All posts tagged funny

Grab the Bull by the… No

I also have an asian food store near me. They carry all sorts of the more unusual butcher shop selections.

Gwynn doesn’t get rawhide treats, because I’ve heard horror stories about how it can expand in their intestines or wrap them up or… well… things that end up with a dead or very sick dog.

This is going somewhere, I swear.

I give Gwynn bully sticks as treats instead. Do you know what those are? I’ll tell you what they are. Bull wee-wee. more commonly called “bull pizzle” *cue any men reading this blog crossing their legs.

you wanna do what? gosh, is that the time? I have to… go… over there for… the grass?

Based on my scientific observation at the Calgary Stampede, bulls are veeeery well-endowed. And disturbingly in control of the movement of said equipment.

Have you bought bully sticks lately? It’s like $10 for an 8″ piece that’ll last Gwynn all of 10 minutes, including the three or four minutes he runs around the house with it, cigar-like, crying and trying to find a place to hide it. That’s a dollar a minute, right there.

A few months ago, I was in the asian food store, and, because I do often buy organ meat to dehydrate for dog treats, I was looking at the part of the butcher aisle that I like to call “things I won’t eat, but the dog might.” So that’s what a bully stick looks like pre-drying and off the bull. Huh. They’re… long. And difficult to cut.

I successfully dehydrated it, the dog enjoyed it, and I thought no more on the topic.

My mother, though. She had found her mission. Bully Sticks for the masses. Or at the very least, the people at work who also had dogs.

Which is how she ended up trying to communicate Bull Penis across language barriers to a very embarassed and uncomprehending older chinese man working behind the butcher counter. Surrounded by people who could understand her, but couldn’t, for the life of them, figure out why she would want such a thing. She used gestures.

She came home defeated, pizzle-less.

Fast forward to this week, and here is the conversation I had with my parents (M = mum, D = dad, L = me!)

M – I got bull pizzle at the grocery store today!

L – cool, I’ll cut it up tonight.

M – Lots!

L – did you buy out their whole stock? What was their reaction to this?

M – the store clerk wouldn’t touch the packaging directly – she used a plastic bag to move them through, and typed the code in by hand.

D – I doubt most of the people who work there actually eat much of the weird stuff they sell.

L – I wonder what they must have thought, crazy white lady comes in and all she buys is a ton of bull pizzle.

M – I didn’t just buy that. I also got blueberries. On sale!

L – So they think we’re making Bull Pizzle and Blueberry Casserole to feed the masses?

D – nah, it’s too hard to cut up, Blueberry and Bull stirfry!

M – They wouldn’t think anything of it. They sell it, it’s fine.

L – Yeah, but I bet they don’t often see a woman go through check out with 10 packages of bull penis and 10 packages of blueberries.

The lessons learned in this? We need to start attaching spy cameras to my mother whenever she goes to the asian food store. I want to see peoples’ expressions. Also, my family is very weird.

Can anyone tell me what people do with bull pizzle if they’re not feeding it to their dogs?

7 Comments

by lexy3587 on February 28, 2013 • Permalink

Posted in Dog Stuff

Tagged animals, bull pizzle, Calgary Stampede, conversations, dog, Dog food, family, food, funny, Health, humor, Pet food, Pizzle, strange

Posted by lexy3587 on February 28, 2013

http://goneforawalk.wordpress.com/2013/02/28/grab-the-bull-by-the-no/

Sisterly Bonding

Sisters.. Getting through the tough stuff. Sharing. Sharing everything.

For better or for worse, through sickness and in health – much more than marriage, sisterhood is forever.

Sharing is caring. And sometimes it isn’t. As the eldest, I never got to keep all of what I had. Why, if I found more of the chocolate eggs in the hunt, did I not get to keep them? Sharing. As the youngest, my sister never got new clothes. She got clothes that were new to her.

This time she was the one to share new things.

Nothing is really clear at 1 am, crossing paths once again, one destined for a brief attempt at achy-jointed sleep, the other destined to take her place in worship at the porcelain god. Timing is key, that much is clear.

My youngest sister and I know each other well. I’ve known her for her entire life, in fact. When we accidentally say something at the same time, it sounds like the creepy girl-child twins from any one of a number of horror movies. We verbalize the same thought simultaneously, often. Thankfully that synchronicity doesn’t extend this far – we were, in fact, well-matched in an alternating schedule. Lucky, considering there are three sisters in this hotel room, and only one idol at which to pay our respects.

Having grown up together probably helped us master this dreadful merry-go-round. A small blessing in a night of unanswered prayers for a stop.

There’s some comfort to be found, knowing that someone is sympathizing as a prod from the stomach region army-rolls one from one’s bed to one’s knees. And when, 20 minutes later, your action is mirrored, the sympathy is returned. Someone to share in that feeling of having done 1000 sit-ups.

Sisterhood isn’t always about getting along – for instance, at 3 am, a not-so-sound sleeper, the only one to escape the plague, might object strongly to the lights being turned on, no matter how many groans of pain and misery she’d turned a deaf ear on. She wasn’t sympathetic to the demand that she find something, anything, to MAKE. IT. STOP. It? All of it. Whatever it takes.

Sometime around 6, truth be told, two hazy, hollowed-out individuals might have felt some sense of satisfaction as a certain grumpy camper paid homage herself. It isn’t always about kindness, either.

At the end of the night, less sharing would have been nice. Timing is everything. And when your mother’s insistent knock at the locked door makes you mis-time your stagger towards the door, making the door an impossible distance away, your sisters have your back. And when, in response to your piteous wail, your mother asks, “What do you mean, you stepped in your bucket ?”, your sister will be there to answer the door and say, “Give me a minute, she’s having a bad day!”

10 Comments

by lexy3587 on January 2, 2013 • Permalink

Posted in General Writing

Tagged family, funny, grumpy, horror movies, humor, humour, illness, porcelain, porcelain god, siblings, sister, sisters

Posted by lexy3587 on January 2, 2013

http://goneforawalk.wordpress.com/2013/01/02/sisterly-bonding/

Quack!

This story exerpt is a continuation of the Which Witch storyline, and comes immediately after Tuesday’s piece, Duck. I’m sure you were all on the edges of your seats. Will duck-Simon flap off to join his brethren? What can an inventor do with no hands and a bill? Time will tell! And time happens to be now. If you are somewhat confused by what you’ve just read, I suggest you at the very least go back to Tuesday’s post, and, at the most, click through to the Fiction tab at the top, scroll down to Which Witch, and read all the little pieces of storyline that culminate (so far) in Quack!

I don’t own a duck, so, as picture, I give you my dog, in his least-favourite aquatic form. Look at those eyes! Don’t they just scream, “for the love of all that is holy, don’t take pictures of me when I look like a drowned rat!”

“Quack! Quack Quack Quack Quack!! Qu-ah! Qhat! What just happ-AK, What?! What just happened?”

The flighty waterfowl kept trying to express its anxiety through quacks and grooming as it transformed once again into a wild-haired machinist.

Flustered, Samuel ran his fingers through his hair for a few moments, before running them down his arms and legs and waggling them in front of his face to confirm that he wasn’t the bird he’d been sure he was just moments before. “Aaaah!” he exclaimed, taking a few hasty steps away from Agata, and tripping on a mislaid wrench in the process.

“aaaAAAaaa!” he tried again, jabbing a finger in her direction, eyes wide.

Agata sat comfortably on the only piece of furniture vaguely resembling seating. She thought it might be one of the surviving parts of one of the less landing-successful previous flying machines.

She looked up from her perusal of his blueprints, red marker in hand, and smiled. “you were saying?”

“You- you- you- you… “

“Aaaare?”

“W-witch!”

Agata felt a moment of regret for her actions, seeing the frightened look in his eye, the way he held a wrench between them as a shield.

Of course. Because witches are evil, even if you don’t believe in them. She sighed and stood, wincing internally as he stepped back again. She set down the set of blueprints and started towards the door, calling out as she went, “I’ve put in some suggested modifications that will improve stability and help you have more control in landing in future. I’ve also taken the liberty of taking one of your sets of spectacles-in-a-hat as payment for my assistance today… and for turning you back into a person.”

“Modifications?”

“You’re welcome.”

“Um, thanks? And Goggles.”

Agata paused in the massive hangar door. “Who goggles at what?”

“The… erm… spectacles in a hat… goggles – flying goggles. They’re grand, aren’t they? Keep the wind and the bugs out of your eyes. Why would you need them… oh.” He stared at the broom she’d hefted over her shoulder with dawning comprehension. “Oooh.”

“’Oh’ is right,” Agata tried to stay chipper, wishing she felt more happy about carrying on her way after this encounter. “Good luck with your flying machine – it’s really quite extraordinary. Try not to kill yourself – that would be a waste. And goodbye.”

With that, she was astride her broom and shooting skyward with a freedom of movement unrivalled by the bulky awkwardness of the flying bird contraption Samuel had created. Indistinctly, behind her, she heard a yell. It didn’t matter. However he’d decided was best to treat a witch, she was unstoppable once she was airborne.

It had been nice, though, to be able to share the experience with someone, for once.

<– Duck|| Crush –>

3 Comments

by lexy3587 on December 6, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in General Writing

Tagged Agata, Arts, duck, fantasy, fiction, fictional writing, flight, funny, goggles, humor, Online Writing, personal writing, plane, Quack, Samuel, story, which, Which Witch, witch

Posted by lexy3587 on December 6, 2012

http://goneforawalk.wordpress.com/2012/12/06/quack/

Luck, Omens and Portents

I went out-of-town for a wedding this weekend. Standing in the elevator (already running late for the wedding, of course), mentally counting the bing of the elevator as it passed each floor (doesn’t everyone do this?), my thoughts ran something like this:

Hurry up. Hurry hurry hurry.

Bing. Bing. 3. 4. Bing…

Huh, the bings wouldn’t work to tell a blind person which floor it is, because it only binged 13 times for my floor.

Oh, never mind, the elevator computer voice is telling me the floor number. Makes more sense than making people count constantly.

Hurry, hurry hurry hurry hurry.

Room 1401 – no, not room – a suite! With a king sized bed I could sleep on any which way, arms overhead, and never touch the edge. Not only did it have a living room and kitchenette, but the washroom was divided into the toilet-and-shower room, and the mirror-filled sink-room.

I don’t stay in hotels very often, and it’s usually with the whole family packed two to a “queen” (why do they lie so much about sizes? How is your queen sized bed narrower than my double?), with one on cushions on the floor. A king sized (actually!) bed, and only one roommate for the night is mind-blowing.

The wedding was… giant. 6’10”, and 6”3, to be specific. The new Mr. And Mrs. make me look like a small child, standing next to them. Their wedding colours were orange and blue, which makes me love them all the more. Congrats to my dear friends, may you live happily ever after, and may your future children not get taller than me until at least the age of 8.

Outside after the wedding and before it rained, a man just happened to be walking his giant blue macaw parrot. Oddly not the first (or even the second) time in my visits to London in which I have encountered people out and about with their avian buddies. The only reason I bring it up this time is that this bird matched the wedding party. I’m sure it’s a sign that the marriage was meant to be, not that there was any doubt. Or proof that birds of a feather flock together.

like this!

Back in the elevator after the wedding, I realised why there were only 13 bings. The elevator pad has the Lobby, floor 1, 2, 3… 11, 12, 14.

I have to wonder whether people who have Triskaidekaphobia feel safer on the 13^th floor, if it’s called the 14^th floor instead? Does the bad luck really come up to the floor, pause, baffled, and move along? Perhaps casting a suspicious glare over its shoulder as it goes about its business? Should I feel luckier that I’m in room 1301 (now that sounds like something out of a Stephen King novel!), disguised as room 1401? I think they should maybe have added an additional bing in there, just to ensure the bad luck is thoroughly bamboozled. I’ll leave out the fact that some cultures have a serious hang-up about anything containing the number Four. Perhaps that bad luck is wilier, and realises that it’s actually the 13^th floor.

“A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere.” – Groucho Marx
… a great quote the photographer of this particular shot included in the description!

Apparently some hotels simply choose to leave the 13^th floor numbered as is, and fill it with maintenance facilities instead of guests. Seems like a bad idea to fill a bad-luck cursed floor with ladders and brooms and heavy machinery. Maybe a better idea than putting a black cat sanctuary in, I suppose. I slept like a babe, on my full-bed-sized half of the most comfortable bed ever, in room 1301.

Don’t worry about the black cat crossing your path. He isn’t black. I’ve decided he’s ombre. Or perhaps, dusky grey.

12 Comments

by lexy3587 on August 2, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Non-dog-related-activities

Tagged 1301, 1401, 4, bad luck, Bing, black cat, blue macaw, Elevator, funny, Hotel, humor, ladder, London, Luck, macaw parrot, orange, parrot, queen sized bed, Stephen King, travel, Triskaidekaphobia, Wedding, wedding colours

Posted by lexy3587 on August 2, 2012

http://goneforawalk.wordpress.com/2012/08/02/luck-omens-and-portents/

Wacky Wednesday

A while back, Tori at the Ramblings invited blogland to send her pictures and messages for her wedding day ribbon wall. Gwynn and I rose to the occasion, though not quite, I suspect, in the way she was imagining it would go. My poor dog puts up with far too much from me.