” asked the raccoon.
“You know what?” said the skunk.
“No. What?” said the cousins.
“Throo,” said the skunk, and the three again made the smooth and helpless transition into quivering furry striped lumps of laughing agony.
Continuing this pattern, stop and start, they eventually reached their homes, coatimundi first, raccoon second, skunk at dawn’s first light. All the day long they kept to their beds, enduring the hostile stares and the folded arms and the tapping feet of their wives, none of whom saw anything remotely funny about ‘throo’.
Moral: I guess you had to be there.
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CARTOON FRIDAY 15
September 11, 2009
“Boss, I feel like mending my ways and turning over a new leaf. How about you?”
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RULES OF LIFE FOR THE TIMID AND FRIGHTENED
September 10, 2009
1. Plod forward.
2. Ask for nothing.
3. Bother no one.
4. Be nice.
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FOR FANS OF JAMES JOYCE
September 9, 2009
Presentation
Some commotion. Enough to be noticed. Small crowd gathering in front of the cottage at the edge of the shire. The door to the cottage open for the first time in collective memory.
“There’s a tunnel below, that’s what.”
“Naw, a burrow to the back, I heared tell.”
“Be it cakes or bread, one and the same, we’ll know soon enough.”
The self-important constable, preening, steps out from inside the cottage. He says, “Make way.”
The small crowd parts, necks stretched, peering. Two proud deputies carrying a man-sized bundle wrapped in a coarse woven burr blanket emerge into the stillness of morning. They pause. The constable nods. The blanket is adjusted so such that the head of the corpse is revealed and displayed to the crowd. Murmurs and nods. Blanket readjusted. The deputies march off down the cobbled road with their burden. The crowd, silent, turns as one to the constable. The constable preens, addresses the crowd.
“It was as I so often opined. Did I not opine, yeomen?”
All nod.
“His home was no longer an abode of bliss. Therefore, he expired as I opined he would. Shut away he was for fifty years and never once seen or thought of but for the wisps of smoke each morning rising from yon chimney. For three days past, no smoke. I therefore entered with my deputation to confirm my oft-mentioned opinion. Yes, his home was no longer an abode of bliss. He had at last exhausted his supply of Plumtree’s Potted Meat! What was left but to step willingly into eternity?”
Brought to You by Plumtree’s Potted Meat
Without it, despair
With it, an abode of bliss
A James Joyce Production
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2 44262s
September 8, 2009
Fashion
(4) silk zebra scarf
(4) chilled patina
(2) harsh rouge
(6) startling ocelot
(2) pacing
Swamp
(4) muddy gumbo
(4) zuzz of insects
(2) streak reeds
(6) thrashing alligator
(2) ripple
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MATHEMATICS
September 7, 2009
By this guy (grown old):
dochorton - at - live - dot - com
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Doc's LunacyTweets
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
