Body Part Insults

A FB friend ML, wrote a post this week: Out of respect for the human body and its noble excretory system, I have lately challenged myself to stop using body parts as derogatory expressions, but the people near that new Lexington Starbucks had me thinking...well, maybe "armpit."

Does armpit really replace Butt Hole and it’s slightly less polite alternative? Would you be insulted or just confused if someone called you an armpit? It’s no fun to confuse a jerk – jerks must be insulted – otherwise traffic gets too boring.

As a service to ML and other respecters of the lower alimentary canal (go ahead, look it up – I had to,) I’m compiling this list of non-excretory self-evidently insulting body parts.

Pustular Cyst - always a welcome surprise on picture day

Gangrenous appendage - not just for zombie movies anymore

Unconditioned hairpiece - not exactly a body part, but Shatner's not exactly an actor

Enlarged funny-bone - only funny on someone else.

Pink eye - the reason I was afraid to study conjunctions...  What?  Nobody got that?

Ingrown toenail - I can't stand these

Wart hair - your body's little flag to make sure the wart gets noticed

Impacted wisdom tooth - because late adolescence doesn't have enough pain already

Shingle rash - these drive my lupy

Inflamed uvula - not a huge insult.  I just like the word, uvula.

Swollen taste bud - I just wanted to stick my tongue out at you

Varicose vein - I think I'll save this one for pregnant women

Enlarged blackhead - a classic

Over pierced nostril - a neoclassic

Cirrhotic liver - use only with transparent Butt Holes

And finally - braided nose hair - for the jerk whose creativity you respect.

Speaking of being a jerk - here's a kill-joy vid on another popular FB post.

TnT Excerpt Part E Slimy and the Law

There are sheriffs and there are sheriffs. Here’s one of my favorites:

Sheriff Quick was no Andy Taylor, but Andy rarely had blacksmiths blasted into hamburger helper in the Mayberry Diner. Slimy killed Mike Finn, and the loose coin that came of it made the regulars at the Rosa Linda sanguine (whatever that means) about the whole thing. But eventually the sheriff had to get involved.

This is the fifth and concluding post of my excerpt from chapter one of Trouble in Taos. If you want to read from the beginning, here is part-1 part-ii estevos-shotgun and part-4

Mike Finn was lying there dead. There were bits of him still hanging on the bar, and being such a large man, he was hard to step around and even harder to ignore. Mike didn’t have any family, so no one knew exactly what to do with him. Claybourne Petree, who you might remember was the undertaker and had the chair shot out from under him, searched the body to see if Finn had enough money on him to pay for a decent casket and hole. It turned out that Mike’s pockets were bulging with silver. No one knew that the smith was such a rich man.

Of course, some of that silver went for more whisky, which greatly relieved Estevo who had lost two shotguns and a nice chair in the business. The blacksmith’s inflated fees became the topic of conversation. Finn’s fortune was sufficient to supply a first class funeral, a good drunk for a rapidly crowded barroom, and even a couple silver dollars to compensate Flossy for her loss of business.

By the time Sheriff Quick (who was quick only in the sense that he wasn’t dead) arrived, Claybourne had Finn’s body at the mortuary. Estevo had cleaned up most of the blood and other body parts, and the universal opinion (with the exception of the doomed card-cheat Lefty Hagar) was that Slimy had done no great harm. After the sheriff downed a tumbler of real whisky, he agreed, told Slimy to be careful with those shotguns, and hauled Lefty off to the jailhouse.

I don’t know where W. G. C. R. Colmes got the bit about Slimy using a pearl-handled Colt to shoot Mike Finn. I’ve only seen Slimy handle a Colt once in my life, and that was to bludgeon a man who was unfortunate enough to stand between Slimy and someone he was shooting at. The poor bystander was gut shot, and so he was going to die anyway, but Slimy didn’t club him to put him out of his misery. The man was too absorbed in his wounds to pay proper attention to Slimy’s story about the dog his mother almost bought him just before the family was run out of Arkansas.

If you want more of Slimy’s adventures, you’ll have to download the book – well there is another excerpt at Go Figure Reads.

What is Creepy Part 3: Sweet Caroline

This the third post in a series that explores the question: what is creepy? If you want to see the first two posts, you can find them here and here2.

I have a Mormon friend whose favorite show is about zombies. Aren’t Mormons supposed to watch Leave it to Beaver? Apparently, zombies are not creepy. Vampires stopped being creepy thirty years ago. Body modifiers – those who reshape or amputate body parts as a form of expression, stopped being creepy twenty years ago (which I bet pisses some of them off. You cut off a finger and a nostril and people ignore it?)

Even terrorists are starting to become normalized. Sure, they kill people, but so does lightning. It’s just the chance you take with living.

Really?

So what is creepy?

How about Neil Diamond? They play Sweet Caroline during the 7^th inning stretch at Fenway Park, and everyone joins in with the chorus, because no one can remember the verses. It’s a good thing too. The verses are – well, you decide...

Hands, touchin' hands
Reachin' out, touchin' me touchin' you
Sweet Caroline…
But now I, look at the night
And it don't seem so lonely
We fill it up with only two…
Warm, touchin' warm
Reachin' out, touchin' me touchin' you
Sweet Caroline…

“So?” you say to me as if I can’t hear you across the cyber divide of blogdom, “he’s just a horny guy – the world is full of horny guys.”

And you’re right, but there’s a story behind the writing of Sweet Caroline – a story that didn’t come out until November of 2007.

"I've never discussed it with anybody before – intentionally. I thought maybe I would tell it to Caroline when I met her someday."

"It was a No 1 record and probably is the biggest, most important song of my career, and I have to thank her for the inspiration,"

Who was this Caroline that inspired such lust in Neil Diamond so many years ago? It was Caroline Kennedy – then eleven years old.

Asked how Caroline Kennedy responded when he revealed his obsession at her 50^th birthday celebration, Diamond replied:

"I'm happy to have gotten it off my chest and to have expressed it to Caroline. I thought she might be embarrassed, but she seemed to be struck by it and really, really happy."

She was “really, really happy?” She was happy that a thirty-year-old Neil Diamond fantasized about running his hands over her eleven-year-old body back in 1969, and made a song commemorating it?

Of course she was considering a run for the senate seat in NY at the time. So political considerations kept a woman from speaking out against pedophilia?

Politics – one thing that will always be creepy.

But why have that song at Fenway? Wouldn’t Yankee Stadium be a better fit?

Just Plain Stupid Year (3) in Review

I know, it’s February, not December. Putting together a year in review post seems out of place.

But not in a Just Plain Stupid world.

My first post for JPS was February 28^th 2013. There are now over 300 posts on this blog, and I, for one, am surprised. I never thought I had so much to say, even if most of it was useless dribble.

This Year’s Failures

The dribble has flowed slower this year, and so I began the immensely unpopular serialization of Dirk Destroyer’s Less Destructive Brother. S.B. and someone I don’t know from Russia faithfully read each post of Dirk, so it hobbles along. If you’re off your meds and wish to start reading this Donald Trump-less political satire set in a world inundated by sheep, here’s a link to the firstinstallment, and better yet, here’s a link to the firstinstallment that has anything to do with the story.

Several posts other than Dirk Destroyer have failed to attract attention this year; many because they didn’t deserve any, but a few I thought were worth reading. Tricycle Baskets Full of Evil falls in that latter category, along with Apply Yourself, and the not-yet-immortal story of Mortimer the Drop of Goo.

This Year’s Successes???

Picture posts – those stolen from FB, or taken from tee shirts or catalogs have always been among my more popular subjects, along with guest posts from other Go Figure Reads writers.

So I should just shut up and plagiarize?

Particularly surprising was the popularity of Will Wright’s rant about his bad cruise on Royal Caribbean, but less surprising was Walter Bego’s lionization of the art of Terry Gilliam.

Unfortunately for my more faithful readers, I remain incapable to taking a hint. I continue to write a few posts with a minimum of plagiarism, and some of them have done well (if sickening large numbers of people can be defined as doing well.)

Gloves vs. Mittens preyed on the public’s fascination with celebrity, and I exploited my brother’s secrets in the post, Horatio.

Clearly, many of my readers would prefer Horatio to be the Hauser that writes this blog.

The top post of this third year, Body Part Insults (written with assistance by Kim Webb,) was based on an ill-advised Facebook post of a Grammy award nominated FB friend who probably wishes now that A) she hadn’t posted her desire to not insult our noble excretory system when addressing jerks, and (especially) B) that she hadn’t clicked ‘accept’ to my friend request.

But even Body Parts can’t hold a candle to the most popular post of the life of this blog, Basketball, BWG, but no Little Debbie Twinkie, which I wrote very early on in the first year.

So much for showing progress.

I’d like to thank you each personally for reading my blog, but I don’t want to risk the ensuing storm of rotten vegetation (or worse.) As we limp into year Four there’s always the hope that somewhere along the line I’ll learn to write good stuff.

Or at least learn to shut up and plagiarize.

So for the video I looked up Best of 2015 on youtube and got this.  These are toys, right?

Chipmunk Rant

I don’t mean these guys.

I mean these guys.

So I’m sitting, isolated, in a dark room, and this chipmunk starts telling me about running into this human couple.

What? You wanna hear the story or what?

Here’s what the little guy told me.

Chipmunk - Just Bein’ Real

by an unnamed Chipmunk as told to Headley Hauser

He says:

“Check out the chipmunk. The dude cracks me up.”

So I say:

If you stopped stuffing your over-worked gob with whatever you’re eating, you might see that Chipmunks are not funny. We work hard, and face great risks. We spend every moment gathering food while dodging cats, owls, snakes, Oldsmobiles, and mockingbirds that don’t take kindly to us storing nuts near their nests.

You think mockingbirds aren’t all that scary? Try pissing off an eagle twice your weight. Is it any wonder we zip around as fast as we do? We’re not doing it for your amusement, buddy.

She says:

“Don’t laugh at him. I think he’s cute.”

So I say:

Yeah, we’re cute. It’s not like we try to be, but if cute means some 120 pound omnivore decides not to stick us on a metal pole and serve us as hors d’oeuvres, we’ll take cute. Cute is something top of the food chain worries about. Those of us who only make legumes tremble, worry about keeping four legs, a tail and a head. If I go to my nest with all the body parts I woke up with – that’s cute, glamorous, sweet, enchanting, funny, gnarly, or any other of the useless adjectives you omnivores use because you know there isn’t a 200 foot snake waiting to suck you down as you head into Wal-Mart to pick up travel-sized toiletries for your next trip to Disney World.

He says:

“I like the little dude’s racing stripes.”

So I say:

Racing stripes? You’re comparing my camouflage to ornamentation you put on your transportation so you can intentionally go too fast and end or cripple your leisurely and wasteful lives? Maybe you should put racing stripes on your toothbrush so you can crash it into the underside of your brain in order to return your overly-fed bio-chemicals to the earth. That would be useful. Maybe you could fertilize a tree.

Oh, I’m forgetting. You humans either incinerate your nutrients, or box them in hermetically sealed vaults lest you do anything for creatures other than yourselves.

She says:

“Don’t eat ‘em all – throw some to the little guy.”

So I go:

What’s this? sniff, sniff… Peanuts? How many are there? One, two, three. I really should learn to count higher than three. Uncountable peanuts! I’m rich! I’m rich!

Gee, I love humans.

Scary Food

Growing up in the 60s, Halloween was all about candy. You were thrilled if you got a full-sized candy bar (unless it was Almond Joy or Mounds,) and you prayed that nobody put a homemade caramel popcorn ball in your bag to mutate into a candy wrapper giganto monster by the time you got home.

But other than the giganto monster, and the rumors of hidden razor blades in the candy, Halloween food wasn’t really about scary.

Witches teeth? Maybe scary if you’re a dentist, or the tooth fairy, but to us kids – nothin’.

Things have changed in the last five decades.

Halloween is more of a holiday now, and less of a candy grab.  It's more about adults and less about children.  It's less about Three Musketeers bars and more about edible body parts.

It requires a lot of thought.

   But what is the cerebral without a little heart as well?

   Finger food isn't enough.

   You need put your whole arm into it.

   Can't you see?

   Modern Halloween food has to have some bite to it.  But don't worry...

   You'll be fine as long as you keep your head.

   All kinds of creepy food ideas are birthed at Halloween.

   Though some might not be appropriate for young children.

   Or house pets.

   Aquatic house pets.

   Exotic house pets...

   All kinds of house (ugh) pets.

   Don't let it gross you out.

   Neither hurl, nor howl.

   Festive medical assistance is standing by.

   To help you scab over those rough patches.

   And put you all back together, safe and warm.

   snug as a bug,

   In a rug.

   Some gross food traditions do go back to my generation