31 Jul 2008
Hugh Fitzgerald
If they were going to St. Ives.
31 Jul 2008
Artemis
One uninteresting, though technically correct, puzzled puzzler. One. Me.
And when I get there on my muffin-making mule, this is what I'll do.
31 Jul 2008
Esmerelda Weatherwax
What if you were going here instead.
31 Jul 2008
reactionry
Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme...
Are You Going To Scaaaarrrgghh!!!
Or: More Canards About The French And Sticking It To The Brits
Or: Come, Let Us Reason & Argue Together
St. Ives? Is that where Cornwall is?* Although I've oft used the last word dictated by Joseph of Arimathea, with respect to the following "Camaaaaaargue", I don't Geddit [seriously], unless it's something along the lines of a Canardly Diamond or Rolls Canardly and references the French passion, as intense as that of the Sadducees, for argument.
BEDEVERE: Do you suppose he meant the Camaaaaaargue?
GALAHAD: Where's that?
BEDEVERE: France, I think.
LAUNCELOT: Isn't there a 'Saint Aaauuves' in Cornwall?
ARTHUR: No, that's 'Saint Ives'.
LAUNCELOT: Oh, yes. Saint Iiiiives.
KNIGHTS: Iiiiives.
*Lines cut from Mel "Gone Bonkers" Gibson's The Patriot:
Is that where Cornwall is......
Where what? Surrendered? Yes; Yorktown.
31 Jul 2008
reactionry
One Bride For Seven Brothers
I had thoughts similar to those of Hugh & Artemis, although if the man going to St. Ives overtook the man with seven wives, the former could have met the latter while traveling in the same direction had the latter had eyes in the back of his head. Which might be desirable with so many spouses and which calls to mind the not-so-ancient joke about Richard Simmons, who, when asked after having given birth (thanks to modern reproductive technology), the name of the father, replied, "How should I know? Do I look like I've got eyes in the back of my head?"
Buried deep in NER's strata is my attempt to make sport of Muslims, particularly Pakistanis, with something along the lines of Seven Cousins For Seven Brothers (or up to 28 brides if the bros have gobs o' bling); something which I'd never try with Vicky and Prince Al. I had to ask Rev. Google to flesh out hazy memories of a Sunday sermon over four decades ago about a trick question asked by Sadducees of Jesus. To wit, if a woman successively married and outlived seven brothers, which brother would be her husband in the afterlife? (the Reader is beseeched to avoid thinking of Mary Jackson's double entendres about double entries)
In comparison to Islam and Shamanism, Judaism and Christianity seem hobbled (as Hugh might write, "Christ on a crutch"), given the latters' relative paucity of specifics about the hereafter. In an article titled A change of spiritual address, the Minnesota RedStarTribune covers shaman Mai Yang as she pulls off a Reverse-Abe-Lincoln-At-Gettysburg-Address by undedicating, unhallowing and unconsecrating a Hmong funeral parlor; a former path to Paradise, perhaps to be paved over for a parking lot. Not only does she know where the bodies are buried, she also senses where they hang out (and how many) and how to buy them off.
Yes, I know that the Hmong are not prone to suicide-bombing and are not Chinese and that a few percent or so of those living in Minnesota helped the U.S. win Second Place in the Southeast Asia War Games and it is for those reasons that one of the titles was deleted as offensive -Two Tickee To Paradise.
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