and realize there can be humor even at the very end. A friend send me an e-mail with tombstone pictures. Yes I know, I need new friends. But this one was….with respect to everyone dwelling in such bone-polishing places… rather funny.
“Here lies my Wife / in Earthy Mold / Who when she Died / and naught but Scold / Good Friends go softly / in your walking / Lest she should Wake / and Rise up Talking”
Ladies, let this be a warning to you. Instruct someone else, besides your hubby, to take care of your gravestone before you move on!
There are some really good epitaphs out there and here are my favorite three (that I know of):
1. Mel Blanc: “That’s all folks!”
A great voice actor, Mel Blanc’s characters included Bugs Bunny, Porky Pig, Yosemite Sam and Sylvester the Cat. He died of heart disease and emphysema in 1989 and his epitaph might be one of his best-known lines.
2. Spike Milligan: “Dúirt mé leat go raibh mé breoite.”
A Gaelic epitaph belonging to an Irish comedian. It translates as “I told you I was ill.” Milligan died of liver failure in 2002. He was famous for his sense of humor which can easily be seen in films such as Monty Python’s Life of Brian.
3. Joan Hackett: “Go away — I’m asleep.”
An actress in teh 1960s and 70s (The Twilight Zone and Bonanza), died in 1983 of ovarian cancer at age 49.
Joan Hackett’s epitaph quoted a sign
hung on her dressing room door.
and one that gave me a laughter belly ache:
John Yeast: “Here lies Johnny Yeast. Pardon me for not rising.”
I can’t find anything about him or his death, not even his profession … but how funny would it be if he would have been a baker?
Don’t forget to play with the Un-dead over at homor-blogs!
No, it’s not an interview with Liza Minelli.
I am back in Iceland and totally forgot it was Wednesday yesterday and as such my time to post something. Not to worry, I know the Google button like the back of my hand…whoops, where did this scar come from?
Since it seems to be the popular thing this year to defy any resolution making, I resolved to make a list of 20.
But why leave it at that? Here for your convenience is the top 12 list of what our beloved pets might try to aspire to (had they a concept of time and silly notions!)
The Top 12 New Year’s Resolutions Made by Pets*
12. Have a torrid one-night stand with a street mutt.
11. Try to understand that the cat is from Venus and I am from Mars.
10. I will no longer be beholden to the sound of the can opener.
9. Circulate petition that Leg Humping be a juried competition in major dog shows.
8. Call PETA and tell them what that surgical mask-wearing freak does to us when no one is around.
7. Take time from busy schedule to stop and smell the behinds.
6. Hamster: Don’t let them figure out I’m just a rat on ‘roids, or they’ll flush my ass.
5. Always scoot before licking.
4. Grow opposable thumb; break into pantry; decide for MYSELF how much food is *too* much.
3. Get out of the castle more, maybe swim counter-clockwise this year.
2. January 1st: Kill the sock! Must kill the sock! January 2nd – December 31: Re-live victory over the sock.
1. I will NOT chase the damned stick unless I see it LEAVE HIS HAND.
See, resolutions are alright, they only need to be realistic. For all those furry playmates out there I would just like to tell you this: Computer and TV screens do not exist to backlight your lovely tail and remember the bathtub is not a convenient place to store live mice for late-night snacks!
13. Paws (heh) for a moment to read Humor-dogs.com.
University lectures officially finished today…and I am embracing three weeks of final exams and pencil chewing ahead of me. But before I dive into my books without a life boat or compas for safe return, I thought it was only right I got a little seasonal. No, it’s not that time of month…I mean that time of year.
I love the Christmas season and it starts for me when I feel the smell of oranges and clementines. Yesterday Mom went shopping and brought home a basket full of oranges and so Christmas season started this year on a Monday, around tea time.
The reason I love this smell so much goes all the way back to East Germany. No, it was not a country known for its unlimited growth of various citrus fruits. I am not sure what we were known for, if anything…maybe communism and a passion for unfortunate haircuts.
East Germany was rather poor, from hindsight of course. As a kid I didn’t think I lacked anything, simply because I did not have a frame of reference to anything else but the neighbours kids, who wore the same kind of boots and Auntie Agnes did cut their hair too.
Christmas was special even back then. I always knew the Season approached when an envelop with a fancy stamp arrived. In that rather unassuming envelope was a white sheet of paper; on it was a date, some other numbers and little tickets, usually green. The date mentioned when a special delivery would arrive to our local store and the green tickets (special Christmas food stamps) showed how much had been alotted to our particular family that year.
Christmas was all about that day. The entire village would get ready early in the morning and stand in line of the still closed store. Konsum, we used to call it. The doors opened and people moved along; nobody skipping in line, we are German after all. When our family got to the front, my Mom used to give our green stamps to the lady at the counter. She would turn around and I’d see the world’s most beautiful thing: the pile of oranges. So many of them and the lady would count the appropriate amount into my Mom’s bag. I always counted feverishly with her, hoping she’d make a mistake in our favor. Never happened and to this day I can still count all the way up to 5 without much effort.
Usually there was one orange per person. The centerpiece of the Christmas table. I used to roll mine over my arms because I loved how they felt and smelled. And when I finally had eaten mine, I put the rind on top of the massive stone-oven and a smell would fill the air of the room that today has come to mean that the Season is upon me! That, and the darn Coca Cola song of wanting to buy the world a coat…
So what triggers your senses, what is an absolute must for you to feel Christmassy or just how much of a Grinch are you? Anything goes…share!
Filed under: Teh Penguin
“Who in the rainbow can draw the line where the violet tint ends and the orange tint begins?…So with sanity and insanity.” Herman Melville, Billy Budd
“Margret Mary Ray believed with all her heart that late-night talk-show host David Lettermn was in love with her. Caught up in this delusion, she stalked Letterman day and night for a decade, writing him letters and repeatedly breaking into his house. She camped out on his tennis court and once stole his car. The tabloids treated her delusions as a running joke. Finally, she gave up. She wrote to her mother, “I’m all traveled out,” and put herself in front of a coal train. She was killed instantly.”
You don’t have to be a psychologist to know that something was seriously wrong with her. Why am I telling you this? Well, of late our family has been devided by an issue that keeps evolving and growing more passionate as we go on.
We are talking about drug addicts. Seriously lying, manipulating and stealing shells of a person we once knew as an active member of our family. We got such a ghost in our family and the tendency to deal with that ghost reach from full fledged support, to simple ignoring all the way to utter rejection.
I think our different approaches lie in the fact that some of us think that “being an addict” is a life style choice. That there once was a decission made to engage in it and upon enjoying the rush, it became the very thing life should circle around. Children, family and job became the second or second to last place in one’s list of importance, following after self-indulgence.
Others in our family think that “being an addict” involves genetic pre-disposition. The fact that trying it once (which I did and which left me rather un-impressed) can seriously be the start for some on a road they are unable to return from. Once caught in the vicious circle, they become unable to control it, it takes them over and therefore we should treat them as patients. Sick people, mentally ill.
Nothing has been proven and I usually let these things slide by me, but the other day I thought somebody kicked a little too close and I went beserk. Putting drug addicts and cancer patients in the same field, I was lost for words until an argument ensured that involved actively smoking, causing lung cancer or such likes. Where is the difference between that and a drug addict? Both are aware of the consequences of their actions, both can have fatal results…yet society treats one case more normal and are ready to assist with every means possible, where the other is deemed a loser.
At the moment my head is spinning in many directions. Concerning the ghost in our family, I think that there comes a point in time (in this case 14 years) when the mircocosm should stop revolving around them. How long are you supposed to give, understand and set yourself up for guaranteed dissapointment? We only got one life, it is precious…I refuse to waste it on people who bring nothing to my life and leave in their wake anger, hurt and a torn family.
~ Penguin out!
What is your gut feeling in reaction to this…where should we draw the line between the two tints of a color in the rainbow? Share in the comment section!
You have to excuse me this week, I am preparing for 5 mind-boggling finals and all I need is to laugh and forget for a second that I got a few brain cells. Nothing tickles a European as much as the
silliness quirkiness that Americans can display. Mind you, we have enough of our own, but it is way easier to point at others.
• Bear wrestling matches are prohibited.
I can understand that, why use animals, when you have enough visually equal humans to fill that role.
• Even though it is legal to hunt a bear, it is illegal to wake a bear and take a picture for photo opportunities.
That makes sense, guess they lost a lot of people that way!
• Flirtation between the members of the opposite sex on the streets of Little Rock may result in a 30-day jail term.
I can make my peace with that! I’d feel differently if BIG Rock was concerned.
Hollywood: It is illegal to drive more than two thousand sheep down Hollywood Boulevard at one time.
On account of there already being enough mewling buffoons located within the vicinity.
• Crippe Creek: It is illegal to bring your horse or pack mule above the ground floor of any building.
Does this include the bell boy?
• In order for a pickle to officially be considered a pickle, it must bounce.
That is so boink-ist. What if it is too depressed to bounce?
In all fairness, I have not contacted the local authorities to check these bits of trivia, but I think the world is a more colorful place with them in it. If you have a few silly rules that you know off, share them with us!
The only rule at Homor-Blogs is that there are no rules (and to worship Diesel of course!)
Filed under: Teh Penguin
Once upon a time, there was a little flightless waterfowl who had a hobby. Like most hobbies, hers had teeth and tentacles and soon it grew a deadline on its snout. The little flightless waterfowl was most afraid of the deadline. Every Wednesday it came back, gnashing it’s teeth, touching her flippers with its tentacles and snarling from its deadline, so she fed it but every week it got hungrier and hungrier and the poor little penguin got more and more frightend, but she was scared of the deadline, so yet again she just started to type…
and began to wonder where the terminology for “deadline” came from. Apparently, it began as a real line, drawn in the dirt or marked by a fence or rail and used to restrict prisoners in war camps. The well-known warning “If you cross this line, you’re dead!” greeting each new arrival. Eventually guards and prisoners soon were calling it by its own bluntly descriptive name, the dead line. What could be more emphatic than “dead line” to designate a limit?
It appears that many a writer has faced this problem. Hemingway once wrote a story in just six words “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” and is said to have called it his best work.
If only I could put my multitude of chaotic thoughts into a coherent sentence and be done with it. Shortest sentence in the bible? “Jesus wept!” That pretty much sums it up for me right now.
William Randolph Hearst, always in search of sensational stories, once sent a telegram to a leading astronomer: “Is there life on Mars?” it read. “Please cable 1000 words.”
The astronomer’s reply? “Nobody knows” – repeated 500 times.
Which doesn’t help me much, since I don’t know any astronomers to cable imaginative questions to. But as in any hair-pulling situation it helps to remind yourself that misery does love company. And this is where you’ll join me….
I thought it would be fun if we all tried to just type one sentence that kind of tells a story. And yes, for those ambitious of you…it can have a sub-clause or two. I’ll go first!
As he silently closed the motel door, he reminded himself just in time to re-introduce his finger to his flighty wedding band.
And let’s not forget, we all have a deadline eventually…tall dude, kinda skinny, wears black a lot …YES!
Let’s fasten our sheet belt, ‘cause it will be a dark and stormy night. Halloween is here.
Well … more there than here, we don’t have pumpkins you know!
And I can’t help being worried for you. All the young children actively engage in dayscare and your teenage daughter turns into a witch and all of a sudden takes spelling very serious.
I feel it is my duty to warn you and give you some survival tips:
1. Do not search the basement, especially if the power has just gone out. This tip is also useful to all secondary characters in any horror movie.
2. Stay away from certain geographical locations, some of which are listed here:
Nilbog (you’re in trouble if you recognize this one),
the Bermuda Triangle
Any small town in Maine.
3.Extending a friendly hand to something suspiciously smelling of recombinant DNA technology, is never wise.
4. Never read a book of demon summoning aloud, even as a joke. Ask Faust! Oh you can’t, he’s dead!
Just remember, you have taken Halloween too far when all the skeletons in your closet have names.
There is a flicker of light in all of this though:
If a skeleton chases you down the road, just cross it. It can’t follow you…it doesn’t have the guts, you know!
Happy Halloween, everybody!
~ Penguin out!