Bits and Pieces. Mostly Pieces

Allspice is not as useful as it sounds. You can’t just buy a big tin of allspice then pick out whatever spices you need at the time. I think that’s one misleadingly named seasoning.

Jimmy Sturr won the Grammy this year for Best Polka Album for his fine work *Top of the World.*I’ll bet his mom is so proud.

Can you imagine? Somewhere right now (maybe) there is someone uttering a sentence never before put to breath: “Ladies and gentlemen, the Grammy-winning Polka artist, Jimmy Sturr!”

And people will be excited about it.

After the Titanicsank, they built another ship and they called her Betty Lou. The top was painted black and the bottom painted blue. They christened her with beer and she sank right off the pier. It was great when the sad ship went down.

Once upon a time there was a Little Red Hen. She was out one day, doing what chickens do: scratching at the ground, looking for bugs and seeds to eat, hoping for the occasional juicey tick, when she found a bag of grain.

“Yowie zowie!” she cried. She’s a talking chicken, you should be proud of her for saying anything. “Lookit this big ol’ bag of grain! I’ll plant it and grown wheat and then harvest the wheat and then mill the wheat into flour and then make some dough and then bake some bread and then eat the bread! Yeah! What a great idea I have!”

So the Little Red Hen gathered up all her friends, the dog, the cat, the goat, the duck and the cow. (They all have names too, but like “Little Red Hen”, the names are all like “Medium Brown Dog” and “Big Black Cow” so I’m not going to list them all since they don’t show up again in the story. Of heck, I’m halfway there. “Stripy Orange Cat”, “Small Grey Goat” and “Oscar”.) The Little Red Hen asked her friends “Who’ll help me plant the grain?”
“Not I,” said the dog.
“Not I,” said the cat.
“Not I,” said the goat.
“Not I,” said the duck.
“Moo,” said the cow.

“OK,” asked the Little Red Hen, “who’ll help me weed the crop and harvest it?”
“I have an appointment with the hairdresser,” said the dog.
“Would that be a Tuesday? I have class on Tuesdays,” said the cat.
“I would, but I have this back problem,” said the goat.
“What now? I didn’t quite catch that,” said the duck.
“Moo,” said the cow, not really getting into the spirit of things.

“Mill the grain?” asked the Little Red Hen.
“Uh… no,” said the dog, cat, goat and duck together.
“Moo,” said the cow. They were starting to get the idea that that cow wasn’t an anthropomorphic cow after all. Just a regular old everyday cow. It was sad really.

“How about make bread? Can I get any help making the bread?” asked the Little Red Hen, pretty much knowing the answer she’d get.
“You know, I’d like to,” said the dog, “but honestly, I can’t. I have all that barking they expect of me, and I’m just booked.”
“Mice!” cried the cat. “I’ve got a whole barn-load of mice to catch. Sorry, can’t.”
The duck and goat just shrugged their shoulders (which was a good trick really) and shook their heads.
The cow didn’t say anything and just looked sheepish. The rest of them avoided eye contact.

“So… who’ll help me eat the bread?” asked the Little Red Hen.
“Oh yes! We will!” cried the dog, cat, goat and duck.
“Moo-ooo!” said the cow, forgetting herself.
“Oh you think so, do you?” scowled the Little Red Hen. “Well think again! Bastards!” And she stalked off to the coop. She plopped herself down in front of daytime TV and started to eat the bag of grain. She was so lost in her misery, she ate the whole bag. Man, did she get fat.

The next day, the farmer came into the chicken coop and saw the Fat Red Hen and decided she would make a good dinner. So he chopped off her head, and plucked off her feathers, and cut out her giblets and cooked her in the oven and ate her with biscuits and mashed potatoes. There was some left over so he had a chicken sandwich for lunch the next day.

Right now I have a brand new toilet seat. Never been used. It’s like I’m the King of the World!

I hate it when people block the way. Like you’re walking down the sidewalk and there’s some clueless… person just standing there, counting their change right in the middle of the path. Or two people blocking the way, just chatting amongst themselves, oblivious to anyone else. Don’t even get me started on people standing in doorways. It just cheeses me right off.

Of course, I’m much more tolerant of this behavior in myself.

I’ve been eating a bunch of Altoids lately. The cinnamon ones. They are really good. Only they come in these metal containers. (I almost called them “metal tins” but that would be redundant, so I didn’t.) The problem with the tins is that they look useful, but really they aren’t. I keep stamps in one of them, and the rest just sit in a drawer. I should throw them out, but dang it! They do look useful. Maybe I’ll find a use for them sometime. Like make a little fort out of them for a mouse.

Did I miss you last week? This is like brand-new vintage Rue.

ooooooo - send me some of those clever metal containers! No, really - I think they’re so cool! But I don’t like them enough to buy the mints, since I don’t like mints.

Missed you last week, Rue - I was afraid you’d been snowed under or somthing! :eek: But the return of Uncle Rue Story Guy makes up for it! <happy dance>


A genyoowine Unca’ Rue story. Plus some other bonus stuff.

All is right with the world again.

HA! For better part of the last four weeks, I have been staying in a weekly mansion in Tokyo, which is no-where nearly as good as the name would suggest. HOWEVER… it does have a Power Toilet. It is heated. It has two different kinds of warm water jets. It has a big dial, with something in Kanji at one extreme, and something else at the other end. (Unfortunately, I haven’t yet learned what those characters mean, so I haven’t dared to actually twist the dial and find out what it does – I mean, what if it’s an ejecter seat or something?!? That would be a pretty rude, uh, end to what should otherwise just be a trip to the Library.)

So, perhaps it’s like I am the Emperor of the World, with this high-tech. toilet (except for most of the other people in Japan).

[sub]I think Rue’s writing style must be contagious, or something. Everyone seems to write just like him in his threads. Hmmm…[/sub]

Right now I have a brand new toilet seat. Never been used. It’s like I’m the King of the World!

I hate to burst you bubble but I saw a documentary once on the toilet seat factory and “Big Al” Porkenburger tests each one out personally before it ever gets wrapped and sent to the store. The theory is that if the seat can survive a dump by the master then no one else ever stands a chance of breaking it either.

This is just th’ kind of craziness I need to read in these strange pre-dawn hours. Thank you, Rue. :slight_smile:

With you, Rue, Parts is parts is not a bad thing.

I truly marvel at your ability to make the ordinary interesting.

Watch that Altoid consumption, Rue. A girl I knew used to eat those while she was trying to quit smoking. I don’t know how many she ate in a day, or if she just didn’t brush her teeth or something, but she was a mess. In the year between her dental visits, she got 22 cavities from replacing cigarettes with Altoids. :eek:

They spent a month giving her fillings. Eeew! Ick!

Would you tell us another story, Unca’ Rue?


You tell the best stories.

May I have a chicken sandwich too?

Only you would know whether you missed me last week or not, Shibb. But since you have to ask, yes you did miss me. Not like you were pining away or anything, but you did miss me last week. Very much.

I think the biggest reason you missed me was the total lack of the regular Monday Morning Post. As Snickers alluded to (and by “alluded to” I mean “said”) I was “snowed under or something”. The snowed under part wasn’t so bad since I’d just been grocery shopping and had plenty of bread, milk and toilet paper. (The craft projects never ended!) It was the “or something” that got rather wearing. The boys were snowed in with me. Gah! And at least one was sick too. Nothing bad so don’t worry.

And Snickers, watch your mailbox for those tins. Not real hard though since I don’t know when I’ll get them out. And there’s always the chance I’ll find a mouse that needs a little fort.

You know, if I responded to previous posts the way I do with their own posts (With quotes! I love quotes!) instead of ganging them up like this, I’d have cracked 2K a long time ago. I’d have a handy-esque postcount. But it’s not about your postcount. It’s not a competition.

Unless I have more posts than you. Then you’re a big loser! Ha! (No, I didn’t mean that. You’re not a loser. You’re just not as good as me. Double ha!)

Only half the world is right Ex. The other half is left. I’m not sure where the center is (the Meridian if you will), but I’m sure it’s to the left of me. I’ll be nice and say it’s to the left of you too. That’s just the kind of guy I am.

So you’re afraid to experiment with your toilet, huh Cerowyn. Ya big baby. (Yeah, you and Jester. Two big babies.) Where would this country be if everyone was afraid to try new things? Well, we’d still all have regular toilets here (since I’m talking about this country and not Japan) pretty much like it is now. So I guess there wouldn’t be too big a change. Oh yeah, and dry shirts. You start playing with a toilet that has two different kinds of warm water jets (Does one have bubbles? I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, warm bubbley water “down there”. It does make me feel all funny just thinking about it. The same kind of funny I felt climbing the rope in gym calss.) and you flirt with a damp shirt. Unless you do your experimenting in the seated position.

Given the new information Shagnasty gave me, I feel I should edit my statement to “Never been used by a mere amateur.” I almostfeel I should edit my statement. I really feel like saying “Shut up Shag.” Yeah that’s the way I think I’m going to go with this.

Shut up Shag.

If this humble offering made your pre-dawn a little brighter Icey, then my life has meaning. I do it all for you bay-bee!

I worry about your definition of “interesting” lieu. But it’s always nice to hear from you. Hi lieu!

Check Skerri. I completely get the moral to your story. “Never give up smoking.” That shouldn’t be too hard all things considered. It’s nice to know you’re looking out for me and my teeth.

Of course I don’t suck on my Altoids. (Is that they way you’re supposed to eat them? Suck them down to nothing?) I chomp them up. It gives you a nice burst of cinnamon flavor that way. That has to be better for your teeth. The chomping rather than the sucking. Unless it’s Atomic Fireballs. Don’t chomp on those bad boys. Sucking’s the way to go there. Definitely.

Geez Ex! How many stories do I have to tell? Just go to sleep and quit bothering me!

Oh wait, you’re not my actual kid. OK. What story do you want to hear? (And you can only have a chicken sandwich if you promise to brush your teeth before you go to bed. Just for Skerri’s peace of mind if nothing else.)

Oh yeah, and if you ask for an old story, I’ll be quite cross. So you better do your research before you go asking.

2 Things:

Thing Number 1: Is it possible the cow really was anthropomorphic, and she was just being all coy and sneaky by not saying anything but “moo”; that she was attempting to lull the other livestock into a false sense of security, in preparation for her coup d’etat? I put it to you that the cow was not only anthropomorphic, but she was also a violent and accomplished guerilla fighter, and was planning to take over the farm and make all its occupants her slaves. The Little Red Hen should thank her lucky stars that her life ended before the era of pain and devastation that was the Big Black Cow’s reign of terror.

Thing Number 2: You seem not to have realized it yet, Rue, but Altoids are yucky. No, really, they are. I mean, yuck! Chalky weird little hurty-stingy candy. Where’s the fun in that? It makes me squinch up my face just to think about them… Well, actually, I should shut the hell up, since I’ve only ever had the minty ones, and you were talking about the cinnamon ones, anyhow. I’m sorry.
That’s about it for now. Thank you for your time. We love you, Uncle Rue!

Instead of a fort, I think you should fashion the tins into little mouse armor and then dress up your mice like camelot. Maybe you can get some guinea pigs for them to ride, then have jousting tournaments. And don’t get me started about hamsters.

As for missing you, yeah, that was it. I would have been snowed in but both the kids and the missus had snow days from school (first for us this year), so I went to work to get away from them.

Also, the very last page article in the March Esquire is titled “The Dog Groomer”, so it made me think of you. Not that I had my pants around my ankles or anything. Unless I read that in the bathroom. Which is possible. But the article isn’t so much about dog grooming as it is about sentence construction. In a strange sort of way. Which also made me think of you. But later, once my hands were washed and my pants were back up.

The cow would take over in a MOO d’etat.

Sorry it took me so long to get back to this Unca’ Rue, but I have a reaaly good excuse, honest.

For some reason people around here occasionally want me to do this really annoying stuff called “work.” I try to keep it to a minimum, because it interferes with some really important goofing off, but they can be very insistent and I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings. There’s this one guy who’s really bad about it. He seems to think he’s the boss of me or something.

Anyway, do you know any stories about monkeys? I really like monkeys, especially the talking kind. Monkeys are funny.

It doesn’t have to be a whole monkey either. Maybe just a dessicated paw or something.

That reminds me of a story. You didn’t do your research. Uncle Rue is going to be cross with yooooooouuuuuuuuu. Piotr is my favourite monkey.

I like altoid tins too. I have them hoarded in my desk at work. But only the mint ones. You can’t get fancy cinammon flavoured ones here.

Uncle Rue, will you please tell a story that has a cup of tea in it?

My wife wouldn’t believe me when I said there was a spice called “allspice.” She thought it was a blend, like Mrs. dash or something. I had to show her in the store; incidentally she got excited over the vanilla beans.

You said the cow looked sheepish.

So what was it?

A cow?



Now, where was I?

BTW, the little metal Altoid™ containers are perfect for severed fingers and maybe pigeon feet.