Or at least extreme jack o’lanterns.
I rarely post anything anyone sends me, which is a shame, as I am very lazy, yo. But I’m just contrarian enough to reject the help when people offer it for free.
Except when they offer this: jack o’lanterns from Extreme Pumpkin, in the shape of an octopus attacking a fish and a flaming tiki god. Thanks, Metro!
So I’m cross-posting this from a comment on Guido’ s site. As he says, if you don’t like it take a full refund and don’t come back. But it was my comment anyway, so I shall paste it here unabashedly, not that I’ve ever been abashed, cuz you all know I’d-a bashed him right back.
My mother worked in the King Fahd hospital in Saudi Arabia back in the 80’s, and one day an unmarried Saudi fellow came in with a diagnosis of a ruptured penis. And for several days he remained in the hospital, taking wincingly painful daily walks in the hallway, drawing a fair bit of attention, as he walked so slowly anyone else could have run a marathon in the time it took him to do a lap around the ward.
Now, unmarried Saudi men are not supposed to be doing anything with their penises that could rupture them. They’re not particularly supposed to notice that they have penises until they’re married, except to ensure the pee isn’t dribbling down their legs.
So the medical transcriptionist was curious. And so was the entire pool of medical transcriptionists. So they asked my mother to find out how it happened, my mother being an unabashed sort (acorn not falling far from tree and all that).
So she did.
She walked up to the doctor who’d examined the patient and asked him point-blank, “So how did that patient rupture his penis? All the typists are dying to know!”
The doctor rolled his eyes, then looked left, looked right, waited till the coast was clear, then leaned in and whispered:
The goat bolted.
Just what it says. You’ve had shrimp on a bed of rice, so go wild, kick the jambs out and try shrimp on a treadmill.
This isn’t the scholarly, narrated, boring version of the video, the one linked to by everybody and his brother the Total Farker. Naw, it’s the colourized, Flight of the Bumblebee-scored, cheaply amusing version, just as you’d expect from the ol’ raincoaster blog.
And this concludes Cthulhu Day.
Oh, one more thing.
It looks like it’s Cthulhu Day both here and, thanks to me, on Boris‘ blog as well; and, thanks to Jupiter, on Gawker too. It’s a shame I missed tying it in to Mental Health Day; it would have been a perfect matchup.
In any case, we’ve had a cartoon from Hello Cthulhu and a nice bit of Cthuloid fiction, as well as a lovely and collectible street sign, so let’s look at the nonfictional aspects of it. Are there applications of the mythos to the current situation in Washington? Beyond those that have already been mentioned on the blog?
Yew betcha there are:
MORNING ANNOUNCEMENTS:
MISKATONIC UNIVERSITY:
SEPTEMBER 16, 2004Professor THIDWICK will not meet his class in “Modern American Politics” this morning, or indeed any morning. In partial explanation we offer this note, written by him in the pre-dawn hours:
I begged the Dean not to make me teach “Modern American Politics” this semester. I knew that in order to teach it properly I would have to delve into the secrets of the Bush administration. I knew that I would learn THINGS THAT HUMANS (as we say in these post-sexist times) ARE NOT MEANT TO KNOW. I feared that this would drive me insane–into shrill unholy madness. And so it has.
But up until now I have still able to teach my course. I am proud of that. Far gone in shrill unholy madness as a result of the incompetence, mendacity, malevolence, and disconnection from reality that I am, I could still communicate with my students in English and. Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Krugman R’lyeh wagn’nagl fhtagn! Aiiiiiii!!!
Apologies. The fits come and go. They come more quickly now. By proper effort of will I can sometimes. Ph’nglui mglw’nafh. Stop them. There. But I fear that tonight I have taken another step, and will no longer be able to intelligibly communicate with humanity. I have learned more. So shrill as to be inaudible to human hearing. But the dogs will still hear me, for a while at least.
While preparing tomorrow’s lecture I came across this: a letter from Michael Scheuer, the head of the CIA’s Osama bin Laden unit from 1996-1999…
Go on. You know you want to read the rest.
is one of these:
raincoaster 