The Rainbow Bridge

In Which an Afterlife for Pets is Discovered, and Subsequent Questions Are Raised

So it happened one afternoon that I was relaxing with a companion and enjoying the fruits of a full cable package when we came upon an astonishing documentary about the lives of Ferret Enthusiasts. The documentary in question mainly focused upon the intricate costumes these enthusiasts design for their weaselly urine be-stenched life partners and the trials and tribulations undergone by those daring enough to enter into the nation's largest competitive Ferret Show, but in and amongst this information was lodged a fascinating tidbit regarding a belief in a sub-realm of Heaven where one's dead pets go to wait for their owners souls to ascend. This is the eponymous Rainbow Bridge.

As a critical thinker, this concept raises many questions. Such as, is there any criteria for the allowance of these animals under the rainbow bridge? Do bad dogs, evil ferrets, malicious macaws, and horses that kicked their owners to death all reside along side the Just and Virtuous Pets? (aside: how did those butterflies get in? Don't tell me those were someone's pets, or that they had any moral concept whatsoever) Are goats or black cats allowed at all, being as they are the emissaries of Satan? Or is there a counterpart to the Rainbow Bridge located at the entrance to Hell? And what of those who's pets follow the doctorines of God above but themselves live lives of base sinfulness? Do they descend into Hell pulling their holy pets down from the rainbow bridge with them to the torments of Hell? Like many of the appendices of the afterlife, this Rainbow Bridge looks to be at the very least, an administrative nightmare for some poor low level bureaucratic Elohim.

The curious may click here for more information (and a midi composition of that song from Ghost and every wedding reception ever)

One Needs Never Be Over Smoked Again

In Which a Surprise is Had, and Consequent Revelations Are Dealt With

I consider my self a bastion of masculinity. Among my many facets and skills that I have both been blessed with by God above and have acquired with some strength of character through the years would be my masteries of falconing, rock identification, navigation by the stars, assembly language (the higher level languages being fit only for those both weak of heart and character), my keen eye with a hatchet, twine haggling (as my father would say, only Women and Lutherans over pay for twine), horse breeding, and the preparation of the Staff of Life itself by hand. The most prized of which I must say exemplarizes the attributes of the rugged sex is my steadfast dedication to "putting away" not less than One pack of Marlboro Full Flavor cigarettes per day. Thus it has come as a shock to discover that this rugged brand began it's course by courting the favor of the domestic house wife.

As Mild as May indeed! I must say that in the inhalation of the Full Flavored Marlboro I find nothing mild or spring like. Indeed the experience is delightfully harsh and invigorating to such a degree that it is like standing upon the precipitous lip of a volcano nearing it's eruption whilst being surrounded by musket men emptying their barrels. I can only theorize that the visceral and brutal thrill of the Marlboro proved to be too much for these poor housewives, with the intense exhilaration resulting in symptoms of Moral Fatigue. It is a boon for our culture that Philip Morris himself realized the degree of his mis-step and rightfully rerouted the course of his signature brand. One can only imagine the world of gravelly throated housewives fist fighting in the aisles of the green grocer, nursing their children while bare back horse riding, and splitting their own wood for use in the hearth-fires that may have resulted.

In the Interest of Generating "Paddywhacks."

In Which a Pandering is Proposed; Hopefully Resulting in Arousal of Interests Both Dionysian and Apolline.

In my years of mortal existence, nearly half of which have been during this "Inter Net Age," I have come to the conclusion that there is one and only one guaranteed method of attracting visitors to ones web page(what in the local parlance are called "hits" or "paddywhacks"), and that is by way of Smut. Not the discolored fungus that grows upon forgotten corn in the winter and was enjoyed as a delicacy amongst the Aztecs, but the sort of generally disreputable tomfoolery involving all manner of engorged orifices and phalli juxtaposed in manners intended to distract the plebian in his navigations. I would fain prey upon this weakness of men in the interest of obtaining a wider audience who I may then educate in such a way as to assist them in someday abstaining from the urges generated by the primal cerebellum. Such forthcoming treatises include subjects as varied as gravures and foxing, generating logarithmic spirals with pen and paper, the subtle dissonances of Charles Ives lesser known compositions for piano duets, and preparing the well balanced and soothing Rye Whiskey Manhattan. Bide thy time and cast not your accusations of "Foul Pornographer" upon me, for verily I shall not resort to the crude anatomical photography as drearily common place on this Inter Net as the cellophane bags of chemically enhanced potato leavings are upon the dry goods shelves of your local green grocer. No, I pray that if this web site is to be utilized in the interest of Exhilarations of a physical nature, then let it generate only the most refined and genteel of tumescences. So let us now turn to that noted Man of Letters and Pervert, D. H. Lawrence for some minor titillations.

"She dropped her blanket and kneeled on the clay hearth, holding her head to the fire, and shaking her hair to dry it. He watched the beautiful curving drop of her haunches. That fascinated him today. How it slowed with a rich downslope to the heavy roundness of her buttocks! And in between, folded in the secret warmth, the secret entrances!
He stroked her tail with his hand, long and subtly taking in the curves and the globe-fulness...he exquisitely stroked the rounded tail, till it seemed as if a slippery sort of fire came from it into his hands. And his fingertips touched the two secret openings to her body, time after time, with a soft little brush of fire...With quiet fingers he threaded a few forget-me-not flowers in the fine brown fleece of the mount of Venus.
She looked down at the milky odd little flowers among the brown maiden-hair at the lower tip of her body.
'Doesn't it look pretty!' she said.
'Pretty as life,' he replied."

Glory be to God, what an excerpt! I respectfully Thank you for perusing this post, and invite you to share this small ray of enlightenment amongst your co horts at whatever bullitin board server you prefer to patronize in your typical co-minglings of inane animal photography and heavily photo shopped portraits of pudenda.

How to Best Construct A Toad in the Hole

In which a Scene is set, a Problem is asserted, and a Solution proposed.

We have all been there before, or as the adage would have it "I have both Been There, and Done That." After a night of carousing about at fine dineries, imbibing intoxicating libations, and general roustabouting you have enticed the interests of a young lady to such a degree that she returns to your domicile. After the passing of several tastefully applied ellipses, Helios chains his horses to his solar chariot and begins his westerly journey across the sky, sending the first tawny fingered rays of dawn into your abode. The exertions of the evening have taken their toll upon yourself and your companion both, leaving you in a state of simultaneous famishment and exhaustion. It is apparent to all that some form of nourishment is at hand, but the question remains: How best to maximize the twin ideals of nutrition and aesthetics at a minimum expenditure of exertions? Ordinarily one would resort to multivariate calculus to answer a problem of this degree, but allow your faithful scribe to assist you at this venture. Clearly such efforts as quiche, strata, fritata, and omelette all require a keen eye and quick hand, both of which have been wearied at this crossroads in your life. The pan cake, pain grille aux francais, waffle, and dutch baby are all mere sugared pastries, unfit for the beginning of a new day. No, there is only one meal that is appropriate to the situation at hand and that dish is The Toad in the Hole.

One begins by lightly toasting the right amount of slices of bread. The slice should be thicker than your least finger, but not exceeding the width of your thumb at the knuckle. Do not heat past the point of coloration, one wants only to dry the bread and ready it for the task at hand. You may remove the crusts if such is your wont, but be forewarned, this action may affect both the integrity of your Hole, and your companion's estimation of your character. Next, you take a biscuit cutter, or a glass who's rim has pleasant proportions and you remove a circular section of the toast from the center. You may nibble on this section when you companion has her eyes averted, or is otherwise indisposed. At this point, a lightly buttered cast iron skillet warmed at a medium low heat must be obtained. Do so. Apply the Holed toast to the skillet. For each Holed toast, in one smooth and virtuous motion, crack an egg and pour it's contents into the Hole. The egg must be cracked with an absolute minimum of eggshell debris resulting. Do not break the yolk, as that would displease the eye. Now cook until you are satisfied with the progress. A rasher of bacon and a plate of perfectly crisped hash browns may be served near the side for a Full Breakfast, but choose this path wisely as the stench of burned pig's fat and a sodden batch of discolored starch ridden potatoes can result in scorn.

A note of warning: Do not be misled into preparing the dish of the same name adopted by our trans-Atlantic cousins from the Isle of Albion. This False Toad in the Hole follows the trend of the greater part of English breakfasts in that it is a nauseating pile of custards and sausage, unfit for even the lowest mongrel of the alleys.

A concise compendium of rules to obey whilst navigating through my web page

Furthermore, as this is the internet, I must assume that as a commentator you are statistically likely to be a buffoon with little motivation for discourse beyond the level of casting base and unfounded aspersions upon ones sexual proclivitities, heritage, or some combination of the two; thus as a rule your input is neither desired nor necessary. If for whatever extenuating circumstances you simply must sumbit some form of information/invitation to a duel/perfumed letters/offers of dowry you may contact andrewjayleech atsign gmail dot com for an address where formally written letters may be allowed for consideration. Only those following the Chicago Manual of Style will be admitted past my amanuensis. Thank you for you cooperation.

I have never wondered.

Whilst on one of my recent wintry travels into that sub dominion of Jotunheimr known as Wisconsin, I came across a most helpful tome entitled Why Do We Say It? It has since (dubiously and at times ethnically insensitively) answered many questions (all the while offering no references (outside of the estimation of the author's character that the reader may judge for ones self) whatsover) that I did not have about the origins of phrases that I have often never before come across in my life. Examples abound:

"Paddywhack: Why do we call a light spank a 'paddywhack'?
The Irish call St. Patrick, their patron saint, Paidrag-and so an Irishman is called a 'Paddy.' Irish comedians in the English theater were very partial to the 'slapstick'-and so a 'paddywhack' is a harmless slap on the buttocks in jest."

"Lump it: How did the word 'lump' get into the expression 'if you don't like it you can lump it'?
A person's face will often look 'lumpy' after crying. So to 'lump it' is to sulk or look sulky-and the phrase 'like it or lump it' means 'like it or sulk.'"

"Dead as a Shotten Herring. What is the origin of the expression 'dead as a shotten herring'?
Probably no other fish will die as quickly as a herring when taken out of water. A 'shotten herring' is one that has just ejected its spawn-and should die even more rapidly after being taken from the water."

"Spick. Where did we get 'spick' as a nickname for a foreigner?
Its Navy slang, and a variant of 'spiggoty.' This name for a foreigner-particularly a native of a Latin-American country-was given to the natives of Central America and South America because of their frequent use of the phrase, 'No spick-a dee Ingles.'"

But you mustn't take my word for it. A cursory examination of the tome in question will enlighten one to not only the origins, but the very existence of such words and phrases as Lagniappe, Chinaman's Chance, Queer Card, Slide Kelly Slide, and Tommyrot. Additionally, one may take for what it is worth the author's declaration that the word dude simply comes from a contraction of "dud" (as in my oh my observe the dud's on that fine fellow) and "attitude" to result in a concise term to describe a gentleman going quite beyond the pale in his attempts to dandify himself in the eyes of society.