There’ll be nun of that thankyou!

21 02 2019

This is my first foray back into creative writing in many years.

I’m quite proud of it given I wrote it while sitting on the edge of a bed in a live-in rehabilitation facility that I’m in whilst I recover from a stroke and brain hemorrhage

The bones of the story came from s very old joke I’d heard many years ago but remembered yesterday…

-An old joke that came back to me yesterday.
2 nuns are driving home late at night from midnight mass. The road is dark and bordered by overhanging trees, so very definitely creepy!! The nun in the passenger seat is nervous and her nervousness is making the nun driving somewhat anxious and jumpy.
The passenger nun quietly starts playing with her rosary and crucifix in an effort to settle her nerves, when suddenly theres a *thud*and the scariest vampire you could ever begin to imagine lands on the car bonnet crouched down, all windswept, interesting(and just generally Hollywood fabulous) but inherently evil. His eyes are aglow in a shade of red attributable only to the darkest recesses of hell. His fangs are bared and he’s hissing rabidly at the nuns who have both let out a scream and a small squirt of pee. As you would… the nervous nun in the passenger seat dissolves in a panic accidentally breaking the string of her rosary. So now along with the sound of hissing theres the forlorn sound of beads rolling off her lap onto the car floor and clicking as they roll around.. as if the atmosphere isn’t terrible enough. Theres a distinct smell of ammonia permeating the air.
The already on edge nun who is driving is white knuckling the steering wheel land muttering every prayer she can muster under her breath whilst quietly and somewhat un-nun like hoping the vampire takes her panicked travel companion first. The vampire must have heard her or read her mind. They be tricksy creatures those vampires. And he starts edging towards the passenger nun who explodes afresh in panic in a vision somewhat akin to what you’d imagine 50 crows stuffed into a shoebox would look like and is screaming at the driver “!for God’s sake! Show him you’re cross. Show him your cross!!!!
By now shes beyond cross, she’s livid!
So to the repetitive scream of “show him your cross
“She winds down her window looks the Vampire dead in the eye and yells “GET THE FUCK OFF MY CAR”!!!!!!!-

Hello Toes!

15 02 2011

An old fella was celebrating 92 years on this earth.
He spoke to his toes. "Hello toes.", he said.    "How are you?   You know, you are 92 today.  Oh the times we’ve had!   Remember how we walked on the park in the summer every Sunday afternoon.  The times we waltzed on the dance floor?    Happy Birthday toes!"
"Hello, knees.", he continued.    "How are you?    You know you’re 92 today.  Oh, the times we’ve had!    Remember when we marched in the parade?    Oh, the hurdles we’ve jumped together.    Happy Birthday, knees."
Then, he looked down at his crotch.  "Hello Willie!  You little bugger.  Just think.  If you were alive today, you’d be 92.

Pets Such Complex Creatures

19 11 2010

Today’s blog entry is more of a promotion for someone else.  Courtesy of the lovely Rhonda over at At Random mailed me a link to yet another blog for an article I might find amusing.

Amusing?  It was hilarious.  Having travelled internationally with four pets, I completely emphathised with the author of Dogs don’t understand basic concepts like moving.

So you’re going to have to check it out for yourself.  All credit goes to the author, which is most definitely not me.

Dogs Don’t Understand Basic Concepts Like Moving

Packing all of your belongings into a U-Haul and then transporting them across several states is nearly as stressful and futile as trying to run away from lava in swim fins. 

I know this because my boyfriend Duncan and I moved from Montana to Oregon last month.  But as harrowing as the move was for us, it was nothing compared to the confusion and insecurity our two dogs had to endure. 

Our first dog is – to put it delicately – simple-minded.  Our other dog is a neurotic German shepherd mix with agonizingly low self-esteem who has taken on the role of "helper dog" for our simple dog.  Neither dog is well-equipped with coping mechanisms of any kind. 

When we started packing, the helper dog knew immediately that something was going on.  I could tell that she knew because she becomes extremely melodramatic when faced with even a trivial amount of uncertainty.  She started following me everywhere, pausing every so often to flop to the ground in an exaggeratedly morose fashion – because maybe that would make me realize how selfish I was being by continuing to pack despite her obvious emotional discomfort.    

When the soul-penetrating pathos she was beaming at me failed to prevent me from continuing to put things in boxes, the helper dog became increasingly alarmed.  Over the ensuing few days, she slowly descended into psychological chaos.  The simple dog remained unfazed.

Unfortunately for the helper dog, it took us nearly a week to get everything packed up.  By the time we were ready to begin the first part of our two-day journey to Oregon, she seemed almost entirely convinced that she was going to die at any moment.  She spent the entire car ride drooling and shaking uncontrollably. 

But the simple dog seemed to enjoy the trip.

Even though she threw up seven times.

She actually seemed to like throwing up.  To the simple dog, throwing up was like some magical power that she never knew she possessed – the ability to create infinite food.  I was less excited about the discovery because it turned my dog into a horrible, vomit-making perpetual motion machine.  Whenever I heard her retch in the backseat, I had to pull over as quickly as possible to prevent her from reloading her stomach and starting the whole cycle over again. 

But as far as the simple dog was concerned, it was the best, most exciting day of her life. 

It wasn’t until we stopped for the night in Umatilla that the simple dog became aware that there was any reason for her to feel anxious.  But at around two o’clock in the morning, the simple dog finally realized that something was different and maybe she should be alarmed.

This particular dog is not anywhere near the gifted spectrum when it comes to solving problems.  In fact, she has only one discernible method of problem solving and it isn’t even really a method.

But making high-pitched noises won’t solve your problem if your problem is a complete inability to cope with change.  Unfortunately for everyone involved, the simple dog did not understand this concept and she went right ahead and made an interminable amount of noise that was just invasive enough to make sleeping impossible.

After an hour of failed attempts at comforting the simple dog, her constant, high-pitched emergency-distress-signal became a huge problem. 

I tried to communicate my displeasure to the simple dog, but communicating with the simple dog usually goes like this:

She was going to make that sound forever if she felt it was necessary.  We tried everything from spooning her to locking her in the bathroom, but none of it was even the slightest bit effective. 

The simple dog made the noise all through the night and was still going strong the next morning. When we were loading the dogs into the car, the constant, high-pitched sound emanating from the simple dog finally broke the helper dog.  The helper dog wailed in anguish, which alarmed the simple dog.  In her surprise, the simple dog let out a yelp, which further upset the helper dog.  And so it continued in a wretched positive-feedback loop of completely unnecessary noise.

When we finally arrived at our new house, the dogs had calmed down considerably.  Unfortunately, it had snowed the night before and there was still snow on our front lawn, and that was enough to catapult both dogs back into hysteria. 

The simple dog had either never experienced snow or she’d forgotten that she knew what it was, because when we let her out of the car, she walked around normally for about seven seconds, then she noticed the snow and her feeble little mind short-circuited.

At first, the simple dog was excited about the snow.  She started prancing around the yard like she was the star of a one-dog parade – her recent personal crisis overshadowed by a haze of enthusiasm.

The prancing turned to leaping and the leaping turned to running chaotically in stupid little circles. Then she just stopped and stared at the ground.  There was a visible shift in her demeanor as she realized that she didn’t understand snow and it was everywhere and she should probably be scared of it. She started making the noise again.

Not surprisingly, the helper dog interpreted the snow as a sign of her imminent demise.  But she was so exhausted from worrying about all of the other signs of her demise that she just gave up and accepted her death.  She peered up at us, half-buried in the snow.  Her eyes were filled with pain and helplessness, as if she thought we had summoned the snow for the sole purpose of making her sad.

We decided that it would probably be best to bring the dogs inside. 

As a condition for allowing us to have dogs in our rental house, our landlady made us promise that we wouldn’t let the dogs scratch the wood floors.  We didn’t anticipate it being a problem because it hadn’t been in the past, but as soon as our dogs set foot in the house, they morphed into perfectly engineered floor-destroying machines.  They started sprinting as fast as they could for absolutely no reason – skittering around in circles to avoid running into the walls. 

We finally corralled them in the bedroom and shut the door to give ourselves a little time to regroup and come up with a plan.  Until we could get some rugs or convince the dogs that it was unnecessary to sprint around chaotically for no reason, we would need to find some way to prevent them from scratching the floors.  What we ended up doing was going to the pet store and buying two sets of sled dog booties. It was the only way.

It is easy to imagine that a dog who has recently experienced a dramatic upheaval of its formerly safe and predictable life might not react well to suddenly having strange objects attached to all four of its feet.  This was most definitely the case with the booties.

The helper dog panicked and started trying to rip the booties off with her teeth.

I scolded her and she reacted as if I’d ruined her entire life.

But at least her immobilizing self-pity kept her from chewing the booties off.

The simple dog just stood there and looked at me in a way that would suggest she didn’t realize her legs still worked.

They had to wear the booties for two days.  Those two days were filled with the most concentrated display of overemotional suffering I have ever witnessed.  The simple dog spent most of her time standing in the middle of the room looking bewildered and hurt and the helper dog refused to walk, instead opting to flop her way around the house like a dying fish. 

The entire ordeal was punctuated by the simple dog’s high-pitched confusion alarm.

We were beginning to think that our dogs were permanently broken. Nothing we did helped at all to convince the dogs that we had only changed houses and our new house was not, in fact, some sort of death-camp and we weren’t actually planning on killing them to fulfill an organ harvest ritual.  Despite our best efforts, they continued to drift around in a sea of confusion and terror, pausing only to look pitiful.

But while we were unpacking, we found a squeaky toy that was given to us as a gift shortly before we moved.  We offered the toy to the dogs.  This may have been a mistake.

Upon discovering that the toy squeaked when it was compressed forcefully, the simple dog immediately forgot that she’d ever experienced doubt or anxiety ever in her life.  She pounced on the toy with way more force than necessary, over and over and over.  The logic behind her sudden change in outlook was unclear.  

But at least she was happy again.

Never Trust a Genie

18 11 2010

An Aussie trucker walks into an outback cafe’ with a full-grown emu behind him.
The waitress asks them for their orders.
The trucker says, ‘A hamburger, fry’s and a coke,’ and turns to the emu, ‘What’s yours?’
‘Sounds great, I’ll have the  same,’ says the emu.
A short time later the waitress returns with the order ‘That will be $9.40  please,’ and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the exact change and pays.
The next day, the man and the emu come again and he says, ‘A hamburger, fry’s and a coke.’
The emu says, ‘ Sounds great, I’ll have the same.’
Again the trucker reaches into his pocket and pays with exact change.
This becomes routine until the two enter again. ‘The usual?’ asks the waitress.
‘No, it’s Friday night, so I’ll have a steak, baked potato and a salad,’ says the man..
‘ Same for me,’ says the emu. 
Shortly the waitress brings the order and says, ‘That will be $32.62.’
Once again the man pulls the exact change out of his pocket and places it on the table.
The waitress cannot hold back her curiosity any longer. ‘Excuse me sir, how do you manage to always pull the exact change from your pocket every time?’ 
‘Well, Mam’ says  the  trucker, ‘a few years ago, I was cleaning out the back shed, and found an old lamp. When I cleaned it, a Genie appeared and offered me two wishes.
My first wish was that if I ever had to pay for anything, I would just put my hand in my pocket and the right amount of money would always be there..’
‘That’s brilliant!’ says the waitress. ‘Most people would ask for a million dollars or something, but you’ll always be as rich as you want, for as long as you live!’ 
‘That’s right. Whether it’s a gallon of milk or a Rolls Royce, the exact money is always there.’ says the man.
Still curious the waitress asks, ‘What’s with the emu?’ 
EmuThe trucker pauses, sighs, and answers, ‘My second wish was for a tall bird with a big arse and long legs, who agrees with everything I say.

Shake Weight Just Bizarre

17 11 2010

I know I’ve tagged this post “Cool Gadget”, I’m not so sure about cool, but it’s certainly a gadget.

I’ve seen this product advertised on television several times, but now even South Park is hopping on board with their episode “Creme Fraiche”.

See what you think.  Here’s the original advertisements, and the South Park version.

Be warned, they’re probably inappropriate for the office, or children.

Shake Weight for Women


Shake Weight for Men


Shake Weight South Park Style

Spicy Life!

11 06 2010

If variety is the spice of life, the last seven days have definitely met the requirements.

First off, and I neglected to mention this last week when it happened, but for the identity of those involved, that’s probably not a bad thing, I received a text message last week frin a friend, asking for “Help”.  The details were scarce, and being human, I automatically wondered what possibly could have been wrong. 

Rather than waste time texting back, I phoned.

…and laughed!

It was a heterosexual male friend of mine, with an urgent request.  For me to iron his new shirt for a date that evening.

I did, and he now has a girlfriend.  I congratulated him and pointed out it was all in the ironing, and that it was a one time affair. 😉   I’m not silly enough to get myself trapped in doing all his “lucky ironing” for future encounters should this one be ultimately unsuccessful.

It gave me a giggle nonetheless.

Moving on…  The lawn is part mowed again, each time I mow it I get a little more done before the rain falls.  The problem is that between each “dry spell” enough time passes that I have to remow all my previous work.  Also, the grass is so long it’s choking the mower enough that I have to continually turn it off, and manually unclog it.  TEDIOUS!

All that aside, it’s Friday evening, and I’ve spent the entire day home, never once having left the house as I’ve been Spring Cleaning.  The house is nice and clean, I’m exhausted, and all finished in time for my friends to arrive tomorrow (they’re from Melbourne).

A glass of something cold and alcoholic would be perfect right now, alas, it’ll be non-alcoholic as per doctors orders.   Far be it from me to misbehave… 😉

Happy Weekend to you All!

Sheer Genius!

28 05 2010

Now I’m a fan of using cameras as tools for more than just recording memories.  I regularly use mine as a reminder device, especially of where I parked when I’m in a multi-level carpark, like at the airport.

But when I stumbled across this blog entry of someone’s personal use of their camera as a it’s own security or tracking device I had to laugh, and marvel at the genius behind it.

Judge for yourself.  All credit goes to the author Darren Rowse, the blog; Digital Photography School, and the lateral thinking of the camera owner; Andrew McDonald.

How To Get Your Camera Back by Andrew Rowse

Geek Humour

19 04 2010

You’ll either laugh, or you won’t. 😉

How Fights Start…

3 02 2010

This posting is courtesy of the fabulous Miss Kitty, thanks! 🙂  Miss you! x

All pronouns are interchangeable.  Husband for Wife, Wife for Husband/BF/GF.  Whatever, I’m sure you’ll work it out.



My wife sat down on the settee next to me as I was flipping channels.
She asked, ‘What’s on the TV?’
I said, ‘Dust.’
And then the fight started…

My wife and I were watching “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire” while we were in bed.  I turned to her and said, “Do you want to have sex?”
“No,” she answered.
I then said, “Is that your final answer?”
She didn’t even look at me this time, simply saying, “Yes.”
So I said, “Then I’d like to phone a friend.”
And then the fight started….

Saturday morning I got up early, quietly dressed, made my lunch, and slipped quietly into the garage.  I hooked the boat up to the van, and proceeded to back out into a torrential downpour. The wind was blowing 50 mph, so I pulled back into the garage, turned on the radio, and discovered that the weather would be bad all day.
I went back into the house, quietly undressed, and slipped back into bed.
I cuddled up to my wife’s back, now with a different anticipation, and whispered, “The weather out there is terrible.”
My loving wife of 5 years replied, “Can you believe my stupid husband is out fishing in that?”
And that’s how the fight started…

My wife was hinting about what she wanted for our upcoming anniversary.
She said, ‘I want something shiny that goes from 0 to 150 in about 3 seconds.’
I bought her a bathroom scale.
And then the fight started…

After retiring, I went to the Social Security office to apply for Social Security. The woman behind the counter asked me for my driver’s License to verify my age.  I looked in my pockets and realised I had left my wallet at home.
I told the woman that I was very sorry, but I would have to go home and come back later.
The woman said, ‘Unbutton your shirt’.
So I opened my shirt revealing my curly silver hair.
She said, ‘That silver hair on your chest is proof enough for me’ and she processed my Social Security application.
When I got home, I excitedly told my wife about my experience at the Social Security office.
She said, ‘You should have dropped your pants. You might have gotten disability, too.’
And then the fight started… 

My wife and I were sitting at a table at my school reunion, and I kept staring at a drunken lady swigging her drink as she sat alone at a nearby table.
My wife asked, ‘Do you know her?’
‘Yes,’ I sighed, ‘She’s my old girlfriend.  I understand she took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago, and I hear she hasn’t been sober since.’
‘My God!’ says my wife, ‘who would think a person could go on celebrating that long?’
And then the fight started…

I took my wife to a restaurant.  The waiter, for some reason took my order first.
“I’ll have the steak, medium rare, please.”
He said, “Aren’t you worried about the mad cow?”
Nah , she can order for herself.”
And then the fight started…

A woman was standing nude, looking in the bedroom mirror. She was not happy with what she saw and said to her husband, “I feel horrible; I look old, fat and ugly. I really need you to pay me a compliment.’
The husband replied, ‘Your eyesight’s damn near perfect.’
And then the fight started…..

I rear-ended a car this morning.  So, there we were alongside the road and slowly the other driver got out of his car.
You know how sometimes you just get soooo stressed and little things just seem funny?
Yeah, well I couldn’t believe it…. He was a DWARF!!!
He stormed over to my car, looked up at me, and shouted, “I AM NOT HAPPY!!!”
So, I looked down at him and said, “Well then, which one are you?”
And then the fight started….. 

Ho Hum

28 01 2010

There’s really no way to appropriately convey how badly I bowled this evening, except to say that perhaps I should find a new hobby.

Or get in a lot more practice.

Oh well, we won one game at least, before losing overall by over 400 pins.  For shame!

In other news, I saw an amusing bumper sticker today…

“Artificial Intelligence is no match for Natural Stupidity”

Tee hee!