Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Blah! Gah! Wards!

I have recently been gifted with two lovely awards from two lovely blog friends that I have been late to pass on to other worthy souls.

Here is the first, "The Lindsay."

Your blog went to rehab multiple times and it did it no good.
And the second, the coveted "One Decadent Blogger."

This was not an accident. Why'dja buy a cream-colored carpet anyway when you have pals like me, numbnuts?
I decided, rather than spread these horrors about the InterWebs, I would instead shelve them and re-gift two others that are prettier and more fragrant than a Care Bear's dongle dipped in drawn butter.

From the lovely and talented Anita at A Still and Quiet Madness, an award (below) that helped me realize that my blog was not the spotty, barnacle-encrusted wasteland I had always assumed it to be. Thank you, dear Anita! I shall pass this award on to the deserving Jennifer of Serendipity's Library, for her blog is durned purty and also features a CREEPY DOLL named Charlotte. I adore creepy dolls. I will also send this award the way of J. Lea Lopez of Jello World, whose humorous literary dissections of songs are lovely indeed. I don't know where she will fit this flower-bedecked award on her blog bookshelf, but never mind that!

And from the equally lovely and talented Angela at The Starving Novelist, an award (below) that made me clutch my breast (both, at once) and faint dead away with the honor of it. It is with humility and beatitude that I accept the award below. I shall pass this award on to Lisa at Kicked, Cornered, Bitten and Chased, for there is nothing more lovely than the snout of a monkey or the rubbery lips of a llama. I shall also pass it to one of my special favoritos, Michelle of Greenwoman, for her nature photographs are stunning and make one want to eat mushrooms and wander in the woods speaking to the little people.

Enjoy, you deserving creatures! Pass these awards on as you wish; rules are for the birds. Have a Happy New Year!

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Book Giveaway and Launch Party: Catherine Stine's FIRESEED ONE!

Fellow blogger extraordinaire, Catherine Stine, has just released her new YA thriller, Fireseed One. In celebration of her launch, I am hosting a book giveaway here. Visit Catherine's blog today for more launch party festivities, including giveaways, interviews, and excerpts.

This book is very good indeed. The well-drawn and likable characters, suspenseful plot, and superb world-building make for a compelling page-turner. I particularly enjoyed the author's speculations about food sources and how these could morph in fantastic ways in the face of drastic climate change—this provides the platform for a life or death struggle that blends romance with eco-terrorism and thrilling adventure. Peppered with humor and action, the story's futuristic references, including the clever jargon and pop culture of the time, are delivered with a natural and deft hand. Catherine Stine's research and meticulous attention to detail transform her strange and wildly imaginative world into one we can readily picture becoming our own. Fireseed One is a compulsively readable—and alarmingly plausible—vision of our future.

Catherine is giving away three eBook versions and one paperback version to the lucky winners. You want to get your hands on a copy! If you should be so lucky as to win, please add your review to Amazon, Goodreads, your blog, and so on. This contest will close in approximately one week.

To enter, simply leave a comment below with a way to contact you should you win. If you tweet about the book (tag me @feralpony so I see it), like it on Facebook, or write a blog post about it, you will get extra-special bonus points and your name will go into the kitty innumerable times!

Here are more details about the exciting setting and plot of Fireseed One:

What if the only person who could help you save the world was your very worst enemy?

Fireseed One, a YA thriller, is set in a near-future world with soaring heat, toxic waters, tricked-out amphibious vehicles, ice-themed dance clubs, and fish that grow up on vines. Temperate climate has replaced Arctic ice, and much of what is now the United States is a lethal Hotzone, cut off by an insurmountable border from its northern, luckier neighbors, Ocean and Land Dominion. It is rumored that roving Hotzone nomads will kill for a water pellet or a slice of insect loaf, and that the ZWC, a dangerous Hotzone activist group, has infiltrated the border to the northern Dominions.
Varik Teitur inherits a vast sea farm after the mysterious death of his marine biologist father. When Marisa Baron, a beautiful and shrewd terrorist who knows way too much about Varik's father's work, tries to steal seed disks from the world's food bank, Varik is forced to put his dreams of becoming a doctor on hold and venture with her, into a hot zone teeming with treacherous nomads and a cult who worships his dead father, in order to search for a magical hybrid plant that may not even exist. 
*With nine illustrations by the author.

To purchase the book via Amazon, click here.  
To buy Fireseed One on iBook for your iPad, iPhone and iPod Touch, click here.
For Nook users, Catherine is offering a special launch party discount! The Fireseed eBook is officially $2.99, but during this party, you can buy it for only $1.50, directly from Catherine! Email her at and she'll send you a link to Paypal, and then the eBook. 
To find Catherine on the web:

And, my interview with the author!

1. The book is rich in futuristic detail about a world drastically altered by climate change. Do you have a scientific background that helped inform your imagination? What inspired the theme of the book?
I’m fascinated by hybrids, including how many future applications there are for algae—agar. I did tons of research in prep for writing Fireseed One, and the more I read about transgenics (plants genetically modified with foreign elements), the more fascinated I became. Did you know researchers have already combined proteins in human saliva and breast milk with rice RNA to create infant resistance to diarrhea in the Third World? I simply asked, “What next?” In the story, there’s a hybrid of grapes and fish, so that fish can grow up on vines and avoid toxic water. Expect even stranger hybrids in the novel too. Spinning out possible “Frankenstein Scenarios” is wicked fun.

2. How many Fireseed books do you have planned? Have you already mapped out the next one?
Yes! The next is called Children of Fireseed, where I invent very weird transgenic scenarios, and inspiring variations too. Hint: what advantages would you have if you could get your nutrition from the sun? The Fireseed cult will reappear, as will Armonk, Nevada and the little girl with three missing fingers. (You’ll understand when you read). Oh, and another hot romance. The Fireseed novels will probably expand to a trilogy.

3. The plot is very well constructed for maximum suspense. Do you outline your plot in advance, or do you write more from the hip?
I love building tension! I write a longish synopsis, an outline, and I free-write around the themes and characters—who wants what and why, how characters will clash, where I take the romantic relationships—all of that. I also do research. I’ve learned from experience that planning will keep me from writing a five-headed monstrosity that reels off into outer space! A writer can always alter storyline as he or she goes. I think people fear that once they outline they aren’t allowed to change it. So not true.

Flyfish Vines. Art by Catherine Stine.

4. One of the unique features of Fireseed One is the inclusion of your own illustrations. Which came first for you, writing or drawing? Or were they simultaneous talents that you nurtured?
I wrote a lot in high school. Then I attended an art college and got a BFA in painting. I was published as an illustrator first. There were a bunch of artists in my family, so it was expected. But I was always, always writing. To fuse the two, I assumed that I would write a picture book. But my first published novel was middle-grade. Go figure. I am beyond thrilled to now combine story and picture. It’s great that there’s a YA trend toward illustrations. I’ll also be illustrating Children of Fireseed.

I, for one, have never thought of a hybrid between fish and grapes. She did. Creative genius! Thank you, Catherine, for the giveaway and the interview. We'll be rooting for the success of the book and await the positive reviews.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Eldest Son Unleashes the F-Bomb (and the Kraken!)

Eldest Son (age 8) is enrolled in a special creative writing workshop at his school, which meets on Fridays. When I arrived home tonight he told me he had completed his short story for the week, and would I like to read it? Then he leaned over and whispered in my ear: "It's sort of inappropriate."

I was expecting a panoply of farts and poo talk, so I took the paper he handed me and started to read it out loud. The story was titled "How The Kraken Learned to Hate Bad Words." It starred a sailor named "Sdrowdab" ("Bad Words" spelled backwards) who gets into some hijinks on the high seas with the infamous Kraken. The Kraken and Sdrowdab get into a tussle, at which point ol' Sdrowdab unleashes some language that would make a sailor blush:

'"Fuck Fuck Fucky Fuck!" yelled Sdrowdab. "You're one slimy ass Kraken! Oh, Fuckity Fuck Fuck!"'

"Profanity offends my finer sensibilities," said Geoffrey Q. Kraken. "I'll take a double espresso, sir."
I did a double take, stopped reading, and gaped. Eldest Son smiled meaningfully.

"Ah, yes, what you said about inappropriate? Um, well..." And then I searched for a delicate way to put it. "Your teacher might be a bit...surprised. Shocked, even."

He burst into tears and snatched the paper from my hands.

"I knew it!" he screamed. "I'm gonna recycle this!"

Middle Son got very excited and managed to get his hands on the paper. He has just learned to read and is very proud of his skills. So he sounded out the word: "Fuck-tee? Fuck-tee? Fuck-tee!" He looked to me for approval.

Littlest Son said "Fuck-tee! Fuck-tee!" and laughed with great gusto.

"That's kind of a...bad word," I said.

Eldest Son burst into tears again and displayed his uvula.

"Wait, wait!" I said. "It's not like you have to scrap this story. How about you change the 'F' word to 'Fart'?"

"You know that will ruin it!" he wailed.

Well, he was right. Sometimes the F bomb just can't be replaced with a tame little replacement like "Fartity Pants" or "Farty Fart." Would Go the F to Sleep have become a bestseller? I don't think so. "Aw, sugar!" a coworker said recently. I cringed. Let's call a shit a shit, after all.

I asked him, "Where did you hear this word?" (Had he been reading mother's blog?) He shrugged his shoulders.

"You know, Eldest Son," I said. "It's just a word. Words can't hurt us. We shouldn't be afraid of words. Did you know that some people have banned books because they have bad words or thoughts in them that people don't like? I think you ought to bring that story in. Just be prepared. Your teacher's eyebrows will go up."

Why was I saying this? I don't know. I didn't want him to feel censored.

It was no use. He tore the story into little bits and ran off crying, saying things like "I wrote a banned story. I wrote a story that's gonna get banned." I gathered the bits and saved them. The pencil marks had faded from his grubby, angsty clutch. I could barely read the end, where the Kraken, deeply offended by the slew of bad language from the potty-mouthed sailor Sdrowdab, sinks beneath the waves "never ever to be seen again."

Fuckity fuck fuck, it was a pretty good story! But he made me promise not to tell a soul about it.

I lied very sweetly.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

It Ain't Bad to Get Mad!

My kids have a doll called "The Elf on the Shelf," which was a gift from last year's holiday season. It sits on a shelf or perches on top of the fridge or dangles from a light fixture during the day, staring with baleful eye at the children's antics. During the night, it flies on swift wings and narks to Santa about their misdeeds. Then it returns and sits in a different spot.

My children named their elf "Harry Spotts," and registered it with the Elf on the Shelf web site.

What it says or does makes no difference, for is Santa really going to deliver coal to my children? All the threats are in vain, for if they get one less plastic rinkamadink for Christmas they will not even notice, and will continue to carry on with their "mouth farts" and other atrocities at the dinner table.

"The elf is watching!" we may exhort, and they pause. But then they continue with the "mouth farts" and other bad things, and we know, in our hearts, that they have won.

I said to my husband the other day that I need my own Elf on the Shelf. My elf will have one clear purpose: To prevent me from sending angry emails. I am an Angry Email Sender. Ever since the advent of email, I have been sending angry ones. To wit:

• The three-pager I sent my wine-sodden, fat roommate back in Stuyvesant Town to tell her she was a fat, wine-sodden bitch

• The four-pager I sent my other roommate back in Brooklyn, to explain to her that she was a nutbag whose cats urinated excessively and she needed a swift kick in the brain

• The email(s) I sent to the beloved husband some years ago, to tell him that he had offended me in various regards and I wished to explain my rightness in all things, and his wrongness

• The email I sent to certain management personnel at a particular establishment not terribly long ago, in which I used the phrase "soul crushing" to rather devastating effect, such that it is now (soon to be) a trending hashtag on Twitter

If I could have written an email to my three boys expressing my foaming furor over the continuing #mouthfart trend, I would have done so! I find email to be a very handy tool for expressing rage.

Apparently, I need an elf to stop me from hitting "send," and to kindly direct me to put my missives in the freezer for a while to cool off. My elf will be called "Mr. Jinks" or maybe "Dave."

But do I? Isn't it okay, sometimes, to say exactly what we think? Is it okay to remain silent while a coworker sits next to one at a business dinner, chewing his or her salad with a dreadful "monghgh monghgh mongrrg" sound? It is acceptable to stand by while good people get reamed, and naughty ones get rewarded? Shall we be meek and quiet while someone tells an offensive joke, or lets her cats poo on one's comforter for sport, or drinks the last dregs of the wine box? Shall we make merry with the evil poo-head who piddled on our petunias?

That's when I realized. It ain't bad to get mad. It's GOOD to get mad. It's not like Santa's going to bring me coal because I hit "send" on that email that included the words "reptilian" and "fuck-headed douche muppet" in the same sentence. And do you know how I know that? Why, Sesame Street taught me:

Happy holidays, goats! Get maaaad! But only when you're dealing with some real assholes, of course.

Monday, November 28, 2011


 I have picked zee winners out of my magical randomizing hat! And they are:

1. Jennifer of Serendipity's Library!
2. Angela Cook!
3. Stacey!
4. Lisa Ann!

I will divide the book into neat mathematical portions and send them your way. Rah!
Check in next time for another chance to win.


Yo, Book Sluts! I'm back. And, in honor of Cyborg Monday, I'm going to give away a big ol' pile of books. I have ARCs, new titles, and even a CD set.

These books keep creeping around my desk with their pages ruffling mournfully, begging to be read. (The CD set just lies there like a lump.)

"Fie on you, books!" I say. "Can you not see that I am working hard here at gazing listlessly into space and pushing this paperclip back and forth, back and forth, while dreaming of revenge against my enemies? I have not time to read all of you. I can read only one of you today!"

They fling themselves at me in anger, slapping me with their inky pages, but I will not be deterred.

"However!" I shout. "I will find you loving homes. I will do so today."

The books are mollifed....for now. Enter this giveaway post haste so I can speed them on their way into your eager arms! (The books are really very tame. Pay no mind to my hyperbole.)

The rules are simple for this giveaway:
1. Leave me a comment with a way to contact you should you win (if certain titles appeal to you, say so!)
2. Follow my blog
3. Tweet at least once about this giveaway, and please tag me @feralpony so I see it (if you don't tweet then just send me some good karma/prayer/what have you. Something like "Gee whiz, I sure hope that nice Party Pony blogger gets a pile of money in her mailbox today!")
4. If you write a blog post about this giveaway you get super ginormous points
5. Thank something, anything, for your life. Right now. You are golden.

I will pick winners a couple of days. Good luck!

A red dog named "Clifford"? Hmmm.

Anyone seen this movie yet? It sounds amazing.

ARC, ARC, The Clockwork Dark!

That cobra gonna bite cha!

I like authors named "Jennifer."

Ooh, I read Life as We Knew It and it was so understated, yet so believable and compelling in the end.

I think she is going for the "hot librarian" look.

Another author named Jennifer! Is this a trend?

Stephen King endorses it!

Dat be blood dripping from that microphone!

The CD set. Suzanne Collins endorses it!

MG fun.

Please tell me the "J" stands for Jennifer!

I am running out of steam to write captions. How many books are left?

Is that fish carnivorous?

Plucky kids, I'll wager!

Recognize that look? Hot librarian!

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Scary as Shit Children's Book Illustrations (Part 1)

For Christmas, Santa has brought you menacing stuffies with blood-red eyes. Plus, they are infested with rodents.

"Hello Jibboo! Have we met before in another creepy, dark alley?
Why do you peck me in the duodenum with your awful beak?"

Greetings! Is this the hindquarters of the Pickle Creature, or its forequarters? Either way, it's damnably happy!

"Dance, monkey, dance!" chortled lascivious old Grandfather Bunny. And the bunnies leapt to his foul command.

"Enter my lair and feast on my trotters! Mwa-ha-ha-ha!"
(The Party Pig would have been an awesome blog name. Damn!)

"Then there were dolls—dolls with blue eyes and yellow curls,
dolls with brown eyes and brown curls,
and the funniest little toy clown you ever saw...."

"Kill, kill, KILL!"

"Mmm, what up, Danny Beaver? It's so hot, Danny Beaver," groaned Rabbit. "Come sit in the grass with me. You like my fluffy white tail? You wanna get you summa that? Maybe you like a lick-a my ice cream? "

"My nice monkey friends skinned me! I will now watch my skin dangling from a telephone wire. That's really weird."

Saturday, November 12, 2011

My Holiday Catalogue: Gifts That Will Inspire Ire, Spittle, and Occasional Terror

It's a star. On top of a tree. This is why it qualifies for "Inventor's Corner." Because it's a star. On top of a tree! (They trademarked "menorahment" so don't you try to borrow it.)

This guy's nickname in high school was "The Slanket." He touched girls underneath big blankets then, too, but now the girls can't get out because his patented "The Slanket (R) Siamese" is actually like a big molesto-sack!

What's really in that bottle of "Go Away Gray"? Is it really "Go Away My Weak Flaccid Weiner"? Mmm, mmm, she seems to think so!

Well, you had me at "the secret is in the soft silicone poly magnetic feelers that soothingly manipulate..."

Auntie June in a Box; fits neatly under the bed for winter storage. Emerges fresh and lifelike!

Is the cat pooing, do we think, while this photograph was taken? Or tinkling? Or both? And of what is he thinking? Philosophy? The world economy? Gnawing on your nads? It is a subject of much debate among shoppers everywhere.

Yummy home-grown fungus in a box! I so can't wait to eat this.

Keep recalcitrant employees captive at their desks with the "shoe boot." No more two-hour lunch "hours" and gossip by the water cooler. Plus, they will have toned metatarsels.

He doesn't look bashful. He looks kill-ful! He's GOING TO FUCK UP YOUR SHIT! Happy holidays.

This is funniest when you're bald. In fact, it's a laugh a minute! Precisely one laugh per minute, until doomsday arrives and/or bald uncle Jimmy swings his golf club at your scampering rump.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Fun With Anagrams

I've been playing with the Internet Anagram Server and thought "ain't words just magic things?" So I typed some of your blog names into the thing and this is what I got. Can you find yours on the list? For the record, The Party Pony turns out as "Nay, Pet Trophy!" or "Thy Rapt Peony" or "An Hyper Potty" or maybe "Ya! Pert Python!"

Anyone else gearing up for NaNoWriMo and gadding about like I am?

A Mandated Illness Quits

Dairy Grew Toe

Reek I Riot Or

Mange Owner

A Cab Disconnected Hidden Trekker

A Dauntless Flaming, A Engagement Unloosens Tit

Refine Reprint A Writs Wort

Ad Feeds A Huge Monsoons

Shattering Vine Volts

The Linen Jug

Relent, Wino!

A Berried Linty Prissy

A Starling Razor Climb

Accede, A Intestine, Thy Iris

Slithering, Why Wilt?

Uneasy Zen Nap

Try, Vacant Seer

Slimy, Stern Linens

A Marmot's Hue

Hie, Jolly Nuts!

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Toffee and Brittle Confections of Sheer Unrivaled Deliciousness

Friends! Do you like sweets? Yes, you do. You crave the deliciousness of sugary treats. You defy your dentist at every opportunity! You like to fill your pockets with smackerels of goodness and mouthwatering crunch (wrapped in pretty packaging, of course, so as not to collide with the lint and old pennies and Barbie doll shoes and bits of stale "Veggie Booty" that also occupy said pockets. Or maybe that's just my pockets).

You deserve to eat these most amazing toffees and brittles. My dear friend Michele makes them, and she is a gifted artist. A trained chef!

They are all tasty. And get this...I don't even like sweets. I would rather eat a bag of Cheez Doodles any day, and yet I cannot resist the lure of the fascinating toffees and brittles at La Petite Occasion.

This one is my particular favorite: The Dark Chocolate Toffee Wafers. I need say no more. Look upon them, ye mighty dieters, and despair!


Friday, October 21, 2011

7x7 Link Award (plus 7 lies!)

Lisa Ann, our fabulous resident animal trainer (and writer who recently secured an agent for her book, Below the Surface!) has kindly bequeathed to me the 7 x 7 link award. If you need a dolphin wrangled, a lion tamed, or a squid manhandled, you must visit her at Kicked, Cornered, Bitten, and Chased (one of my favorite blog names, by the way).

The purpose of this award is to breathe new life into some oldies but goodies by asking bloggers to identify some of their favorites in various categories. I have done so!

1. Most Beautiful Post: I am rather partial to this one, about The Great North Woods. I wrote it a long time ago.

2. Most Popular Post: I have checked my "most popular" list and this post is ALWAYS there. It's about my search, in the year 2008, for a DJ Lance Rock costume. DJ Lance is the star of the kiddie TV show Yo Gabba Gabba and I was obsessed with him. I wanted to BE him. (This year I have a crazy new costume planned. I was born on Halloween so I am a little bit touched. Photos will appear.)

3. Most Controversial Post: Back when I lived in New Rochelle, NY, I used to blog about my neighborhood. I also did regular posts for our "hyperlocal" news service at The Loop. The editrix picked up this story about SoNo New Ro and it caused a firestorm! Here is a typical piece of hate mail I received: "I was completely offended by your rude comments pertaining to Craft Form apparel. That store offers a valuable service for ladies who have had mastectomies. It is clear that you hate women, especially women who have had mastectomies. You must hate people with cancer. You also hate black people and all minorities. You are a terrible person. New Rochelle is a lovely town."

4. Most Helpful: After spending some time on Query Tracker and sympathizing with the lovely writers who were getting rejections, I wrote this post about Rejectozolonaxil, my new miracle pill to deal with the hideous emotions that come when you hear "no" from a stranger. Many people sent their thanks for this bit of levity.

5. Most Surprisingly Successful: I was so used to being a "funny" blogger for so long that, sometimes, writing something that wasn't really intended to be funny was strange and scary. I learned that I don't always have to be tap-dancing while wearing a wig made out of brussels sprouts. Here is Why Do We Write?

6. Post That Didn't Get The Attention It Deserved: There are so many of these, because I wrote this blog almost in the darkness for so long, when it was read by only a few friends who didn't even know how to leave a comment that wasn't "anonymous." I wrote on and on and it was like tossing bottles onto the sea. I picked this one out of that batch: Don't Cry Silly, You're Not Dead Yet.

 7. Post I Am Most Proud Of: I'm not sure why, but I just love this post, The Houses Have Eyes. It's snarky and sad at the same time, which is what all my best posts have in common.

I am late to this party (just like I will be late to the #rapture party happening today around cocktail hour, because I've got to get to the liquor store and put on a pretty frock and stuff), so some of my pals already have this award. But I have sought among the valiant, the deserving, and the just plain crazy and I have found these 7 worthy bloggers who may not yet have the award. Go forth, 7x7 Masters!

Because I like to break the rules I have told lies about all these people. Only one statement is true. Can you find the fact among the fiction?

Tracey's Tavern
Tracey has never touched alcohol.

Suzanne Payne
Suzanne used to be a rodeo cowgirl.

Angela V. Cook
Angela would not like panties made out of fish.

Justin Holley
Justin has a unicorn tattoo.

Kalen O'Donnell
Kalen eats butterflies.

Mary Baader Kaley
Mary owns her own Egg Emporium.

Riley Redgate
Riley is 78 years old.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

A story of bladders, pee, and an errant strawberry

Last week, I had surgery on my innards! Most specifically on an organ that I shall call my blah-dére. Which had gone askew, drifted free of its moorings, and was eventually (maybe when I hit the age of 90) going to lead me into the Depends aisle if the doctor didn’t fix it. Three eight-pound babies sitting atop it might have caused it to slip from its accustomed position and go on a strange peregrination, saying hello to the colon and sidling up to the spleen. (The blah-dére is a known sidler, and should be given Tic-Tacs to carry.) It was on its way somewhere. It needed to be harnessed.

Organs that wander need stern discipline. I was embarrassed about this business, because blah-déres ain't the stuff of polite society, but now I'm posting it on my blog. Go figure. (People would rather talk about butts or boobs or even colons.)  But suppose your heart wandered, or your duodenum? Or your liver just up and hid somewhere in the cavity of your chest, cringing from your nightly devotionals to the Lords of Booze? You wouldn't put up with it, not for a minute.

I was not interested in shopping for “Poise” brand products (although I hear they make a fine and worthy product). Neither should you be, one in three like me! Go to the hospital and get that sonofabitch hoisted back on deck like a drunken sailor. Ashamed? Pfah! It’s more embarrassing to tinkle while doing jumping jacks or while doing ballet leaps to “Moves Like Jagger.” I’m going to become one of those “hot trampoline girls” now. Not a droplet of pee shall 'scape my nethers. I'm going to drink lots and lots of iced tea and beer and then go on the trampoline. 

I share this hideously embarrassing story so that others may seek the same path as I have. Because I'm cool like that. Although Whoopi, the spokeswoman for Poise, is very righteous for speaking about her "spritz" in a public forum, I don't like the thought of her wearing a "pad." I can't even say "pad" without using quote marks because it's such a horrible word, rather like "panty." Do we like "pads" for our periods? The last time I wore a blasted "pad" was after birthing my third child, and it was like wearing a couch cushion between my legs. No grown woman ought to submit to this injustice! (There is a school of thought, by the way, that suggests that wearing diapers is insulting and wrongful for babies. No baby ought to submit to this injustice!)

Blah-dére surgery is covered by insurance, although you will need to check with your own health care provider.

Whilst in hospital, I had the delight of sharing my room with an 87-year-old Italian lady named Philomena. She’d had surgery on her back that morning. As I was eating my “clear” dinner of chicken broth and lime jello (my second such miserable meal of the day), I could smell her dinner of chicken breast with gravy and mashed potatoes from the other side of the curtain.

“I no eat!” said Philomena. Those were about her only words of English.

As soon as her extended family left the premises, she began moaning and groaning like the star of a tragic opera.

“Oh, mamma mia! Lo sono nel dolore terribile!” she cried. I could hear her writhing about, chewing on the scenery a bit for good measure. "Come ho fatto a finire que? Non mi piace questo posto!"

Then she started to gawp up great gobs of phlegm and then swallow ‘em down again. She did this all evening long. It sounded something like this:

“Schllurfkgkgkk…gulp. SHNMMJKKlllffp…gulp.”

After each series of wrenching, barftastic noises, she started to call out for me.

“Miss. Missuz! Missiz! Heeeeelp me! Heeeelp me! Aiuto!”

I could tell the poor old dear was in pain so I’d ring the nurse on her behalf. The nurse would come running in with a Percocet for me.

“No, not me! Her!”

“But we can’t understand a word of Italian!” said all the nurses.

“Um, I think she is in PAIN. Show her the sad-face pain chart,” I suggested.

They rolled old Philomena around on the bed and asked her lots of questions and she babbled at them in Italian. I think they may have given her a Tylenol, but nothing stronger—for she never went to sleep!

After the third incident I accepted the Percocet for myself, and drifted off into a blissful slumber. An hour or so passed, and then:

“Miss! Missuz! Oh, Missuz! Heeeeeelp me! Snlurklegurklrsmskfkg….gulp.”

I rang the nurse and told her I needed another Percocet. She asked where the pain was.

“In my head!” I said.

Finally, morning came. Philomena was moaning and thrashing about in a frenzy. I called the nurse again.

“You gotta help this lady!” I said.

Finally, they gave her a Percocet while she was in the midst of poking at her breakfast, which included a fruit salad.

It wasn’t long before she zonked out, and I was finally able to read my book without disruption. But soon, Philomena’s daughter showed up.

“Mamma!” she said. “Mamma! Wake up! Open your eyes, Mamma! What’s a-wrong with you, Mamma? Mamma!”

The daughter started slapping and tugging at the mother, and crying out for the nurses. Oh Lord, I thought, what if the old lady corked off?

Then the daughter screamed: “Oh Mamma mia! She got a strawberry inside her mouth! She’s a-gonna choke! You kill-a my mamma!”

There was much activity to remove the strawberry while the daughter wailed things like, “You drug-a my mother! You drug-a her and feed her strawberry! Questo e molto male!”

The strawberry was finally extracted and Philomena gave a gentle snort of pleasure, lost in her Percocet-induced dream. I wondered what she’d been like in her youth, and decided that she probably screamed and carried on just as wildly when, as a girl, a boy dropped a newt down her shirt. No, she’d lost none of her spunk. Hopefully not any of her spritz, either. Bring out a trampoline for Philomena, for she wishes to bounce as high as the darkening sky.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Mind the Gap!

Please do not feed sugar cubes to the rats on the subway. It causes them to smoke and play loud music.

If you step into the gap, you will be sucked quickly to Hell while the grey-faced people look on. Your tummy is unbecoming for a man your age and professional assignation.

Do not vomit hot dogs at the robotic device whilst prodding it in the duodenum with your finger in a rude and aggressive manner.

What about ponies? They do not poo in the streets!
If you do any of these bad things in this playground your head will immediately pop off like a spiked volleyball. You will also lose your feet, which are really ugly and have an oversized big toe, kind of like Uma Thurman's in Kill Bill.