Just Some Stuff

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

I was going to name this thread "Son of The Really, Really Long Story’, but that thread is dead to me. I want nothing to do with it. Unless someone revives it. But it won’t be me. No sirree Bob. Not your Uncle Bob from “Bob’s your uncle” either. Just Bob.

I think people were getting scared off because it was two pages long. “Wow, that’s a lot of reading to get caught up” people were thinking. I don’t want to have people intimidated by my threads. I like to think I have friendly, come-as-you-are threads. So rather than resurect that one, I thought I’d just start a new one.

Another name I thought of was “Concision is the Key. Brevity is Our Watchword”. That would be a lie. I couldn’t even pretend I was being ironic. Just a big, stinking lie. I want you to think of me as honest. Yup, honesty above everything. Would I lie? “No!” you would respond instantly.

One more title could be “In the Midst of a Brain Dump”. That just sounded too icky. It would also take some explaining. This would be the dumping ground for all those threads you’ve been meaning to start but then think “Eh. It’s not really worth it.” The name was too icky, so I took a pass.

“The Hijack-Proof Thread” while accurate, would just be too much of a challange. Why risk it?

Anyway, to the thread…

Guess what I got. Go ahead guess. Nope, that’s not it. I got EMT scissors. About 6" long with a bend down near the cutting part. The “blades” if you will. “These would be great for my first-aid kit,” I thought. Good for cutting tape and bandages. A very important thing in a good first aid kit. Really I got them because they can cut through a penny. It said so right on the blister pack. They also had a picture of the scissors cutting through a penny, so you know it’s true. So now I have scissors that will cut a penny. I am so cool.

I also got pants. Not much to say about that. I got pants. They don’t even cut pennies.

Two more things, then I’m done. Done for now. I’ll be back. Not even penicillin keeps me away.

  1. It’s Velma, not Thelma. I can still eat her head, but it’s important to know exactly whose head you are eating.

and

  1. You can get these “juice pouches” at the store. I got the “Minute Maid All Natural Tropical Punch”. It has passion fruit in it. That’s an odd name for a foodstuff. “Passion Fruit”. Is it supposed to get you hot? If it is, it doesn’t work. At least for me. Anyway you get your “juice pouch”, it could be a “juice box” if you want, and one of these syringe dealies you get in the “Housewares” section of the store. Target has them in “Housewares” anyway. They are supposed to be for injecting broth into stuff you are cooking. Like subcutaneous basting. And rum. So you’ve got:
    [ul]
    [li]a “juice pouch” or “juice box”[/li][li]a basting syringe[/li][li]rum[/li][/ul]
    Are you with me so far? Can you see where this is going?

You take the straw and poke the “juice pouch” (“j.p.” from now on) and drink a little. It’s OK, “Minute Maid All Natural Tropical Punch” tastes pretty good. Then you take your syringe and load it up with rum. As much as you want. Blast it down into the “j.p.”, and mix it up a little. What you wind up with is a not-very-authentic Hurricane. “Why would you want this when you can make a decent drink with alot less work?” you ask. “Have you ever been to a 4-year-olds birthday party?” I answer. Also college is starting back soon, and you have to be sneaky if you’re underage. Not that I’m advocating underage drinking. That would be wrong. Wait till you’re 21 like everyone else. And no sex till you’re married, either.

I said there were two more things, but you didn’t believe that did you?

About the “All Natural” in “Minute Maid All Natural Tropical Punch”. Rat hair and beetle parts are all natural too. Don’t try to get me all excited with “All Natural”, OK? Don’t get me started on “Organic”.
-Rue.

2

Maybe they forgot the passion fruit in your batch? Or maybe you just got some defective passion fruit? In either case, it’s a lot easier to just get a glass of whatever juice they’re giving to the 4-year-olds and the sneak into the bathroom to pour some rum in it.

Not that I would do that.

By the way, I guessed EMT scissors right away.

3

It’s thundering here.

And since we turned on the computer this morning, there have been 84 attempts to breach our firewall. I love my Zone Alarm.

I put the flea stuff on my dogs today. I guess I should call it anti-flea stuff. For being a non-prescription, it’s doing a good job of keeping our beasties flea-and-tick free.

Did I mention we bought a 2001 lime green diesel New Beetle?? 5-speed. Black interior. 6-CD changer. It’s fun to drive, but the back seat can be painful - the only time I sat back there, I bumped my head.

I’m baking a chocolate cake now - the house is smelling yummy.

I’m also a bit worried because I feel I understand Rue. I’d be more worried if I was calling his name out at night or writing our names together in a heart on the inside of my notebook. But as it is, I just find myself drawn to his threads to add inane posts like this.

But I’m not stalking him.

Really, Rue! I wouldn’t do that. I respect you. I admire you. But I won’t lend you any money, so don’t ask… not that I would expect you to ask such a thing, but one can never be sure when it comes to psychos on line, you know?

Anyway, my cake is nearly done so I’m off to the kitchen.

It’s still thundering, too…

4

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Kat’s way is sooooo much better. But can you give it the whole Rue Treatment? No? I didn’t think so.

FairyChatMom my Fun Size Snickers Bar, I wouldn’t mind getting your peanuts stuck in my teeth. Well, that didn’t go the way I’d hoped. Anyway, I’m glad you like these little things I call my threads. Not fancy threads like a Disco Suit or bell bottoms, but servicable threads. In a variety of colors.

This is a short one. Like a stack of four pancakes. Only without the syrup. That would get sticky. Ooooo, and butter. Don’t forget the butter. Two sausage links, some toast and an egg, and it’s a whole breakfast. Breakfast, one of the three most important meals of the day.

An endearment for Kat, so she won’t feel all left out… my little Mouse Eater. Better luck next time.
-Rue.

5

I wish it would thunder here. I love thunderstorms. We are also having a drought and need some torrential downpours so the garden doesn’t die. Does anyone need any zuchinni? Even though it hasn’t rained in like a month we have them coming out of our ears. We only have 5 plants, but we have bushels and bushels of the stuff.
Putting straws in juice pouches reminds me of putting IV catheters into animal veins, the way you have to get it in just right and then the liquid comes squirting out, especially since I always drink the red ones like Cherry Craze Tang. Was that too graphic? Sorry about that. I am a future vet. My dog is dreaming right now. I hope she’s not having nightmares. I wonder what kind of nightmares dogs can have. Do their people leave them forever? Do cats take over the world? I think I forgot to feed my turtle tonight- I’d better go do that…

6

Ah beegirl13, my little pollenator of love, that was a very nice post. (Can you tell I’m doing this whole thread in the voice of Pepe LePew?) Welcome to the Boards, and more importantly, welcome to my thread. Make yourself at home. So, you’re doing the vet gig? Good for you. Maybe one day you’ll be a world famous vet.

Then you’ll have to scour the web to make sure your image isn’t being used without your permission. Or have your people do it. Like that girl whose name sounds like “Melissa Allano”. Ha! Let’s see her people find this now. Yup, Melissa “Naked Lesbian Vampire” Allano. Remember when she got all torqued about people posting naked pictures of her on the web? It was back when she was between jobs, and needed the attention. Did you see the naked pictures of Jean Smart? Actually the weren’t of Jean Smart. They took a head shot of her and spliced it onto other pictures of naked people. They were so funny. In a really sad and mean way. Poor Jean Smart.

Poor William Shakespear. The way they keep using and reusing his work, and he doesn’t see a penny of it. Romeo and Juliet has been made, what?, 116 times in the last three years? Poor Bill. And they are taking his lesser know works and monkeying with them too. Did you see FOX’s treatment of Titus Andronicus? A Shakespearian tragedy as a sitcom. I just don’t get it.

But life’s not all bad. Last night we played on the Slip and Slide. Don’t tell Wham-O though. Not Whammo the Doper, but Wham-O the corporate giant. Soupo’s only 4 and the Slip and Slide is for ages 5 to 12. He had a great time too. He’d just lay on the Slip and Slide, and I’d push him so he’d actually slide. It was great fun. Then we saw a mole in the yard. That was weird. Playing on the Slip and Slide, then there’s this mole. Not a really smart mole. (We wouldn’t name it “Jean”) It made a bee line for the Slip and Slide and actually hopped on. It didn’t like it so much. It hopped back off and we shooed it away. We didn’t want it to get stomped on.

This is really weird. It was a mole. The Little Woman has been cursing the moles all summer. We could have just stomped it and had one less mole. But the kids were there and we didn’t want them to see us (read: me… like the Little Woman would stomp a mole) stomping a mole. We’ll probably wind up setting a trap for it and getting it that way. Or one of the feral neighborhood cats will get it. Damned cats. So we saved it’s life to kill it later.

Actually, we probably won’t kill it. We’ll talk about getting traps and all, but we won’t. It’ll be the middle of winter and there will be 600 inches of snow on the ground and the Little Woman will say to me “You should have set mole traps last summer.” A mole in our yard is pretty much safe. As long as it stays out of the dog run. It would be a pretty dumb mole to stroll into the dog run. But it was a pretty dumb mole to try to play on the Slip and Slide. I guess moles aren’t one of Nature’s Deep Thinkers. Stupid moles.
-Rue.

7

But that’s just what they want you to think, ya know? Devilishly clever of them, I say. We had moles in our yard in Virginia - the dogs managed to dispatch 2 or 3 of them. Well, they didn’t exactly dispatch them - I found one mouldering on the porch entangled in dog bedding. It was disgusting. I’m pretty sure we had a mole pass thru our front yard here in FL, but the doggies are confined to the back yard and the house, so they didn’t have a chance to dispatch this one, if it was in fact one.

I’ve been called a lot of things, but never Fun Size. I like it. Despite my constant insistence that size isn’t important, except maybe in shoes, because few things can make you more miserable that ill-fitting shoes - still, in the grand scheme of things, size doesn’t matter. But if it did, I’d rather be Fun Size than Tedious Size or Boring Size or Take-it-or-Leave-it size. There are few things worse than being taken or left, not that I’ve ever been left. I’m always right - and I’m not necessarily talking politics here. In fact, I’m not talking politics at all - I avoid politics.

So, anyway, Rue, my cherished Snooky-Doodle, I have burned in my mind’s eye a portrait of you in Disco threads with bell bottoms. Granted, it’s rather an incomplete portrait, as I have no idea what you look like or ever what color your hair might be - assuming you have hair, which I do, because you write like a man with a full head of hair, not that it matters either way - but in my mind’s eye, in place of your face is a pixellated representation like they use on TV when they want to obscure the victim, or the suspect, of the honorable gentleman… and I’m almost certain you are honorable, for you spared the life of the mole.

And as you journey that grand Slip and Slide that is your life, never forget that while 2 wrongs don’t make a right, three rights make a left, and I’m not talking politics here either. Hugs to you and an uncontrollable auntie-like cheek-tweaking for the adorable Soupo. Ain’t he just a chip off the ol’ block??

8

Rue

Were there any pennies in the pants?
Zebra

9

Working backwards… (Yeah, big trick, with all of two posts to choose from)…

Zebra my enigmatic stripéd blossom, I am caught in the Ice Wolf Conundrum. Not the Ice Wolf Conundrum, because this isn’t about Ice Wolf, but about the conundrum. Not that I wouldn’t like to be about Ice Wolf, but she’s several continents away. If I ever make it to her neck of the woods, oh yeah, I’ll be around Ice Wolf, you know it. The Ice Wolf Conundrum, getting back to that, is whether or not you’re a girl. I guess I really should know by now, with your nigh 800 posts and all. I know I’ve seen you around the Board, but I can’t for the life of me remember if you gave off the “boy vibe” or the “chick quiver”. I assumed you are a girl, so you got your endearment. I’m basing this on

  1. You were interested in my pants. Guys are not interested in pants. Not even our own. If you were to ask a guy “Quick! What color are your pants!” and they couldn’t look down, 7 out of 10 will reply with a variation of “Paraguay”.
    and
  2. You have a “bra” in your name.

Sherlock Holmes I ain’t, but I’m sticking with my assumption.

Oh, by the way, no. No pennies. Like I said, they are just pants. Drawstring pants, but that’s all they really have going for them. Bay-bee.

FairyChatMom, my bubbling fountain of femininity, funny you should mention my pixilated face. For a while there I did have my face pixilated. When it was cool. When you’d go down to the mall and see all the kids with their faces pixilated. But then fashions change and you have to change your fashion. Unless you have a stunning black dress. A stunning black dress never goes out of style. So now, I have my “regular” face. And my hair. I still have almost all of my hair. The hair on the top of my head actually grows on the top of my head. Not on the sides and then gets coaxed up to the top. It’s a rather nondescript brown. Which is a stupid thing to say. Descibing some thing as “nondescript” is stupid. Just like describing something as “indescribable”.

“I’m going to tell you about something by saying there is nothing I can say about it.” Sheesh, how dumb. But there you go.

I’ve been compared to Tom Seleck often. Mostly in the sense of “Rue? Yeah, ya know what Tom Seleck looks like? Rue looks nothing like that.” Which isn’t true. Tom has two eyes with a nose centered under it above his mouth, all set on his face with hair on top. That would be what I look like too. Only not as tall. I guess I look more like Steven King, only not so hunky. Steven King with a dose of Fred Flintstone. That’s me. If you see someone who looks like Steven King with a dose of Fred Flintstone, say “Hi Rue.” If he says “Hi” back, that would be me.

And wattaya mean “size isn’t important”? If you weren’t FairyChatMom sized, how could you contain all the wonderfulness that is FairyChatMom? Actually, some of your wonderfulness seems to be slipping out. Go get a muffin.
-Rue.

10

Thanks for the welcome, Rue :slight_smile:

11

Hey, FCM, you should try Montana. We don’t have fleas here. At all. Us and North Dakota (which is probably the only endorsement of the place; just ask Tripler), alone among the 50 states. So we use this tick goop that you squeeze onto your dog’s shoulders and tail every month during the summer. Lyme disease really sucks. I once knew a woman who was originally from Old Lyme, CT. She claimed (and I still don’t really believe her) that the disease was called that because they discovered the cure (or vaccine or something) there, not because the disease (jeez, I’m having a hard time spelling that word this evening) first manifested itself there. I imagine that it’s something of a PR problem, being from Old Lyme; it’s like, “Hi! I’m from the diseased-tick capital of the world!” And then people would sort of edge away from you, all the while surreptitiously inspecting you for ticks. Speaking of ticks, did you know that tick-mating is really, really disgusting? Apparently, the term “penetration” is especially apt here. Through the female tick’s back. Ick.

So, having thoroughly grossed everyone out…
MWAAAA! Love youse guys!

12

Hi Rue
[sub]Hi Puddin[/sub]

It worked! I’ve never seen a real-life mole. Or a real-life tick. I would like to see both, possibly combined in some hideous mole/tick hybrid. It would have to be real-life though. I don’t want one of those fake ones - that would just depress me. Can’t get they get real ones? Could you make one in your lab, just for me?

Rue, you seem to have a special talent for eeking out lurkers and newbies. This is a valuable service. You should charge. Literally charge. You might frighten them but it would would be a valuable life lesson.

Beegirl [sub]welcome to to boards[/sub] is frightening to me. I summon jr8 with his teeny tiny clippers. Do you your work, beeshaving boy.

13

Bad news one and all, I’ve got a cold. One of those stupid Summer colds. This sucks. Soupo gave it to me. He was done with it and didn’t want it anymore. So he gave it to me. And Katcha. Poor Katcha. Or as he’s been known lately, “Johnny No-Pants”. Not to be confused with Astroboy’s “business partner” Tommy Two Ties. Since it’s been so stinking hot (that is a real meteorological term too. Stinking hot. It comes right between Mannitz hot and Dear-God-I’ve-died-and-gone-to-Hell hot.) Katcha’s been plagued with diaper rash. So he doesn’t wear pants over his diaper, unless we’re going out.

Puddin’, my little English lime, my petite confection, (you get two endearments because the first one was dirivative and I just like you. It also might soften the blow for what’s coming) I can’t meld is moleness with the tick-ocity. Sometimes a man cannot play God. But I did play God once. In a High School play. Or “an” High School play. It depends on your style book. Mine says use “a” before High School because you can hear the “H”. Like in hippopotamus. “A” hippopotamus. But “an” hour.

I was a good God. Very dignified in my Burmuda shorts and tweed blazer. Yea verily, I smote mine enemies and all, but what’s the point of being God if you can’t smite an enemy now and again. And they stayed smitten I tell you.

I was smitten once. Jan Smithers from WKRP in Cincinnati. Oh yeah, Bailey Quarters. Way hot in the “Mary Ann” way. Then she married Mr. Babs Strisand for a while. Before he married Babs of course. Not that that has anything to do with ticks. Or moles. If Babs had a mole, I’m sure she’d have it removed.

I prefer to think of it as “winkling” out lurkers and newbies. “Eeking” sounds like they scare me. “There’s a newbie! Eek!” See? Not very manly. And that’s the persona I’m trying to cultivate. Manly. Manly man, that’s me.

I did charge once. I was turned back by a volley. I’m not sure what that means, but it’s the length of your posts that is important. Not the actual content. Isn’t it?

Since LindyHopper is talking about tick sex, I’m going with “boy” on this one. Tick sex just doesn’t sound like a feminine topic. Even though at least half the ticks involved are girls. One would hope. From the tick’s point of view. From my point of view, I’d hope more ticks were homosexual. All the joy of relationships and sex and all, without the threat of baby ticks. It makes me wish I still had my God blazer. But I don’t so there you go.

No endearment for you, LindyHopper. But you do get a manly punch in the arm, and a “Good man, you old so and so. Harumph, harumph.”

Beegirl my apian delight, think nothing of it. We are all great chums here. That would be the “friend” take on “chum”. Not the “shark bait” one. Unless I see 12 more Beegirls around here in the near future, I’m just going with “Beegirl”, just so you know. Unless you’re 13. Then, what are you doing here? There can be some salty language around these parts. Protect yourself. I’ve heard talk of [sub]tick sex[/sub], and I wouldn’t want to be accused of leading an impressionable lass astray.

Here’s a test to see if you are impressionable. Take your finger, hopefully it’s clean, and push it into your leg. Go ahead, I’ll wait. Everybody can join in if they want. If your finger makes a dent in your leg, you are impressionable. If not, go eat a muffin.
-Rue.

14

Soupo is off at Grandma DeDay’s. He’s going to spend the night, so he’s gone for a while. Sickly little Katcha is napping. The dogs are napping. I’m going to have a muffin.

What makes the best catchphrase?

  1. God save the Queen.
    b) Have a muffin.
    or
    III. SPOOFE is a boob.

(NOTE: To use the catchphrase “SPOOFE is a boob.” you have to be a signatory to the SPOOFE Is Not Really A Boob Treaty. If this catchphrase ever makes SPOOFE cry, it will be declared off limits forever.)

15

There’s something I’d like to clear up. And some things I’d like to clear up, but the cream seems to be working, so we’ll just skip right along. And there are 13 post right now. Not that I’m superstitious. But some people might be. Like how elevators go from floor 12 to floor 14.

Anyway, what I wanted to clear up: when I say “Have a muffin.” I’m not talking about having Muffin. Unless she’s amenable. Then it’s up to you. And her of course. If she is a “she”. Once again I show my calousness towards other Dopers. I’m not sure if Muffin is a girl or not, but let’s face it, "Muffin is a pretty girly screen name. “Croisant” could go either way, but "Muffin is a pretty girly screen name.
-Rue.

16

Oh certainly - on your recommendation I shall venture to the frozen climes of Montana. Right after I finish poking this pointy stick into my eye. Nothing personal, Lindy, but ain’t no way I’m moving that far north. The way I look at it, the doggies will go to their respective rewards long before I will, and we’ll burn everything we own and start again completely flea free. Anything to avoid moving to Montana. However, should you find yourself in the Sunshine State, don’t forget your sunscreen.

You didn’t seriously think I was going to invite you to visit me, did you? How would that look right here in front of Rue and everybody? One must maintain a certain amount of propriety… I have a reputation, after all.

I vote for “b)” - why thank you, I will have a muffin. I hesitate to mention this, but I once referred to my hubby as a “Stud-Muffin” when speaking to his secretary. I fear that was a tad indiscrete - especially when she gave him phone messages from his “little Muffette”. That was thoroughly unprofessional. He fired her. No he didn’t - he was just a peon without hire-and-fire power. He ran over her in the parking lot. Again I jest - she’d have kicked his patootie if he’d tried that. Notice how I said “patootie” instead of “ass” - I’m one classy dame, ya know?!?

Today is the first day of school - my Perfect Child[sup]TM[/sup] is beginning her sophomore year. She’s taking pre-calculus, and I’m straining my brain trying to remember what the heck was included in Calc. I graduated in the 70s fercryin’outloud! How can I help her with her homework if I can’t remember. Algebra was easy. Geometry was doable. And then there’s Calc. Not to be confused with Maude. Subtle transition, eh?

And I don’t think SPOOFE is a boob. I hate that word - especially when referring to womanly attributes. But I digress.

Oh, lest I forget, I had my summer cold last month - shared it with my young 'un, hubby, and inlaws. We’re all better now - sorry that the germs descended upon all o’DeDay clan. However, you will survive. Have a muffin.

17

Oh, whine, whine, whine. “It’s too cold there! There are too many wackos! I’m scared of bears! My arm hurts! I just swallowed a bug!” Jeez, you people are never satisfied. It’s enough to drive a man to drink (oh, wait–I already did that).

Ooh, Florida (that is the Sunshine State, right?)! Hmm…no thanks anyway (not that you were offering ;)). Montana is Montana, and Florida is Florida, and never the twain shall meet (or something like that); it’s way too hot down there. Also, too many hurricanes and tropical insects, as Dave Barry says, “the size of mature hamsters”. The insects, I mean; hurricanes the size of hamsters would actually be pretty cool. You could put them in your bathtub and let them fight each other, with little to no danger of structural damage.

Anyhoo, Rue, I believe Muffin is actually a guy. Just an impression I’ve picked up reading his posts. Could be wrong, of course, but hey, since when does that stop me? You were right about me though, so I’ll accept the manly punch on the arm. Not too manly, though; I’ve already got a bruise there from the climbing wall on Saturday (20 feet up after two beers! Woohoo!).

18

“Rue! Wake up! The World is in peril! Only you can save it. Come to Headquarters right away.”

How would you like to wake up to that? “Great googly-mooglies Rue! Tell us it’s not true!” you cry. I’m touched that you worry so much about me. Relax, it’s just one of my stories. Probably. Pay attention, it could be allegorical. Well, it could be, but don’t bet on it. Heeeyyyyy… are you upset because of the danger or is it just the terror of the fate of the World in my hands? I’ll assume it’s my safety you are worried about.

So I get to Headquarters, and you know what they say, “You can’t tell a book by it’s cover.” Well you can’t tell the Headquarters of the Secret Organization that is the Last Hope of all that is Good and Decent in this World by the office building that squats atop it, either. I go to the bank of elevators in the main lobby. Not the auxilary lobby, that’s where the gift shop is. And a newsstand and lunch counter. The main lobby. Between the second to last elevator and the last one there’s a potted plant. A plant in a pot, not one that’s been on a bender. When there’s no one around, I kick the Secret Cigarette Butt and the plant moves out of the way, and a secret door opens. Don’t go in there. Aligator tank. Not good. Behind me a door marked “Maintenance” opens and Sexy Vixen #1 beckons me through. “Oh Rue” she husks, all Sexy Vixens husk, just so you know. Whenever a Sexy Vixen is speaking, in truth she’s husking. “I’m so glad you got here.” Sexy Vixens are also always glad to see me. Just like in real life. Only moreso.

She leads me through the labrynth to the Secret Office of the Head Secret Guy. And his secretary. The Secret Secretary. Sexy Vixen #2 gives me a Coke as I walk through the door. Chilled glass, crushed ice, lime wedge on the lip of the glass. They know what I like. I face the Secret Secretary, and say "My little Calamari, " drawing out the “mar” and rolling the “r”, she likes that. “Is the Boss in?” I don’t know his real name. I call him “Boss” or “Chief” or “Big Kahoona”. He might not even have a name. This organization is that secret.

“Oh Rue,” she trills. She’s not a Sexy Vixen, so she doesn’t have to husk. She can if she wants to, but she doesn’t. She trills. "You know when you talk like that, I get all sexually excited. I’m trying to maintain my professional decorum. "

“You know it Doll Face.” I have no idea what she knows, but it looks like I’m taking an interest. That’s all some dames want. For you to look like you’re taking an interest. She waves me into the Boss’s office.

“Rue, you have to save the World.” That’s the Boss. Not one to beat around the bush. Straight to the meat of the matter. Speaking of meat, Sexy Vixen #3 brought me my cheeseburger while I was in the outer office. The Secret Secretary doesn’t let just anyone eat out there, but for me she makes an exception. A cheeseburger with both sharp cheddar and Montery Jack cheeses. Lettuce and spicy mustard. And a grilled pineapple ring. Hawaiian style. They know what I like.

“But Rue,” you cry again. “You just got up. Your having that, now? For breakfast?” No, I stopped at Denny’s on the way over. I didn’t tell you about it because it would interrupt the flow of the narrative. See how the flow is all interupted? A Grand Slam Breakfast, only they were out of sausage. I like sausage when I have to save the World, but they were out. I had bacon instead. It was pretty good (how can you mess up bacon?), but it wasn’t sausage. Denny’s was breakfast. This is lunch. OK?

“Evil Doctor Meanie-Butt is going to destroy the World. He has this rediculously complex machine to alter the World’s weather. It’s controlled by this little piece of metal. It’s exactly the size of a penny. A good U.S. penny. Not one of those Canadian things. Nope, no metric pennies here. A real penny. We have a secret tool for you to cut this exactly-the-size-of-a-penny rediculously complex machine controlling piece of metal. I’ll have J show you what it is.”

J is our secret weapons and tool guy. His real name is “Jay”, but he watched these movies where their secret weapons and tool guy was called by a single letter, and he thought that was cool. He’s had everyone call him “J” ever since. Sometimes people mistakenly call him"Jay", but they are quietly corrected.

“This is your secret tool” said J. It was EMT scissors, but you saw that coming.

They (“they” being the Secret Organization Transportation Dept.) take me to the island lair of Evil Doctor Meanie-Butt. Isn’t it sad when kids get their names hyphenated? The divorce of Chet and Blanche Meanie wasn’t traumatic enough for the little nipper, but when Blanche remarried Horace Butt, and little Trevor got the horrible hyphenation, no wonder he turned to World Domination. As a doctor no less. Not just some run-of-the-mill evil genius, but a professional. There was a submarine invovled and several Sexy Vixens. You know how it goes.

I make my way to the control room in a clever disguise. “Pizza man!” I call from the control room door. They let me in. Lucky for us Secret Agent Guys, Bad Guys are gullible. And stupid. I walk in and whip off my disguise. It was a hat. I took my hat off and that transformed me from “Pizza Guy” to “Secret Agent Guy”. I know how Superman feels. Bad Guys are sooo stupid.

“Rue DeDay!” Evil Doctor Meanie-Butt gasped. Yeah, I’m a super-duper Secret Agent, working for a super-duper Secret Organization that nobody knows about, but all the Bad Guys know me on sight. “Get him, boys!”

“Yes Doctor Meanie-Butt, it is I… what? “Get him”? What the…” and a whole squad of bad guys jumped out from behind the oversized computer installations around the room AND SHOT ME. Shot me dead. Evil Doctor Meanie-Butt took over the World, and you’ve all lived under his thumb ever since.

I’ll bet you didn’t see that coming.

19

Today I have the attention span of a gnat. I blame it on the decongestant. Yeah, it’s the drugs.

With my mind zipping and zinging around, I can’t just settle down with my book, like I should, and get better. (Soupo is still at Grandma’s and Katcha is napping.) So, here I post.

Who reads this stuff. Someone does. The post count keeps going up. I picture Dopers sitting at their desks (mostly at work) and trying to duck out of doing anything. “Hmmm…” Nameless Doper thinks to themself. If they thought out loud, people would catch on. And think you’re nuts. Don’t think out loud.

“Hmmm…” Nameless Doper thinks. “I could work on this spreadsheet (for example, maybe you don’t use spredsheets where you work) or surf the web. The web it is! Tra-la-la, surfing the web. Quick! To The Straight Dope. OK, now i’m caught up on all the World’s knowledge, to the Message Board. I wonder what that skamp (in the good way) Jester is up to. I hope he’s back from his vacation. Tra-la-la.”

Then Nameless Doper checks all their other favorite posters. Then they are stuck. “Surf some more? That spreadsheet isn’t doing itself. They’ve been cracking down on visits to porn sites, so I have to stay out of those. Let’s see what Rue is up to. I’ve looked at everything else, and the story of Piotr the Homicidal Monkey was pretty good.” And here you are.

I also wonder about people’s reactions to these posts. For some other posters, you’ll be rolling around on the floor, clutching at your stomach, tears running down your face, gasping for breath. Because you’re laughing so hard. Not because you’ve just had a cardiac moment. I hope people at least let their head drift back while a satisfied, yet not hysterical “Ah, haa…” escapes their lips. That’s my hope anyway. “Eh, not that bad.” would be good too.

I’ve also been thinking of emoticons, or “smileys”. They kind you have to type yourself, not the ones built into vBulletin.

:slight_smile: is your basic smile
:frowning: frowny face
:open_mouth: surprise
X^[==@@@ vomiting
@>–>---- a rose

You know, smilies.

There should be more.

= I}> could be “I’m throwing you my panties”
= I-- could be “I’m throwing you my thong”

Well, it could be. If it does catch on, you saw it here first. Unless you saw it somewhere else first. Then, you saw it here too.

If you fed a hummingbird speed, would its wings catch fire?
-Rue.

20

Rue - just a note to say that your posts make me laugh more than anyone else’s ever have done. Katcha and Soupo got one helluva dad.

=|}>

Fran