4: Louis XIV
19 January 2008 Filed in:
The Louis of France and How to Tell Them Apart
The famous “Sun King.” Louis began wielding supreme executive power at the tender age of twelve, which caused many of the French to confuse him with “Louis the Twelfth,” except in French, of course. Young Louis was present when his father, Louis XIII, had a sudden attack of some sort and stopped breathing. The boy attempted artificial blowhole to blowhole resuscitation, but it was too late. Well-respected by history for the transaction known to the French as The Louisiana Sale.
3: Louis XIII
18 January 2008 Filed in:
The Louis of France and How to Tell Them Apart
Louis XIII
King of France, although not a Frenchman. He was in fact an Englishman with a penchant for croissants, and just got carried away.
Louis was a good and wise king, much loved by his adoptive people, yet some aspects of the monarchy eluded him, partly due to the fact that he never learned the French language. As a boy, the term dauphin referring to the current King’s brother (and heir to the throne), was mistaken by the young Louis as dolphin, and he spent several formative years trying to find a surgeon who would implant a blowhole and a dorsal fin. No easy task considering the level of medical knowledge of the time!
King of France, although not a Frenchman. He was in fact an Englishman with a penchant for croissants, and just got carried away.
Louis was a good and wise king, much loved by his adoptive people, yet some aspects of the monarchy eluded him, partly due to the fact that he never learned the French language. As a boy, the term dauphin referring to the current King’s brother (and heir to the throne), was mistaken by the young Louis as dolphin, and he spent several formative years trying to find a surgeon who would implant a blowhole and a dorsal fin. No easy task considering the level of medical knowledge of the time!
2: Louis XII
17 January 2008 Filed in:
The Louis of France and How to Tell Them Apart
Known affectionately as Louis the Twelfth, except in French, of course. Louis as a boy already adopted a regal bearing. But he was forced to return it to the woodlands when it became listless in captivity and refused to eat.
Always posterity-minded, Louis had built several sets of ruins to trick future historians. He is best remembered today for just treatment of the peasants (Ray and Clara Peasant, his brother and sister-in-law), curbing the excesses of the nobles (Clark and Langston Noble, proprietors of “Friendly Pawn”), and the twenty-six pound wide-mouth bass he caught at Lake Pomme de Terre in April, 1166.
1: Louis X
16 January 2008 Filed in:
The Louis of France and How to Tell Them Apart
Louis X
The first of all the Louis, despite his moniker “the Tenth.”
In the days before Roman numerals were commonly understood, he was frequently referred to as Louis the Xth. Louis is given credit for joining the feuding city-states of Medieval France into a profitable chain of roadside convenience stops, and also for enlarging the number of things French people could refer to, by creating the masculine article, le.
Louis X sired two sons, Louis XI and Louis XI.5, who, in a terrible incident indicative of the education levels of the time, mistook the name cards at the table for the menus; they ordered each other and had completely devoured themselves before anyone realized the “gaffe.”
The first of all the Louis, despite his moniker “the Tenth.”
In the days before Roman numerals were commonly understood, he was frequently referred to as Louis the Xth. Louis is given credit for joining the feuding city-states of Medieval France into a profitable chain of roadside convenience stops, and also for enlarging the number of things French people could refer to, by creating the masculine article, le.
Louis X sired two sons, Louis XI and Louis XI.5, who, in a terrible incident indicative of the education levels of the time, mistook the name cards at the table for the menus; they ordered each other and had completely devoured themselves before anyone realized the “gaffe.”
Post Office, the
28 November 2007 Filed in:
Architecture
| History
It is common knowledge that
Benjamin Franklin invented the post office when he
one day spilled acid on his lap and ordered a comforting poultice
for delivery from his assistant in the next room. Watson
promptly mailed the item but Franklin was unable
to sign for delivery since his torso was, at the moment, on
fire.
Franklin was able to look back on the event with his usual good humor, noting in his famous brass and ivory diary: "My lappe is now most singed and indeed it would not surprise me to know that my most intimate friends should call me 'Old Singed Lappe.'"
Many of Franklin's friends did; though some misunderstood "singed" to be the past tense of "sing" and took to calling him "Old Sung Lap" instead, thinking the verb more correct. (See also: Sunglap Family of Boston).
In its earliest carnation, the Post Office was more than just a place to send or receive lap poultices. It was a meeting spot, a place to see and be seen, to hear and be heard, and, in the case of our nation's earliest psychics, to sense and be sensed.
It was these psychics who had the most to lose if the post office was a success--after all, why pay someone for telepathic communications when you could just send a letter?
This fear of competition led indirectly to the French and Indian and Psychic War of 1767, which, oddly, was more than twenty years before the invention of the Post Office, thus proving, claimed the Psychics, that the French and Indians really could foretell the future, just as the Psychics had predicted they would be able to nearly twenty years earlier.
Franklin was able to look back on the event with his usual good humor, noting in his famous brass and ivory diary: "My lappe is now most singed and indeed it would not surprise me to know that my most intimate friends should call me 'Old Singed Lappe.'"
Many of Franklin's friends did; though some misunderstood "singed" to be the past tense of "sing" and took to calling him "Old Sung Lap" instead, thinking the verb more correct. (See also: Sunglap Family of Boston).
In its earliest carnation, the Post Office was more than just a place to send or receive lap poultices. It was a meeting spot, a place to see and be seen, to hear and be heard, and, in the case of our nation's earliest psychics, to sense and be sensed.
It was these psychics who had the most to lose if the post office was a success--after all, why pay someone for telepathic communications when you could just send a letter?
This fear of competition led indirectly to the French and Indian and Psychic War of 1767, which, oddly, was more than twenty years before the invention of the Post Office, thus proving, claimed the Psychics, that the French and Indians really could foretell the future, just as the Psychics had predicted they would be able to nearly twenty years earlier.
Acknowledgements
20 September 2007 Filed in:
Literature
No cyclopedia entry is written in a
vacuum, and thus there are many people I have to thank, except that
this particular entry actually was written in a vacuum, so the only
people I need to thank are the dedicated staff of technicians from
NASA, and Debbie from over at Electrolux, who made this astounding
breakthrough possible.
When I first started this acknowledgments column, it was 1975, and my advisors called me "mad" to attempt it. Dedications had been common, of course, and although acknowledgments were not unheard of, my people feared that such a far-out move might harm my reputation.
But I insisted. "After all," I said, "no entry is written in a vacuum." Little did I suspect how those words would haunt me, lo these sixty years later, when, like so many David Blaines, I would find myself alone, unable to breath, and--but I get ahead of myself.
My first draft of the "Acknowledgments" started off with, what I must say, was some of my snappiest writing to date: "I'd like to thank my family for their understanding." Wow! My editor literally called it "hot stuff," and my publisher insisted on toning it down! Call me a sell-out, but I agreed.
And yet, every subsequent draft was somehow...less. As an artist, I truly felt that thanking my family represented a large part of what this acknowledgments piece needed to be. I tried and tried again, but found myself running up against the metaphorical brick wall that I'd had built the summer before to keep the neighbor's dog from pooping, metaphorically, on our lawn.
I complained to Eddie (my aptly named editor) and Pubby (his brother, my publisher) that the acknowledgments was going nowhere, and they suggested just scrapping the whole idea. And that's where things stood when Remembery, a young nephew from Toronto, remembered my casual comment in that summer of long ago: no newsletter is written in a vacuum.
An electric thrill ran through the room.
"Surely," said Logicky, a visiting cousin, "you can avoid thanking your family--or having to thank anyone--by actually writing your Acknowledgements IN A VACUUM.
Part of me feels that I should thank my creative team for developing the idea. A guilty part of me feels that I still should thank my family, especially after the unfortunate deaths of Timmy, Sarah, Elizabeth, and Rob, when they ventured (against house rules!) into the Vacuum Unit. Still, they really had nothing to do with this actual entry. So a tip of the hat to Debbie at Electrolux, and, of course, dear reader, to you.
HOW IT CAME TO PASS
When I first started this acknowledgments column, it was 1975, and my advisors called me "mad" to attempt it. Dedications had been common, of course, and although acknowledgments were not unheard of, my people feared that such a far-out move might harm my reputation.
But I insisted. "After all," I said, "no entry is written in a vacuum." Little did I suspect how those words would haunt me, lo these sixty years later, when, like so many David Blaines, I would find myself alone, unable to breath, and--but I get ahead of myself.
My first draft of the "Acknowledgments" started off with, what I must say, was some of my snappiest writing to date: "I'd like to thank my family for their understanding." Wow! My editor literally called it "hot stuff," and my publisher insisted on toning it down! Call me a sell-out, but I agreed.
And yet, every subsequent draft was somehow...less. As an artist, I truly felt that thanking my family represented a large part of what this acknowledgments piece needed to be. I tried and tried again, but found myself running up against the metaphorical brick wall that I'd had built the summer before to keep the neighbor's dog from pooping, metaphorically, on our lawn.
I complained to Eddie (my aptly named editor) and Pubby (his brother, my publisher) that the acknowledgments was going nowhere, and they suggested just scrapping the whole idea. And that's where things stood when Remembery, a young nephew from Toronto, remembered my casual comment in that summer of long ago: no newsletter is written in a vacuum.
An electric thrill ran through the room.
"Surely," said Logicky, a visiting cousin, "you can avoid thanking your family--or having to thank anyone--by actually writing your Acknowledgements IN A VACUUM.
Part of me feels that I should thank my creative team for developing the idea. A guilty part of me feels that I still should thank my family, especially after the unfortunate deaths of Timmy, Sarah, Elizabeth, and Rob, when they ventured (against house rules!) into the Vacuum Unit. Still, they really had nothing to do with this actual entry. So a tip of the hat to Debbie at Electrolux, and, of course, dear reader, to you.
The Pigskin of Youth
22 June 2007 Filed in: History | Lie-ographies
Ah, college! The rinky-tink of the
ukuleles, the clitter-clatter of the nickelodeons, the piercing
shrieks of the soon-to-be raccoon coats.
They were magical times, and I mean that almost literally,
considering how we were able to pass incorporeally through walls,
navigate the earth ectoplasmically, and communicate entirely via
thought transmission.
Of course, in today's world, what with "affirmative" action, things we once took for granted are, alas, no more.
Of all my college memories, none stands out more than the excitement of football!
Many think of football of that long-ago time as a "pigskin," and picture something, not unlike a pig, but inflated with air, being passed and punted around the field.
But, mind you, the game is called "football"! The item was not so much a pigskin, but an inflated human foot. Usually, a friend in "med" would be able to easily provide us with the necessary appendage, but in a bind, any freshman could be bribed (or forced!) to accommodate us with one of his own.
Although these freshmen were then unusable for playing football, we did have the number one hopscotch team in the state.
But more than studies, more than sport, it was the girls and their ha-cha-cha that made college special.
I had a girl named Hannah and little F-Model Scour-About that was made by the little-known Henderson Motor Company of Dort-Munder, Mich. She sucked down gas like you wouldn't believe, and coughed up tons of black exhaust, but she was my Hannah, and I'll never forget her.
There was a whole world of delights that this generation will never know: the wind-up phonograph; the wind-up telephone; and, perhaps most useful, the electrical winder.
Still I look back on those days, the mad chanting of an excited mob, their torches and pitchforks waving, the clatter of iron-rimmed wheels of a tumbrel on the cobblestone, the the almost silent swish of the guillotine--it is these, the simple pleasures that mean so much, and yet, which seem so very forgotten.
Of course, in today's world, what with "affirmative" action, things we once took for granted are, alas, no more.
Of all my college memories, none stands out more than the excitement of football!
Many think of football of that long-ago time as a "pigskin," and picture something, not unlike a pig, but inflated with air, being passed and punted around the field.
But, mind you, the game is called "football"! The item was not so much a pigskin, but an inflated human foot. Usually, a friend in "med" would be able to easily provide us with the necessary appendage, but in a bind, any freshman could be bribed (or forced!) to accommodate us with one of his own.
Although these freshmen were then unusable for playing football, we did have the number one hopscotch team in the state.
But more than studies, more than sport, it was the girls and their ha-cha-cha that made college special.
I had a girl named Hannah and little F-Model Scour-About that was made by the little-known Henderson Motor Company of Dort-Munder, Mich. She sucked down gas like you wouldn't believe, and coughed up tons of black exhaust, but she was my Hannah, and I'll never forget her.
There was a whole world of delights that this generation will never know: the wind-up phonograph; the wind-up telephone; and, perhaps most useful, the electrical winder.
Still I look back on those days, the mad chanting of an excited mob, their torches and pitchforks waving, the clatter of iron-rimmed wheels of a tumbrel on the cobblestone, the the almost silent swish of the guillotine--it is these, the simple pleasures that mean so much, and yet, which seem so very forgotten.
Louis Pasteur, Famous French Scientist, 1822-1895
12 Jan.
Noticed body is covered with "dirt." Unpleasant.
16 Jan.
When I don new clothes, this “dirt” is transferred to them--thus soiling the clothes.
17 Jan.
If dirt can be transferred to clothing, could it not be removed from the body in some other way? Or is clothing key?
18 Jan.
Experiments underway. Instead of clothing, have covered myself with wood. Tomorrow I will know if wood will rub off the dirt.
19 Jan.
Failure. Upon removing wood, I found that not only was I still “dirty,” but that I had splinters in several embarrassing spots.
2 Feb.
Have decided to cover myself with tomato juice in attempt to remove dirt. Have ordered two barrels-full from Vienna.
12 Feb.
Success! By “laving” my body in tomato juice, I have succeeded in removing all dirt from my body. Unfortunately, I am now covered with tomato juice. I feel I am very close to a breakthrough.
13 Feb.
Encroyable! Remaining tomato juice on body actually attracts dirt. Still, feel that liquid, in some form, is essential.
4 March
I hesitate to be certain, but I believe I am finally "clean." I used plain water and a device I call the "washcloth" to wipe all surface pollutants away. I feel fresh and invigorated. The final test will be to try on new clothes.
4 March
(Evening) Dressed for dinner in new shirt, collar, and coat. Received many comments on "something different." Later I excitedly undressed in my laboratory and upon examination, my clothing was still clean!
6 June
Though I feel my washing system is a success, am experimenting with something I found in the maid's pantry. She calls it "soap."
8 July
Mother tells me people have been washing with soap and water for years and why wouldn't I listen to her before? I am despondent for I've already printed posters for the lecture tour. Regardless, I am happy to be clean, and I think right now I'll go ponder future experiments over a glass of milk.
Noticed body is covered with "dirt." Unpleasant.
16 Jan.
When I don new clothes, this “dirt” is transferred to them--thus soiling the clothes.
17 Jan.
If dirt can be transferred to clothing, could it not be removed from the body in some other way? Or is clothing key?
18 Jan.
Experiments underway. Instead of clothing, have covered myself with wood. Tomorrow I will know if wood will rub off the dirt.
19 Jan.
Failure. Upon removing wood, I found that not only was I still “dirty,” but that I had splinters in several embarrassing spots.
2 Feb.
Have decided to cover myself with tomato juice in attempt to remove dirt. Have ordered two barrels-full from Vienna.
12 Feb.
Success! By “laving” my body in tomato juice, I have succeeded in removing all dirt from my body. Unfortunately, I am now covered with tomato juice. I feel I am very close to a breakthrough.
13 Feb.
Encroyable! Remaining tomato juice on body actually attracts dirt. Still, feel that liquid, in some form, is essential.
4 March
I hesitate to be certain, but I believe I am finally "clean." I used plain water and a device I call the "washcloth" to wipe all surface pollutants away. I feel fresh and invigorated. The final test will be to try on new clothes.
4 March
(Evening) Dressed for dinner in new shirt, collar, and coat. Received many comments on "something different." Later I excitedly undressed in my laboratory and upon examination, my clothing was still clean!
6 June
Though I feel my washing system is a success, am experimenting with something I found in the maid's pantry. She calls it "soap."
8 July
Mother tells me people have been washing with soap and water for years and why wouldn't I listen to her before? I am despondent for I've already printed posters for the lecture tour. Regardless, I am happy to be clean, and I think right now I'll go ponder future experiments over a glass of milk.
Restoring the Arts and Crafts Bungalow
27 April 2007 Filed in: History
We recently purchased our own little slice of heaven, a bungalow of 1911, a glowing example of the Arts and Crafts movement. Restoring and re-decorating this could-be jewel to its original Arts and Crafts glory is largely a matter of detective work.
The fireplace, for example, now brick, we discovered was once made of macaroni necklaces--one of the most visually impressive of the arts and crafts.
The bathroom is still mostly original arts and crafts, with Gods-eyes covering the floor, and felt bookmarks with glitter initials all around. What was once a wonderful old laniard keychain has been updated, tragically, with a sink.
And so through the rest of the house. The parlour still has some of its original spoon puppets, and the clothespin sailboat has somehow remained untouched, but the egg-carton flowers were pulled out during an "improvement" in the 1950s, and, even more tragic, the tuna-can pin cushion that would have once been the jewel of a house like this has vanished.
Most Arts and Crafts items are much sought by collectors--and expensive. One can try eBay or estate sales, but I've found, surprisingly, that any kindergarten classroom is rich in these valued treasures of our architectural past.
My Enemy, My Friend
Three weeks after the war started,
Henderson volunteered. He was just one of thousands who
volunteered, so he wasn't really needed. Which is why he
volunteered to be an enemy.
It wasn't easy being an enemy, surrounded by one-time friends who now despised him. Of course they weren't allowed to harm him physically in any way until they'd gotten through bootcamp and shipped out.
The training was rigorous. Uncle Sam didn't want his boys fighting some weak, under-trained enemy, so Sarge was particularly tough on Henderson.
Of course, a soldier is just a man with a gun until he truly believes in his cause, so Henderson underwent gruelling sessions learning to despise his friends.
First was an all-day work-out in which fellow soldiers taunted him with embarrassing childhood nicknames. That night, they formed a paddling machine to which Henderson was forced to submit. Finally, the soldiers all took turns dating his old girlfriend.
Almost unnoticeably, Henderson metamorphosed into a superb enemy. Well-trained, filled with a bitter hatred, champing at the bit to get away from the men he was training with so he could meet up with with the men he’d been training with--on the field of battle.
The only thing he lacked was a uniform. It’s one thing to train an enemy into a respectable opponent, but another thing to supply his clothes. Thus Henderson was faced with the ignominy of reporting for enemy duty dressed as the enemy.
This served him well in the long run. Dressed as an enemy of the enemy, he was mistaken by his enemy as a friend. Surrounded by friends, Henderson remembered where his true loyalties were, and began to fight the enemy, until he remembered that it was these "friends" who had trained him as an enemy, and what kind of friends were those?
Henderson is remembered today by a monument on the border of the two nations he fought both for and against.
It wasn't easy being an enemy, surrounded by one-time friends who now despised him. Of course they weren't allowed to harm him physically in any way until they'd gotten through bootcamp and shipped out.
The training was rigorous. Uncle Sam didn't want his boys fighting some weak, under-trained enemy, so Sarge was particularly tough on Henderson.
Of course, a soldier is just a man with a gun until he truly believes in his cause, so Henderson underwent gruelling sessions learning to despise his friends.
First was an all-day work-out in which fellow soldiers taunted him with embarrassing childhood nicknames. That night, they formed a paddling machine to which Henderson was forced to submit. Finally, the soldiers all took turns dating his old girlfriend.
Almost unnoticeably, Henderson metamorphosed into a superb enemy. Well-trained, filled with a bitter hatred, champing at the bit to get away from the men he was training with so he could meet up with with the men he’d been training with--on the field of battle.
The only thing he lacked was a uniform. It’s one thing to train an enemy into a respectable opponent, but another thing to supply his clothes. Thus Henderson was faced with the ignominy of reporting for enemy duty dressed as the enemy.
This served him well in the long run. Dressed as an enemy of the enemy, he was mistaken by his enemy as a friend. Surrounded by friends, Henderson remembered where his true loyalties were, and began to fight the enemy, until he remembered that it was these "friends" who had trained him as an enemy, and what kind of friends were those?
Henderson is remembered today by a monument on the border of the two nations he fought both for and against.
Celsius vs. Fahrenheit, a video to watch
Back in the
olden days, your InAccuFacts researcher belonged to a group of
researchers called Houseful of Honkeys. We made several short
videos in the course of our live, performed encylopedia, but this
was the only one with content that meets the InAccuFacts criteria
of being almost totally inaccurate.
The Haircut of Creativity
21 March 2007 Filed in: History
Twain, one of the 19th Century's most creative individuals, gave full credit for his genius to his haircut. “I modeled my haircut,” said Twain, and reporters who didn't let him finish assumed he meant he'd modeled it in some kind of hair show, and that's why it's called the gay 90s.
So pleased was Twain with the impact of the Haircut of Creativity on his prose, that he later grew the Moustache of Nearly Incomprehensible Dialect.
Twain's contemporary, Charles Dickens, once tried to pull himself out of a creative slump by visiting Twain's own barber, Ed, at Ed's Sheer Genius. The savvy barber, though, recognized his best customer's literary rival, and, though Dickens walked out with the Shoe Shine of Social Consciousness and the Manicure of Funny Character Names, the Haircut of Creativity remained Twain's alone.
In 1997, Twain's patent expired and now the Haircut is available to all.
What the Stars Mean
27 February 2007 Filed in:
The World Around
Us | Science and
Technology
The Night Sky.
For millennia, man has looked—and marveled. Read on so that you,
too, may learn to see what they saw.
Pleiades, or The Sisters:
A cluster of stars in the constellation Taurus, usually known as
the Seven Sisters. The Seven Sisters are visible to the naked eye.
However, using a powerful telescope, they are actually visible
naked. This makes them one of the more popular star sightings, and
the only one that charges 25 cents for two minutes.
Pleiades on a Saturday Night with Only One Bathroom they have to
Share:
In this constellation, the seven sisters seem to squabble. The
“Bathroom” (which many astronomers believe should be considered a
separate constellation), isn’t big enough to contain them all. The
three stars that make up the “Curling Iron” complete the
constellation.
The Pajamas of Bo Didley:
The gaseous clouds that surround this pajama-shaped constellation
cause its stars to appear to “twinkle.” This is not unusual, except
that the twinkling seems to occur in the rhythmic “hand jive”
rhythm made famous by popular entertainer Bo Didley. Legend is that
sailors of ancient times used the Pajamas of Bo Didley to answer
questions like “What is my longitude?” “What is my latitude?” and
“Who do you love?”
The Huge Fireworks Display Constellation:
Oh, wait, that’s not a constellation. It’s a huge fireworks
display. After a while, one bright thing in the sky looks pretty
much like another.
The Sun:
The Sun is an unusual constellation in that it’s made of only one
star. It is also the only constellation visible in the day
time.
The Evolution of Evolution
21 February 2007 Filed in:
Science and
Technology
While sailing with Darwin on his
famous Discovery of Evolution trip, kitchen worker, Bill Tomlinson,
actually evolved. It was gradual at first; he evolved from
assistant cook to cook when the original cook came down with
malaria.
Darwin was too busy having fun with the fauna of the Galapagos Islands to notice the miracle on his own ship.
Tomlinson continued to evolve, losing his long prehensile tail, which he served poached in light wine sauce, and eventually, developing an opposable thumb, which allowed him to finally grasp a spatula. And Darwin did notice. His diary for that night read, “Dinner tonight unusually good--for the first time, cooked on both sides!”
By the time Darwin’s ship returned to England, Tomlinson had evolved into a glowing ball of pure intelligence--just perfect, it turned out, for braising pork on a spit, just the way Darwin liked.
Although Tomlinson has long since moved on to another plane, the London restaurant he founded, The Ape and Man, still exists. The fish legs are especially good, and if you’re feeling brave, order the spicy hot missing links.
Darwin was too busy having fun with the fauna of the Galapagos Islands to notice the miracle on his own ship.
Tomlinson continued to evolve, losing his long prehensile tail, which he served poached in light wine sauce, and eventually, developing an opposable thumb, which allowed him to finally grasp a spatula. And Darwin did notice. His diary for that night read, “Dinner tonight unusually good--for the first time, cooked on both sides!”
By the time Darwin’s ship returned to England, Tomlinson had evolved into a glowing ball of pure intelligence--just perfect, it turned out, for braising pork on a spit, just the way Darwin liked.
Although Tomlinson has long since moved on to another plane, the London restaurant he founded, The Ape and Man, still exists. The fish legs are especially good, and if you’re feeling brave, order the spicy hot missing links.
About the War
As the war drew to a close, the
pessimist would have, with good cause, seen the glass half empty,
while the somnambulist would not have seen the glass at all,
walking right past it in his sleepy netherworld.
It was into this latter camp that Little Jackie Sewall fell, and, indeed, falling into camps was his speciality. Nothing surprised "Jerry" more than the unexpected arrival of an enemy sleepwalker!
Of course after several surprise attacks, the Germans developed their own sleepwalkers, but the sleep state was often induced by a local stage hypnotist, leaving the soldier at huge risk of discovery when he began squawking like a chicken.
Even more efficient than Sewall, was Madam Duranda, a Gypsy woman fighting for the American cause. Her "out of body" experiences allowed her to spy on the enemy from an unseen position hovering in a cloud of invisible light particles. She brought back many valuable secrets, including, "A loved one is trying to contact you," and "You have lost something; something...blue?"
But it was Jerry who lost something blue in the end, and that blue thing was called the War.
It was into this latter camp that Little Jackie Sewall fell, and, indeed, falling into camps was his speciality. Nothing surprised "Jerry" more than the unexpected arrival of an enemy sleepwalker!
Of course after several surprise attacks, the Germans developed their own sleepwalkers, but the sleep state was often induced by a local stage hypnotist, leaving the soldier at huge risk of discovery when he began squawking like a chicken.
Even more efficient than Sewall, was Madam Duranda, a Gypsy woman fighting for the American cause. Her "out of body" experiences allowed her to spy on the enemy from an unseen position hovering in a cloud of invisible light particles. She brought back many valuable secrets, including, "A loved one is trying to contact you," and "You have lost something; something...blue?"
But it was Jerry who lost something blue in the end, and that blue thing was called the War.
The Roots of Comedy
07 February 2007 Filed in:
History
It was Brothmeir who brought us
together, the one who had the idea. It started as a joke--just a
simple joke. How could we have known that it would lead us into a
dark world we never imagined? The world of professional joke
writing. Permalink
The Martinez Bros.
07 February 2007 Filed in:
Lie-ographies
Whenever I look
back on the three Martinez Brothers, I think first of the
mustachioed Gordon, then the dapper "Jangles," and finally of the
mustachioed Gordon again. I can never remember the third
one.Permalink