TMI Thursday: Chuck Mangione Style

I've never participated in TMI Thursday until now, mostly because I refuse to let my TMI posts be sequestered only to Thursdays, but partly because I've just started reading Lilu--the Originator's--blog and I appreciate what a lovely rack site she has.

Plus, it just so happens that this exact story took place last night!

I was lying in bed while the Comely and Buxom and Ailurophobic Boudicca was in the bathroom tending to some urinally needs. I felt the rumble of gas in my bowels, and so I tried to sneak it out. However, it sounded eerily similar to a brass band warming up before a performance.

"That's funny," the Comely and Buxom and Ailurophobic Boudicca said from the bathroom, "I didn't know you played the trumpet."

"I don't know," I replied. "That was a little higher pitched, kind of like a flugelhorn. My ass is like Chuck Mangione. Beard and all."

"Oh my," she responded.

Being that I know you're all familiar with the greatness that is Chuck Mangione, feel free to dial through your iPods right now until you come upon "Feels So Good", which is Chuck's signature hit. It's best to refamiliarize yourself with the song now before we proceed.

Here's some video, too, to help with that:

As an aside, why is it that all badass celebrities must be named Chuck and have a kickass beard? Just a thought.

Anyway, you should be familiar with the opening strains of the song. Bom...bom bom bom bom...it's classic. Beautiful. Fun. Yes, it's the song that keeps popping up on King of the Hill. Chuck has embraced his celebrity. In fact, I hear everywhere he goes, he carries the flugelhorn, and when someone recognizes him, he busts out horn and takes us all on a magical ride.

Back to the story. My wife finished up in the bathroom, came back to bed and turned off the lights. We settled down for a lovely night of blissful sleep when I felt the chamber reload with another ass concert. So, I rolled over, slipped my arm around her, and, with a sphincter control that can only be described as "legendary", I fired off the opening notes. Poot...poot poot poot poot.

The laughter started slowly, but then quickly spiraled out of control. After a solid five minutes of laughing to the point of tears, we finally got ourselves under control.

"Wow," the Comely and Buxom and Ailurophobic Boudicca stated, "that was the stuff of legends."

"My grandfather would be so proud," I countered (he once played "Up on the Rooftop" via ass symphony to the great delight of his grandchildren). A second later, "You know, I think I owe Chuck Mangione a dollar now."

How to Tell if You Have Swine Flu

The most recent overhyped media frenzy when it comes to public health is the dreaded Swine Flu. Remember back when we had to fear birds? Yeah, fuck that. It's pigs now.

People are terrified of this new, porcine-originating flu. And rightly so. 150 people in a nation of 110 million have died! That's a mortality rate of 0.000136%!!! Gnash your teeth and beat your breasts, the Black Rider is among us, touching us with his sickly, sausage-infested scythe, harvesting souls right and left with his latest biological weapon, the Swine Flu.

Being the scientist that I am, I've decided to allay some of your fears. The Swine Flu isn't something that you'll get by hanging out with pigs. You also cannot get Swine Flu by eating the savory, succulent flesh of the pig--you can, however, get fat from eating too much of the savory, succulent flesh of the pig. The name "Swine Flu" means that it originally was a pig flu but mutated into a strain of flu that can now infect humans. So, transmission of Swine Flu comes from people, not pigs. No need to put the pork chop down, fatty, you're safe. Jowly, but safe.

If you are afraid you've come in contact with anyone who has had Swine Flu, stay the fuck home. Turn off the lights. Draw the curtains. Sit in a bathtub. Weep.

If you are wondering if you have contracted the Swine Flu, check to see if you have any of the following symptoms:

• You are achy.
• You have chest congestion.
• You have lots of yellow mucus in your sinuses and throat.
• When it comes time to eat, any slop will do.
• You have grown a curly tail.
• You've grown more chauvinistic.
  
• You've developed a stutter and an aversion to pants.
• You suddenly want to make out with a frog.
• People mistake you for a cop.
• Jabba has hired you to guard his palace.
  
• Spiders are writing you messages in their webs.
• When you're outside in the sun too long, you smell something delicious.
• You bear an uncanny resemblance to Porco Rosso.

If you exhibit any of these symptoms, please contact your nearest health professional and/or barbecue supply store.

Truck: A Love Story by Michael Perry

Last summer, I read Michael Perry's book Population: 485, which, when you got past all the mangled bodies and dead teenagers, was an enjoyable read. I'm from a small town (998 happy people...and four grouches), so I could identify--sometimes painfully--with a lot of the things that Perry discussed and described in his book. Not that it's a bad thing; I live on the outskirts of a small-sized city and would move further out if I could. Also, while there are a lot of differences between Wisconsin (where Perry lives) and Indiana (where I lived), there are also a lot of similarities, so there were times when he seemed to be writing about my hometown.

Perry continues the story of small-town life in Truck: A Love Story wherein he details the adventure of restoring his beloved 1951 International Harvester truck, meeting a woman, falling in love with her, and ultimately marrying her, all the while he tries to defeat the truculent squirrels that are constantly trying to foil his attempts at cultivating a green thumb. The "action" of the story takes place in bucolic New Auburn, Wisconsin, which is in the northwest part of the state, not too far from Minnesota. The book follows the author through the course of a year, which each month being a new chapter, which is a clever concept and makes for an easy read.

Perry is more well-known for his articles and columns in various magazines. His tastes are varied and eclectic: he is happy to discuss the finer aspects of Shakespeare's use of imagery over a cup of coffee and is equally as delighted to discuss deer hunting over a beer. He's a nurse, a volunteer firefighter, a first responder, an author, and plays in a band. About the only thing he doesn't know how to do well is fix a truck.

His experience as columnist means that his chapters are often divided into small, easily-read sections. Essentially, at times, the book is a lot like reading a collection of blog posts, just with bigger words (he's the only person--aside from a word maven--I've ever seen who used the word 'omphaloskepsis' in a book...I admit it, CowGuy, that's where I picked it up!) and a more cohesive flow to the 'posts'.

Overall, I really enjoyed the story, but then I connected with the author on a couple of levels and was familiar with his work. Truck has more humor in it than does Population: 485 and doesn't end on the depressing note that Population does. Overall, I think someone who either lives in or grew up in a small town will get more enjoyment out of Truck, but I do recommend it for anyone interested in "small town America" literature. I also recommend Population: 485, but I warn you that it's far more gruesome and graphic.

Also, obviously, if you live in the Wisconsin/Minnesota area, or ever have (as I know many of you do or have), then I think you'd like these books.

If you are unfamiliar with Michael Perry's work, you can check him out at his site, SneezingCow.com.

Friday Morning Latin Lesson, Volume XXI

I totally dropped the ball when I posted this originally, but I must send an acknowledgment to my wife, the Buxom and Comely and Ailurophobic Boudicca who helped me with the translation, suggesting that I turn the second part into a question so that it made a little story.

If you remember back a couple of weeks ago, I was instructing you fine-ass ladies who read my blog (and you are, all, fine-ass) on how to tell a guy to go fuck himself (which, I am thrilled to hear, Girl 1nterrupted has used! Oh, glorious day!). CoolRed asked which word translated as "fuck". I gave a long and winding explanation about tenses and subject and such. It was then that I figured maybe--just maybe--I should actually work a little something into this Latin Lesson that was, you know, an actual lesson.

Behold, your first, honest to Caesar Latin lesson: present tense conjugation.

First, though, we need to back up. We need to remember (or to learn) the infinitive of a verb. The infinitive form of a verb is simply the base form of the verb and often (in English) includes the word to in front of it. To drink, to sleep, to dance, to make sweet, sweet love. These are all infinitive forms of the verb. The infinitive is sort of the purest form of a verb, before it does any actions. Smell it. It has that new verb smell, doesn't it?

Conjugation is taking the infinitive form of the verb and getting it to agree with the subject doing the action. For example, when conjugating "to be", we say "I am", "You are", "he/she/it is" and so on. In Latin, we take what is called the "stem" of the verb and place different suffixes on the verb in order to conjugate it. Therefore, we can infer any pronouns in the sentence by looking at the ending of the verb form.

Now for the fun part. There are four conjugations (or five or six, depending on whom you ask) for regular verbs. Plus, then there's active and passive voice, six general tenses, three grammatical moods, along with three persons and two numbers (and, for now, we'll completely ignore the irregular verbs). For today, let's focus on just the present tense, active voice, first conjugation of the verb.

The First Conjugation deals with verbs whose infinitive ends with -are. A few examples are amare (to love), ambulare (to walk), cruciare (to torture), cogitare (to think) and negare (to deny). When we go to conjugate these, we take off the -re ending and add the appropriate suffix to tell the person (first, second, third) and number (singular, plural). Here is a little table to help you with the suffixes:

The first person singular is a principle part of the verb. Therefore, we would conjugate amare as amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amant for "I love, you love, he/she loves, we love, you (pl) love, they love." These also can be translated as "I am loving, you are loving..." or "I do love, you do love..." and so on.

Got it? Good, because here comes a sentence with all first-conjugation verbs in it, whether you're ready or not:

Cum te iuvo lavare, asto. Mene negas? Sibi frico.
Pronounced: "Coom tay ee-oo-woe lah-warr-aye, ahs-toh. May-nay nay-goss? See-bee free-coh."

Remember, put the cursor over the picture to get the translation!
Next week: something a lot less fucking complicated!

Oh. Em. Effing. Gee.

It takes a lot to make me type things out in LEET-speak.

This comic is one of those things that succeeds in bringing the LEET out in me. I dare you to not piddle in your pants a little bit from laughter when you read it. Cause, I don't want to be the only one.



The best part is, the authors titled it Maybe Too Soon.