Contrapunto!

I hum bad, and I sing worse. But tell you what, I'll bang on some pots and pans real loud, so you hear it. Sent you birthday greets via telepathy, hope you received them.

As to the big four-oh, I have no comments on that at all. I do remember it vaguely, but it didn't leave a dent. So if life does begin then, I must have missed the ferry. Will catch you on the warp soon, I must vanish for awhile...have a frabjous day!!!

Crusty is bread, all else is relative

Oh byte me! Did you just announce a jee-had?!? A holey war!!! So
be it! I have my sword at the ready, that I may run upon it when the hour is upon me. Or I am upon the hour, whichever comes first. Honour, as they say, is all…and it is holey as heck!

Meanwhile, I should like to try and steer this exchange down quasi-literary, rather than quasi-literal, paths; holey seemed a brilliant place to start.

Which brings me straight to sword-running, a phenomenon that has held a dreadfully ghoulishsqueamishfascination for me since my schooldays, now so far in the past that even laser vision couldn’t bring them into sharp focus. Even so, I have never forgotten my inspired lit. teacher, who forced us to memorize our texts. All of them. As a result, I can still quote vast tracts of Macbeth and Julius Caesar, delivered with all five eyes closed, standing on my head. How useful!!! Here’s a small but relevant sample:

“Thou art a fellow of a good respect;
Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it.
Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face,
While I do run upon it.”

Neat, huh?

The Romans, it seems, would run upon their swords at the drop of a chapeau, including good old et tu Brute. Strato, his favoured minion, was ordered to hold it (the SWORD, the SWORD!), so Brutus could “run upon it,” impaling himself on the tip and presumably sliding down along the blade, guts spilling and an angry crimson flood spreading at his feet…not a pretty death, but…honourable.

The Samurais of Japan have a similar fascination for abdominal reconfiguration, except they prefer not to ask for favours and would rather plunge their swords deep into their guts themselves, with both hands and a great deal of forceful grunting.

There are other equally fascinating sword tales, but I’ll save them for another time. Funny though, not too many of stories of scabbards around, considering swords would lose their sharps without those.

If I did have a sword, I’d use it to slice bread with. You know, those wonderful crusty loaves that mercilessly dull even the sharpest bread knife. Which brings me to the title. All else, as they say, is relative. And they’re right; my aunt is at the door.

PS: Re. "granual" kitty litter, add another 'n' and you have a winner! You produce it, I’ll road-test it for you. Re. the Salivation Army, joining is entirely voluntary and non-coercive, as you well know. I don't do tambourines, those were castanets. I do not scream, crust (ewww gro$$!) or foam at the mouth, contrary to popular belief. Calcified blether regions are flavourofthemonth, please getwiththeprogram. Re. WWConvention, I take it I am not invited, boohoo. Re. fishnets, mine self destruct when anybody else touches them. KA-BOOM!!!

Oh, kinky!!!

Ahaaa! Finally managed to retrieve the old fishnets, eh? Wondered how long it would take you to exhume them...and by the way, I must confess I neglected to launder after I last used them, what, 2 years ago? before stuffing them behind the third cushion on the living room couch. Didn't realise that was your couch, though.

So be warned, you don’t want to handle them without sterile gloves, and if you do plan to toss them in the wash, careful, they’d probably disintegrate anyway, so I’d say incineration would seem the only safe option for disposal.

The leotard, however, is a whole other story. I don’t do pink, and purple satin hearts are just SO not me. I suggest you seek the owner elsewhere.

I see from your bloGG you are still fixated on talents. Since I see them for the ancient form of currency they are, I’d suggest you bite into them to check if they’re really gold. If, as you say, your eye has a hidden talent, I must warn you that my talent has...yup...a hidden eye. It tells me you are still smarting from my last spellcheck reference; I suppose I should assure you there shall be no more such forthcoming but am unable to do so at this time.

Re. the minting of zlotys in the UK, I am hardly surprised. The Brits were always getting up to all sorts of nefariousimperialist boffintricks. Remind me to regale you with the Indian Chapter sometime. We are not amused. And while we’re on the subject, I suggest you guys return the Kohinoor as well, it’s high time, and the Elgin Marbles to Greece, or we shall all take off our clothes and parade nekkid up and down Downing Street.

Re. kitty litter, the "granual" (from your post) manual says it is illegal to use the stuff for any other purpose than the one it is intended for. Now I don’t know about you, but I like to keep things strictly legal.

I must be off now, so do remember to dispose of the fishnets in a satisfactorily sanitary fashion. Wouldn’t want you catching something catching.

The leotard, however, is yours to abuse as you choose to.

Hogwash&Chikkinfeathers

Ah, the unkindest cut of all!!! I bleed, I bleed! Begone, you vile creature, to have brought up ONE lousy spello and made such a song and dance about it! The temerity! Harrumph. I am sorely tempted to auction you on ebay to the lowest bidder, and throw in a month's supply of cat litter as additional enticement. On the other hand, the headhunters of Borneo, an unfriendly neighbouring island, might be willing to pay big money...

Unlike your uncharitable self, I shall desist from running all your bloGGzz bass ackwards through a spellcheck and posting the results in a public forum such as this. We shall not stoop to conquer, but rather, retain our dignity and maintain our decorum. Hufflepuffle and schoofledoofle to you too.

As to talent, did you know this was an ancient unit of weight (or money)? Are you saying then, your fingers are heavy? Scale-y? Rich? What? Further, are you trying to imply that I am over-utilizing my severely limited cerebral matter, and should stop contemplating altogether? What would you suggest I take up as an idle pastime instead? Soap carving? Wood whittling? Scarf knitting? Spit-bubble blowing?

Re. your honey fetish, allow me to recommend Greek honey...with yogurt. It is a particular favourite breakfast food in Crete, and if you're lucky, it comes with a hunk on the side. And no, I don't know which side. And frankly if I were you, I'd stay away from the chicken feathers. Kinky stuff, won't do you much good and ditto the wally. Besides, what if the kids found out.

I must leave you for the nonce, need to see a man about a dog. Re. Folgers, my lawyer will call your lawyer. Re. torturing the world, you are at liberty, though I doubt we're averaging more than one hit every leap year. Which is an amazingly good average for a bloGGsite, I'm told.

While we're on the subject, I do have a rather useful, barely-used, illustrated torture manual, and I'm looking to sell it. It'll cost you about 50 million. Not cheap, but worth every zloty. You may send the money to my Swiss bank account, WMD 11011000110 poste haste.

Before you go, please answer one last question for our audience: What are your views on the Polish zloty? And when you're done with that, we'd like your opinion on waffles with maple syrup vs. ice cream.

BalderDash&FiddleStix!

To my co-BloGGerator:

For once, I have decided to do a straight bloGG, instead of a deviant one.(I must zig before I can zag?!?). Therefore, you will see no mention of ahem razors, pruning or bushes in here today. If this cranks up your desperation index, see George W. about your problem. I believe he has an oil-based cure that you can get while vacationing in an undisclosed destination that rhymes with WMD. Or was supposed to anyway.

If all else fails, you can always resort to whateveritisyounormally doforit.

You will also be pleased to know I am recommending you for a spell-check implant and prophylactic dyslexiotomy. Both procedures are, I believe, quite painless and once done, recuperation’s a cinch as they have perfected a technique that puts YOU in charge. It has to do with rubber bands, wrists and a subversive form of Pavlovian conditioning. (For details, contact the author.)

As to DuckTape, well quackquack, I say!!! I see your memory serves me better than my own does, which is just as well because suddenly it all comes back at me in a veritable flood of quirkisms, gooferations and looperosities that I thought I’d lost FOREVER because (oh, shoot me!!!) I never wrote down a SINGLE one, an old failing from 3 lifetimes ago which, as you can see, I am paying for bigtime now, in karma points, discount coupons and prolific bloGGerosity. Though the last is stretching a bit thin at the seams lately.

So apart from jolting my memory alive, which caused me to go into repeated seizures the last some days, I must also thank you for reviving the moribund Trolls&GoblinsInc., for rearranging my award-winning collection of socks, and for putting me off razors for the next 49,000 lifetimes.

This, as you well know, is my 4th bloGGsite in as many months, and for that you shall be instantly tossed into a pickling vat with last year’s turnips. Unless you prefer tarred&featheredandfedtothe masses. You get to choose; we are being generous today.

If I vapourize for awhile, it’s because life is happening briefly, but I shall be back anon. Meanwhile, keep the goblins gainfully occupied, and remember to feed them ALL your Folger’s coffee bags. I repeat: ALL!!!

Whaaa?!?

Look, I know it isn't me because I've been bloGGing since May and this has NEVER happened before...until we started this bloGG. Evidently we've managed, in a span of 3 short days, to utterly scramble the BloGGprogram so it's begun posting our posts at random. And NO, don't even THINK about looping that back to me and randombloGGzz.

So I've given up trying to follow the thread, or pretending to be logical or even remotely rational, because the program is going to put this post in after your second post and my fifth. Or my seventh and your fourth. Or wotevah. Not that we'd make much more sense even if we were arranged serially, but it's just a more organizized, left-brained way of doing things and since we only have that one last grey cell between us, we really ought to save it for emergencies, don'tyouthink?!

As I said, this hasn't happened on the other 3 bloGGz, so I am absolutely certain it has to do with your magnetic field, or hormone levels, or hairy armpits. Or all five. No, wait! I get it!!! Didn't all this scramblicalnonsense start AFTER the troll posts??? YES, it DID!!! So you see, you've brought the goblins out again.

Let's just hope nobody ever stumbles in here even by mistake, and so what if the program insists on playing silly buggers with us, we're still ahead of the game because in any case, we make about as much sense as a scrambled yegg. You silly oeuff!!!

I did have a little story to tell you, but eludes me at this time. However, if you even TRY and contaminate the other bloGGz, I shall set the father of all hairytrolls on you. And bulls. And Morris Dancers. And high heels. And..and...and...gah! Now go get your aura cleansed and your magnetic field re-oriented. Or else!!!

myhairytroll's bigger than yourhairytroll?!?

While I do subscribe to the theory of the GrandMasterPlan, I believe that the devil really IS in the details, and details are small, tetchy little things. Enter hairy trolls. I seem to remember where you got yours from; he was a second cousin thrice removed from mine. There were sheep involved, and a large Scotsman in a kilt, as I'm sure you'd recall. His trolls, however, are evidently intact, and fully functional. I hear the baby's due in November.

Also, goblins and trolls, hirsute or otherwise, belong in the garden along with your potted nasturtiums, and NOT in the bathroom. No wonder nobody will admit to whose hairisonthetiles; they're all out by the peony bush at the Annual Trolls&Goblins Convention.

Which brings me to the subject of armpit hair and flies in the soup. And while we're at it, ear wax and flatulence. Exactly; there is absolutely no connection between them whatsoever. But go on, admit it, I had you wondering for a moment there.

Meanwhile, I am gormenghasted at the fact that you're spending your afternoons watching men with pompom socks and ribbons in their hair cavorting around a maypole. I understand you have a penchant for odd things (wine gums?? GREEN wine gums?!? gah!!) and etcetera, but seriously, sometimes I worry about you. Anyone who drinks coffee that comes in teabags needs worrying about. I shall Fedex you my favourite straitjacket, you know, the one with the 35 zips and toggles and the spider-print with webs across the back? Something tells me you may have a greater need for it than I do right now.

Before I exeunt, let me interject: marmite is an insult to the entire food chain, and it ought to be banished forever, forced into some dark dungeon to yeast in peace. And so should vegemite. So there.

you've been paragraphed!!!

Verily, I am pleased to see you have finally managed to wrap your wee head around the paragraphitis! You are now a bonafide bloGGeroon, and as to picking at blisters...ewwwww!!! This is a family bloGG and I would request that you keep it clean. Zits, blisters and other malodorous bodily erruptions will not be entertained.

Flipflops, however, are an astute strategic move. Very tropical, very trendy. But your sockophobia defeats me. I must admit, I am a bit of a sockaddictus myself. They are useful for all sorts of things. I once used them to lower eggs into a thermal pool, they came out perfectly boiled. And the socks, too. Mostly, though, I use them to gag people with.

As to ratty, well, the way I see it is this: how can one possibly make anyone more ratty than they already are? Or did you mean as in "Rat", Rattier", "Rattiest"? A rhetorical question, of course. Still, bears thinking about, eh? (Rodentttt!!!)

Re. your terminal question, if you ask me (which you did), I personally think it's all a matter of velocity. As long as you're moving, it's immaterial whether you're coming or going. This is a situation we are on first name terms with, and I love flying, so there's your answer. Hrrmm? I thot so, too.

I shall now leave you to your interminable perigrinations about the head-count in the Folger's box; I will likely not have a great deal to contribute, as we have had this discussion several times and you WILL insist on picking at it like a blisteriferous scab.

(Yes, I know I used your favourite word, I assure you it was entirely inadvertent.)

(HAHAHA!)

I await your blistering response. Just be warned, though, that I have 36 pairs of assorted soxatmydisposal.

About "PutASockInIt"...

Re.verbal diahorrea, I beg to differ. There is, too, an old wive's cure for it, and I believe it's extremely efficacious to boot. It's the sock-in-mouth cure, and the older and smellier the sock, the better it works. Not pretty, I agree, but effective.

As to the English language being quirky, m'dear, even a week-old marmite sammich has more quirk per centimetre. Not to mention runny marmalade. However, I digress.

As you have so graciously suggested that I may be properly salted and peppered as far as bloGGz go, I shall let that bit about the bulls go. Or perhaps not.

Re. the bulls, then. It depends on what sort you meant. Istanbulls? Picasso's bulls? El Toro types from Pamplona? With a gored and bloodied matador impaled on a sharpened horn?

They say it's true, bulls DON'T see red. And since you asked...it's a fact that they only see black, white and grey. It's the movement of the matador's cape that gets them.

No, I'm not done yet; you asked the question, now listen to the answer. Why bulls don't see red: the colour-sensitive cells on the retina at the back of the eye are called cones. Cones have a higher stimulus threshold, which really means they like being tickled and also need more light stimulation than the black-grey-white-sensitive cells called rods. Fancy that.

You admitted to seeing red. Therefore we may safely surmise that your cones are in perfect tick and you are not a bull. I am relieved; this makes it amply clear that you're not likely to come charging out of your corner, snorting and pawing at the ground with your hooves, and burying your horns in my gut. Ole!

Next time, let's just talk bullshit.

Aaargh, Runaway Blogger on the loose!!!

OMG. That didn't take long, did it?!? I'm starting to see this was a BAD idea. A dimbulb idea. You haven't been on here 3 hours yet and you're already into an advanced case of OCD. And it's all my fault. I have created a monster.

About the new shoes: here's a neat trick I learnt. Get someone to break them in for you. Only trouble with that is you're not likely to get them back till they're past retirement age and ready for Shoe Heaven. But hey, it's worth a shot!

Ah, and blisters. Unfortunately bloGGz don't give you those, they only give you an even WORSE case of acute verbiage disorder, and so far there is no cure for it. I believe it can be quite ghastly, with symptoms that include severe cramps in the third metacarpal of the right hand, and rubberjoint syndrome, which apparently causes your elbows to start flicking out the other way. Flappidexterous?

Apropos of which, let me just say here that it seems to me you're starting to like the the look of your own serifs. Just mind you don't trip over them :-)

Then again, if you DID trip over them you may want to consider going barefoot henceforth, no more shoes. Which means you could skip blithely through life without ever having another blister again. Think about it...

Stultiloquent?!!

I have some strange friends. This one, for instance. She can talk. And she knows her affliction by name. Even gave me some useful little words to describe it:

Stultiloquent: to babble idiotically
Pleniloquent: full of talk, to talkalot

I wasn't sure if those were autobiographical, but I'm using them here anyway. I'm hoping this is how it will work: she sees this post, sees red, and attacks the blogsite instantly, posting a horrific excess of verbosity, while I quietly melt away into the shadows, missionAccomplished. My EVIL or what?!? Muahahaha!