Bad, bad, bad Beck is a Jewish Romanov. Possibly HR imperial Duchess Anatasia... Hard to believe, I know. But, I has the hard evidence. It's true, really. Okay, I hear the snickering. Hush!

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

My Daddy’s forbearers emigrated to America in the late 1800s. They had some strange religion no one knew how to spell, Judaism. I guess. They were from Middle Europe and southern Russia. The pograms sent them fleeing. His GGGGreat Grandad sent for a mail order bride. She could’nt speak English. They didn’t know what was she was speaking. So they guessed she was Dutch. She was saying I’m HRH Duchess Muckity-muck from where-ever.

She demanded total respect and laid down the law on his kids and her kids and their kids.
Obviously Royal.

So…I’m totally a Duchess. Rich beyond belief.

I want my cut. The Romanov family lives in France.

Not sure why they won’t answer my letter?

Wonder when the family reunion is?
I’ll be welcomed as the long lost family member they’ve been looking for.
They’ll give me trillions no questions ask. And a tiara with a gazillion diamonds.
And maybe a couple of Faberge’ eggs just to be friendly.:face_with_hand_over_mouth:.

Never mind the timing, ain’t right. I was shot 16 times, minor problem. My mind just doesn’t compute like that. Hey, hush your mouth, I had a few seizures!!

2

I loved the title. You should write a book.:princess:

3

The idea of mail order brides have always tickled me. Settlers in the US had a hard hard hard (I’m keeping with the theme, here) life, carving an existence either in tree-filled wilderness, or desolate prairie. These quasi-agencies would find young, unmarried women in the Old Country (apparently any old country) and a salesman of sorts would travel around looking for single homesteaders and talk a good story.

The poor women!

And when you think about it, the poor men!

Some women could actually pull rocks from farmland, plant potatoes, care for the milk cow, and maybe knew how to raise a few chickens.

I imagine some men received a bride who had been sold wonderful stories, and she expected lace curtains, tea time, and scenic vistas.

And yes, very often, they spoke completely different languages.

The culture shock had to be massive, yet somehow, they found a way to, uh, “comfort” one another, because these mash-ups frquently produced babies, lots and lots of babies.

I do often wonder if they ever learned to even LIKE each other?

Now, Beck, dear, before you pack your steamer trunk and head off to France, you’ll have to do some digging in the boxes that have been tucked away in attics or under beds. You’ll need a Romanov button or brooch, and maybe a fuzzy, faded Daguerreotype as your “credentials.”

Who knows? Maybe there’s a blood-and-tissue type match, and someone can spare a kidney!

WARNING! Do NOT accept any kidneys suspended in a jar of moonshine!

~VOW

4

Small prob…I ain’t eatin’ none of that borscht.
Nope.

I’ll bring tater salad to the reunion.

5

Beckda-stasia, the Lost Duchess of Arkansas. :slight_smile:

6

Your background as a [M]ad-man – creator of slogans – comes shining through! :grinning_face_with_smiling_eyes:

7

Can a Jewish Romanov eat caviar?
Is it kosher?
Escargot is right out. Cause they’re bugs folks. Slimey snails. Yuk yuk yuk!

I like rhubarb.
Wait. Is that Russian?
Another blurb in my memory.

Ah, it don’t matter. I’ve never been to a temple. My Daddy never did.
His Dad rode a white mule inside the local Church of Christ. (I have newspaper clippings about it.) So I’m sure he was never in a temple.
If he ever did he would not remember it. He stayed drunk 24/7.

Not my fault I didn’t know.

8

The traditional caviar comes from species of sturgeons, which aren’t kosher, as they lack scales (only fish which have both scales and fins are considered kosher).

However, there are apparently some caviar varieties that come from kosher species.

9

bows I’ll be here all week. Tip your wait-droid, and try the nerf!

10

@Beckdawrek

I don’t know where your Jewish reference is from. Romanov was the ruling family of Russia, and their religion is Russian Orthodox Christianity, which is of the Eastern Orthodoxy.

So I don’t see a need to worry about kosher.

Just learn to hold your vodka.

~VOW

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It must have dill in it to be Russian.

12

Because she was found alive but with amnesia.
She was a creature of her environment. If she remembered and said who she was they would have killed her.
And there were many temples.

See?
@VOW, suspend your disbelief. I swear I’m a royal Duchess. I feel it in my bones.
Curtsy to me when you see my Tiara on my head.

Oy!

13

I’ll hook you all up when the Romanovs are back in power.
Just think of the dopefest we will have.

Might be skiing. Rides on the yacht.
Giant feasts.
Shooting parties.

Fun fun fun will be had.

Vodka by the gallon. (And not those plastic handles of Vodka. It will be the good stuff)

14

So…today I’ve been moved down 2 floors.
It’s a step down but not all the way down.
They’ve put a excercise bike in here.
Wonder how long til I figure out how to hurt myself on that.

I must care for my hygiene and eating myself. And walk a bunch.

I can go to the ground floor to the day room and the courtyard.
(See if it ain’t a royal courtyard. I’ll stroll out and meander and make my royal judgements. For the good of my peoples. Cats following me with tails straight up.)

This is really, a BIG step.:grin:

I’m happy. No one will be drawn and quartered today.

Well, except that one guy. He’s gotta go.

15

Congratulations, Beck! You’ll be out of there, and back home, soon!

16

Yay!

Beck in the courtyard with cats!

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Pssst! noodles Romanoff might win them over.

18

Beck, do you need a tiara to wear during your cat-accompanied processionals? I bet you could get one of the Li’l Wrekkers to whip you up one made of duct tape. You can make nearly anything with that stuff.

19

Cats escorting you in the courtyard, with their tails up! You ARE royalty, indeed! And cats are royalty, too! (And they know it, the little shits!)

Keep mum about cats being worshiped in Ancient Egypt. They are snooty enough, already!

Congrats on your progress!

May I suggest you tape a sign on the exercise bike: Off to SONIC!

~VOW

20

This reminds me of the late comedian John Pinette, who was a man of a certain size. He had a routine where he talked about having a personal trainer, and going to the health club. He had a mantra he would chant while riding on the exercise bike, promising himself what he’d get when he finished: “Raviolis and a nap! Raviolis and a nap!”