Tell your mother, your brother, your sister and yo' pig...
Just a warning...it is offensive in a few places...
I found this on a blog a few days ago and couldn't remember where, so I went and found it on youtube.
I'm talking about the SNL commercial last Saturday night, a pharmaceutical ad that promises women a period only once a year, but when that period comes, "hold on to your f***ing hat!" Then ensued a montage of shrieking harpies mutilating and/or brutally murdering people.
Right now everything is irritating me.
So, please, I ask of you, PLEASE, do not embed your music or videos so that they start playing EVERYTIME I open my Neighborhood page.
I understand that your particular favorite song or video has touched you, you want us to know about it, you want us to be touched by it in a similar manner.
It is the equivalent of parking your car in front of your house, turning up the hip-hop with the bass knob all the way, and leaving it there all night long.
So, by all means, post your videos, your inspiring songs, whatever, but PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEEEEEEEASE...do not set it on auto-play.
I beg of you.
Um...when did they start putting those links to other people's Vox blogs on my sidebar?
And how do I get them off of it?
Who in Hell decided that was a good idea?
What if I post a recipe for delicious Devil's food cake and a link to Satan Worshiping 101 shows up on my sidebar?
I understand Vox is all about "networking" and expanding your neighborhoods....
but really, it's like I can't be gone for a couple of weeks without Vox planting crap on my site.
I mean, even the wholly unresponsive Disney Movie Club sends you notices that, unless you stop them, they're going to send you crappy movies.
Did I miss the post from Team Vox that said, "We're going to link your blog to people you do not know, but here is how you stop us from doing it."
to use on the imbeciles in my to-and-from work traffic these days.
St. Louis is going through a trying time right now, with Highway 40 (that's I-64 to you in them there convoys) being shut down between Ballas Road and the Innerbelt (that's I-170 to you people with maps). The highway portion under construction is about five freaking miles long, and all the traffic that previously used that stretch to go east-west has to zig-zag north and south and double-back, with drivers learning how to negotiate the grid like rats in a maze with cheese in the middle.
I credit many of my co-commuters who have turned a potential gridlock disaster into a mere inconvenience and applaud the many companies in St. Louis that have allowed their employees to use flexibility in their hours.
But you bastards who still have not learned how to merge or maintain a safe distance or stead speed, or delay every car behind you because -- like the village idiots you are -- you are dazzled by the flashing red and blue lights of the police car on the shoulder, you must die.
Conventional weapons of death -- mass-destructive or otherwise -- will not do, as I have to pay attention to my own driving.
Thus the death ray.
You, the fathead who cruises along in the slow lane, but when I try to enter the flow of traffic from the on-ramp, speeds up to let me know you are not letting me ahead of you. What is the matter with you? If you wanted to go faster than I, why are you not in one of the faster lanes? If you are exiting, then what's the harm in letting me in front of you, you wanker?
You must die.
You, the arrogant shit with the black Charger and the tinted windows, flying by in the freezing rain as if your oh-so-cool-CHARGER has magic tires that don't touch the ice.
Zap! You are dead.
You, the boil on humanity's bum, who just HAS to get over into the fast lane in front of me, but then refuse to keep up with the traffic in front of you.
You. Must. Die.
You, the simpleton who has never quite grasped the value in glancing over your shoulder before you swerve over into another lane. You're not Lot's wife, and they put blinkers on cars for a reason.
Death ray safety off.
I'd like to outfit the lot of you slack-jawed remnants of vertical evolution with the blinders they make for horses so you don't gawk at every little movement along the way, blissfully unaware that you are causing the bottleneck about which you were bitching five minutes ago.
You tailgaters...
The death ray is too good for you.
When I am done with my cleansing of St. Louis, you may rent my death ray for a nominal fee. Or maybe I'll sell it on Craig's List.
This website has definitions and examples of malapropisms, mondegreens, oronyms and homophones, words and phrases that can confuse and can be created by confusion. It also has the classic fairy tale, Litttle Red Riding Hood, translated into Ladle Rat Rotten Hut, consisting of only homophones (words that sound like other words).
Another website, Anquish Lanquish, specializes in homophonic tales and songs by H. L. Chace, including the aforementioned Ladle Rat Rotten Hut.
Here's the background on the tale straight from fun-with-words, and then the tale itself. Remember, it's better if you read it outloud and with a (really strong) southern accent because that's the accent he had in mind when he wrote it. It would contain different words if he wrote it using a Northeastern accent or a Midwestern accent, so don't all you Southerners get your undies in an uproar. (I mean, goodness, I still pronounce mostaccioli wrong, like every other St. Louisan.)
An Oronym Story – Ladle Rat Rotten Hut
...It is the tale of Little Red Riding Hood... but not the famous version; this one is constructed entirely from homophones: Ladle Rat Rotten Hut. This curious version was written in 1940 by a professor of French named H. L. Chace. He wanted to show his students that intonation is an integral part of the meaning of language. Try reading it out loud (best in the accent of Southern/Central USA)!
Wants pawn term, dare worsted ladle gull hoe lift wetter murder inner ladle cordage, honor itch offer lodge, dock, florist. Disk ladle gull orphan worry putty ladle rat cluck wetter ladle rat hut, an fur disk raisin pimple colder Ladle Rat Rotten Hut.
Wan moaning, Ladle Rat Rotten Hut's murder colder inset, "Ladle Rat Rotten Hut, heresy ladle basking winsome burden barter an shirker cockles. Tick disk ladle basking tutor cordage offer groinmurder hoe lifts honor udder site offer florist. Shaker lake! Dun stopper laundry wrote! Dun stopper peck floors! Dun daily-doily inner florist, an yonder nor sorghum-stenches, dun stopper torque wet strainers!"
"Hoe-cake, murder," resplendent Ladle Rat Rotten Hut, an tickle ladle basking an stuttered oft. Honor wrote tutor cordage offer groin-murder, Ladle Rat Rotten Hut mitten anomalous woof. "Wail, wail, wail!" set disk wicket woof, "Evanescent Ladle Rat Rotten Hut! Wares are putty ladle gull goring wizard ladle basking?"
"Armor goring tumor groin-murder's," reprisal ladle gull. "Grammar's seeking bet. Armor ticking arson burden barter an shirker cockles."
"O hoe! Heifer gnats woke," setter wicket woof, butter taught tomb shelf, "Oil tickle shirt court tutor cordage offer groin-murder. Oil ketchup wetter letter, an den - O bore!"
Soda wicket woof tucker shirt court, an whinney retched a cordage offer groin-murder, picked inner windrow, an sore debtor pore oil worming worse lion inner bet. En inner flesh, disk abdominal woof lipped honor bet, paunched honor pore oil worming, an garbled erupt. Den disk ratchet ammonol pot honor groin-murder's nut cup an gnat-gun, any curdled ope inner bet.
Inner ladle wile, Ladle Rat Rotten Hut a raft attar cordage, an ranker dough ball. "Comb ink, sweat hard," setter wicket woof, disgracing is verse. Ladle Rat Rotten Hut entity betrum an stud buyer groin~murder's bet.
"O Grammar!" crater ladle gull historically, "Water bag icer gut! A nervous sausage bag ice!"
"Battered lucky chew whiff, sweat hard," setter bloat-Thursday woof, wetter wicket small honors phase.
"O Grammar, water bag noise! A nervous sore suture anomolous prognosis!"
"Battered small your whiff, doling," whiskered dole woof, ants mouse worse waddling.
"O Grammar, water bag mouser gut! A nervous sore suture bag mouse!"
Daze worry on-forger-nut ladle gull's lest warts. Oil offer sodden, caking offer carvers an sprinkling otter bet, disk hoard hoarded woof lipped own pore Ladle Rat Rotten Hut an garbled erupt.
Mural: Yonder nor sorghum stenches shut ladle gulls stopper torque wet strainers.
Tea And
It's a lovely story. The first time I read it out loud, I had to stop midway (about where Rat Rotten Hut tells the woof water bag ice he gut, because I was crayon and mat cheese were freezing from laughing so hard.
There is a lady who walks around the office humming all the time. She has a very pleasant voice, a nice timbre to it. If I had to guess, I would say she is a contralto, mezzo-soprano maybe. Not classically trained, of course, or she wouldn't be walking around our office, but she can carry a tune without a bucket.
If I'm in an area with her and she's humming, I often ask her what it is.
And she'll say, "oh, that's Brahm's Ein deutsches Requiem" or "a little piano sonata no. 5000 by Loodvig" or "the leitmotif for Senta in Der fliegende Hollander". Ha ha. Not really, but she will identify it rather clearly, and I nod and smile.
Today I was leaning against a wall, getting ready to go in to a meeting that was pretty important, and she stopped next to me.
She said, "what's that you're humming?", obviously returning the favor.
I had to think for a moment, and then I answered her.
"The tune from the Mr. Happy ice cream truck."
Move on, people. Nothing to see here.
This is absolutely amazing.
Well, this is one way...
In addition to it being a Monday, today was a horrible day. I call these days Hell Days, because it is like God has handed me a pair of glasses through which everyone appears and acts as if we are currently living in Hell.
No details, but a couple of pet peeves surfaced...
Premature Merging
You know those people who drive on the exit ramp or on the shoulder to pass you up and then merge back into traffic? Or people who can plainly see the merging arrow a half mile back but insist on blasting right up to it and then merging?
Well, I'm not talking about them...
I'm talking about people who start to merge as soon as they leave the house.
Premature mergers.
People...if you see a sign that says "merging up ahead", at least wait until you see other cars merging in an orderly fashion. Today, I was in traffic on I-270, and, out of four lanes, the two center ones were nearly empty for nearly a mile because people took a MODOT sign that said "two center lanes closed ahead...use caution" seriously. BUT, and here's the amusing thing, they never closed. So I pulled out and shot down one of the empty lanes. Horns were honking and people were yelling. Because they thought I was cheating.
I wish I had one of their cell numbers. I'd call and ask, "How stupid did you feel when you got up to Page and saw the lanes weren't closed?"
Country songs about homeless people.
Country singers should stick to mom, jail, pickups, dogs, trains, America, and rain. They shouldn't be singing about homeless people. The subject of homeless people is a societal issue that we need to fix, eliminate. Your Grammy ain't gonna do a thing 'bout that. I heard two songs about homeless people today on WIL 92.whatever. One was about the amazingly articulate homeless guy who comes out of his box to tell the country artist that he, too, had his "moments". He was a regular guy and was even in love once.
I don't know what he charges for this story or if it was freely given to the country singer so that he could get the word out, or if he worked a deal so he gets royalties. I don't know if they stood on the corner as he told it or if he trotted alongside the limousine and relayed it through an open window.
But it appears that homeless people are on the minds of a lot of country singers, because two songs later, another country singer came on to remind me that homeless people are just like you and me. Wait...no, that's not right...homeless people may be angels. Yes, that's right, homeless people might be angels sent down to test you and me.
Well, if that's the case, Mr. Country Singer, why don't you take about 20 percent of your profits this year and start a Homeless People's Foundation and get a few of those angels off the streets. Know what I mean? I don't like your songs, but I'd send you a check for that.
Inconsiderate Smokers
Yeah, I know, some of you are going, "Is there any other kind?" But I'm serious. I used to cut smokers a lot of slack.
But today I was standing in an elevator where some idiot took the last drag off his cigarette before getting on. I thought the other riders were going to murder him. Someone hit the button for the next floor and I thought they were going to throw him off, but a few people got off themselves, glaring at him. I guess they were going to catch another elevator or do the stairs.
But, see, this is why you smokers are getting pounded these days. I'm talking to you smokers who want to know why some cities and counties want to go smokeless in restaurants and in public...you want to know why?
It's because you've pissed off the wrong people. You walked around, blowing your smoke in all directions -- and you're always upwind of us -- and throwing your cigarette butts on the walk, in the grass, in potted plants, in the water. You stood in doorways of stores or other workplaces where we had to walk through your fog after taking a shower and putting on clean clothes, or you sat in a public stadium or concert and puffed with no consideration for your fellow seatmates. The only time you were considerate is when you sucked and blew smoke away from your table and friends, only you blew it toward mine.
You got on elevators full of non-smokers with your last nasty lungful of carcinogenic smoke.
So now some non-smoking politicians, and enough non-smoking citizens, are getting payback.
I want to tell you, I'm against the smoking ban in bars and restaurants. If the owner of a bar or restaurant wants to allow his customers to smoke, and I don't want to share the air, then I don't have to go to that bar or restaurant.
But maybe the servers don't want to smoke your air, and maybe they are calling the politicians.
See, if you had been considerate, this might not have happened.
