That awkward moment when you spell a word so wrong… (Photo credit: QuotesEverlasting)
While we’re on the subject…
Eye halve a spelling chequer. It came with my pea sea. It plainly marques four my revue miss steaks eye kin knot sea.
Eye strike a key and type a word and weight four it two say weather eye am wrong oar write. It shows me strait a weigh. As soon as a mist ache is maid it nose bee fore two long. And than eye can put the error rite.
Its rarely ever wrong. Eye have run this let tar threw it. I am pleased two tell you its letter perfect. My checker tolled me sew.
Write a letter to the personality trait you like least, convincing it to shape up or ship out. Be as threatening, theatrical, or thoroughly charming as is necessary to get the job done.
*
Dear Procrastination,
How are you? You haven’t replied to my previous three emails so I don’t know.
You need to get your act together and start writing some posts about the visit of your blogger friend Janet. Not only has she written nine posts about her time with us, she has also compiled them into a fabulous, free ebook which exposes the dirty underbelly and large overbelly of life in Tillybudland. She puts you to shame.
She even included new photographs! The one of us in an old pinny and yellow hairnet is rather fetching, if you like your unflattering pictures in multicolours (I know I do).
If you want to read or download the exposé ebook, just visit Janet’s Notebook.
Lots of love,
Your Better Self
PS Sorry this is so late; I’ve been meaning to write it for ages but never got around to it.
If GH stands for P as in Hiccough If OUGH stands for O as in Dough If PHTH stands for T as in Phthisis If EIGH stands for A as in Neighbour If TTE stands for T as in Gazette If EAU stands for O as in Plateau The right way to spell POTATO should be GHOUGHPHTHEIGHTTEEAU
I’m going to confess up front that I don’t know enough about grammar to understand all of these jokes; but I know some of my readers do, so their four ewe.
Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They drink. They leave.
A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.
A dangling modifier walks into a bar. After finishing a drink, the bartender asks it to leave.
A Question mark walks into a bar?
Two Quotation marks “walk into” a bar.
A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking a drink.
The bar was walked into by the passive voice.
The past, the present, and the future walked into a bar. It was tense.
A synonym ambles into a pub.
A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to drink.
A hyperbole totally ripped into this bar and destroyed everything.
A run on sentence walks into a bar it is thirsty.
Falling slowly, softly falling, the chiasmus collapsed to the bar floor.
No blanket jokes? What was I thinking? Wee Scoops flooded my comments box with these. I love ‘em! The last one is my new all-time favourite joke. Thanks, Wee Scoops.
English: A blanket fort suspended on strings. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
*
A blanket walked into a bar behind a policeman. Suddenly they heard gun shots. The policeman yelled, “Cover me!”
*
A blanket walked into a bar to order lunch. “I’m sorry,” the barman said, “we only serve wraps.”
*
A blanket walks into a bar and is pleased to see everyone else with a lit cigarette. He lights up, takes a draw and the barman says, “I’m sorry – we have a blanket ban on smoking.”
Maybe They Won’t See Me (Photo credit: jamacdonald)
As I get closer to the 1001st joke, it’s getting tougher to find jokes I haven’t posted before. I find myself looking around the room for a topic I might not have covered. Tonight, I spotted a blanket.
There are no jokes about blankets, I thought. Incredibly, I was wrong. I do love the internet!
I know I have posted the first joke before (searching for man/woman jokes), but it’s so good, it’s worth sharing again. The others are new to me.
*
A man and a woman who have never met before find themselves in the same sleeping carriage of a train. After the initial embarrassment, they both manage to get to sleep; the woman on the top bunk, the man on the lower.
In the middle of the night the woman leans over and says, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m awfully cold and I was wondering if you could possibly pass me another blanket?”
The man leans out and with a glint in his eye says, “I’ve got a better idea…let’s pretend we’re married.”
“Why not,” giggles the woman.
“Good,” he replies. “Get your own blanket.”
Gilbert Sleeping (Photo credit: somenametoforget)
How do you make anti-freeze?
Take away her blanket.
*
Why couldn’t the blanket get a job?
It kept getting turned down.
*
I love my electric blanket. It’s so much better than my acoustic one.
*
Any guy out there who believes women are the weaker sex has never tried to reclaim his half of the blanket on a cold winter’s night.
Nineteenth century engraving of a performance from the Chester mystery play cycle. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A mystery-lover takes his place in the theatre for opening night, but his seat is way back in the theatre, far from the stage.
The man calls over an usher and whispers, ”I just love a good mystery, and I have been anxiously anticipating the opening of this play. However, in order to carefully follow the clues and fully enjoy the play, I have to watch a mystery close up. Look how far away I am! If you can get me a better seat, I’ll give you a handsome tip.”
The usher nods and says he will be back shortly. Looking forward to a large tip, the usher speaks with his co-workers in the box office, hoping to find some closer tickets.
With just three minutes left until curtain, he finds an unused ticket at the Will Call window and snatches it up. Returning to the man in the back of the theatre, he whispers, ”Follow me.” The usher leads the man down to the second row, and proudly points out the empty seat right in the middle.
”Thanks so much,” says the theatregoer, ”This seat is perfect.” He then hands the usher a dollar.
The usher looks down at the dollar, leans over and whispers, ”The butler did it in the parlor with the candlestick.”
Draft a post with three parts, each unrelated to the another, but create a common thread between them by including the same item — an object, a symbol, a place — in each part.
I went one better and did it in four parts, with four disparate questions:
Normal is as normal does
A review
World hunger eradicated
A party
The object: a friend.
*
Is being “normal” — whatever that means to you — a good thing, or a bad thing? Neither?
‘Normal.’ I’ve heard of it. Can’t say I know what it’s like.
A true story: a friend and I were chatting. I consider her a left-leaning hippy. She considers my a right-wing…well, let’s not use any swear words on a family blog, shall we?
We were chatting about the nature of eccentricity. I asked her if she thought I was eccentric and she replied yes. My face fell.
She asked me if I thought she was eccentric and I replied no. Her face fell.
I was too polite to tell the truth. I hope she was, too.
Normal is over-rated. If I was normal, I’d have three followers and no five-day visits to and from complete strangers who become best friends.
*
Write a review of your life — or the life of someone close to you — as if it were a movie or a book.
I have a lovely friend who is a left-leaning hippy. She moved away. Pity. Next to her, I look normal.
*
If you could get all the nutrition you needed in a day with a pill — no worrying about what to eat, no food preparation — would you do it?
This has to be the dumbest question yet.
Of course I would. No cooking, ever?
Duh.
*
Plan the ultimate celebration for the person you’re closest to, and tell us about it. Where is it? Who’s there? What’s served? What happens?
I have this lovely, left-leaning hippy friend who promised to visit me last Easter. I’m still waiting. I’m sure she’ll arrive soon, because I have a whole party prepared for her…my lounge; me; I’ve even prepared a delicious dinner of pill.
For sincere advice and the correct time, call any number at random at 3:00 a.m. Steve Martin
Excuse me, my leg has gone to sleep; do you mind if I join it? Alexander Woollcott (Theatre Critic)
I’m not a very good sleeper, but you know what? I’m willing to put in a few extra hours every day to get better. That’s just the kind of hard worker I am. Jarod Kintz
No, you didn’t wake me up; I had to get up to answer the phone anyway. ‘Yogi’ Berra
The amount of sleep needed by the average person is five minutes more. Max Kaufman
When your cat has fallen asleep on your lap and looks utterly content and adorable, you will suddenly have to go to the bathroom. Rule of Feline Frustration
If your husband has difficulty getting to sleep, the words ‘We need to talk about our relationship’ may help. Rita Rudner
There never was a child so lovely, but his mother was glad to get him asleep. Ralph Waldo Emerson
I have left orders to be awakened at any time in case of national emergency, even if I’m in a cabinet meeting. Ronald Reagan
The post’s title is short because that’s all I can think of today. I promised you stories of my mucus, old buildings and new visitors; but all you’ve had are jokes.
Super Yorkie (Photo credit: Jenn and Tony Bot)
I’m tired.
I’ve had two months of constant on-the-go-ness and now I have to listen to my husband using my own nagging against me: Listen to your body! It’s okay to do nothing for a little while. Watch telly and leave your laptop alone. Your readers will manage to survive without you.
Okay, I don’t say that last bit to him, but I would if he was a blogger.
I’m lying in bed at lunchtime typing this, and I don’t feel guilty. I don’t feel anything except jellyness – that feeling that you will collapse into a sticky puddle on the floor, licked up by dogs with sweet tooths and remembered only as that blogger who made us laugh for a bit till she overdid it and then disappeared into a Yorkie’s gut.
Yes, self-pity is alive and well in Tillybudland, but it’s nothing a week off and the first thirty episodes of ER won’t cure.
See you on the other side, if I don’t turn into a pudding.
I haven’t commented much this week on your blogs* and I’ll probably comment even less next week (should that be, I’ll probably comment even fewer?), but I’m sure you’ll forgive me (should that be, I’m shore ewe’ll forgive me?) when you hear/here/ear/her my excuse: I’ve been busy.
*Here’s a funny thing: why would the spellchecker on a blog not recognise the word ‘blog’? Or ‘spellchecker’?
I was busy all this week and I’m going to be busy all next week, but next week’s busyness promises to be more fun than this week’s busy/iness. I am (we are) expecting visitors tomorrow (hence the business – cleaning prep).
Not just any visitors: blogging friends as visitors! From not wan blog, but too:
Artwork on a window On a blacked out sash and case window of a house at the junction of Traquair Road and Angle Park in Innerleithen. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
This is not Ben and bears no relationship to him at all, unless he’s one-dimensional by nature, which I seriously doubt; but I forgot to ask Janet’s permission to post a photo of him, though there is one on his blog. You’ll find him here. I don’t want to begin our visit by upsetting her (which, when she meets me, may still happen; I have no tact, you know).
They are mother and son (I’ll let you guess which is which/whom is whom/who is witch)* and they both have interesting blogs. Ben is an Epic Dude with an epic interest in history; Janet makes the most exquisite origami, some of which I now possess. I am really looking forward to our five days together…yes, even though they have never met me, they are willing to stay here for five days. Brave or foolhardy? Depends on how they like stodgy cooking and dodgy puns.
*Tactlessness in action
I will post the joke-a-day but I may not post much about the visit until after they’ve gone (though it may be on the news if it doesn’t go well…say, Janet doesn’t like my left leg or something. Not that I’m not easily offended or anything).
I’m pretty addled from the week I’ve had, hence the garbled post (and you thought it was you…); I decided not to write about anything much until I have the time to devote to it. Not that Janet and Ben’s visit isn’t much; it is; I meant that I…oh, forget it. I’ll explain tomorrow, if they don’t take one look at me on the platform and decide to stay on the train.
To whet your appetite, here are some stimulating topics which I will be discussing when normal service is resumed:
English: Road north from Little Snoring to Great Snoring (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I’m off to see the Ear, Nose & Throat doctor this afternoon, about my snoring. I have begun to suspect that all of this bad weather is caused by my sucking in the sun every time I inhale in my sleep.
Yes, I am that bad.
*
If you are wondering where Patrecia, Miss Whiplash, she who was always thinking about things, has gone to, it’s to a new blog, God’s Creatures, about animals.
She forgot to tell you what she was doing before she deleted her old blog.
I bet she snores; it’s hard to remember things when your head is aching from sleep-sniffing the entire contents of your bedroom.
Patrecia writes about animals, including her dogs.
Did you know that the calculation of 7 human years for every 1 dog year is incorrect? And did you like my smooth segue from one topic to another without the use of an asterisk? I should be on TV.
The Village sign, Little Snoring, Norfolk (Photo credit: Wikipedia) I can only dream…
Time for my favourite-ever joke (from the film, Dumb & Dumber):
What do you get if you cross a Shih Tsu with a Bulldog?
A Bullshit.
*
Despite the funniest joke in the world, I think I’m in a bad mood. My head aches: my dog woke me an hour early for his breakfast, and wouldn’t take ‘no’ (or ‘Get lost, you horrible dog!’) for an answer. You’d think at age 39.34 he’d be able to fix his own breakfast.
He’ll be wanting me to run his shower for him next.
*
I think I’m mostly in a bad mood because a popcorn machine arrived this morning.
Yesterday was a long day because we had visitors and, as they were people we’d never met before (an airline geek internet friend – and his wife – of the Hub; a lovely couple), that meant a major clean (actual) and declutter (pretend – everything went in the shed and will come out again today) of the house, followed by pretty sandwich-making on my part.
They left around seven and the Hub and I watched a movie before bed, but I struggled to sleep because I was still feeling wound up by the unusual activity (cleaning). I finally fell asleep some time after midnight but the alarm woke me at six-thirty in the middle of a dream in which I felt really ill – so ill, in fact, that I still felt it when I awoke and I was groggy for about an hour after.
I put the shower on for Spud (yes, I spoil him, but he’s in the middle of exams and I want him to have as much sleep as he possibly can, and I can add five minutes by preparing his shower) and went downstairs. It was only as I was waiting for the kettle to boil that I realised I had forgotten to wake him. Not good on a day when he has two exams.
He was done and down before I’d made his breakfast (a boy doing his exams must not do them on an empty stomach), half-asleep as I was; and he couldn’t get much sense out of me.
He tells me his thought processes went like this: Mum’s weird this morning. I wonder if she could be having a stroke? Oh no! Who’ll make my breakfast in future?
When I related this to the Hub, he suggested that Spud might have some difficulty at university without me.
Spud reckons it won’t be a problem: he’s going to live off cereal and tomato sauce butties.
Well, it’s been nice chatting to you but I must go: I have to prepare a summer-long cookery course for a teenager: I want grandchildren one day.
I am a little fat. I like food; what can I say? I have dull hair: mousey. I don’t wear much make-up and have no need of a dressing table. If I look like a bag lady, I chose my own clothes. If I look nice, the Hub picked them for me. Despite all this, I am a little vain. This photograph is from 2003. I had to go back that far to find one of me that I liked. But I don’t really care: my husband still thinks I’m beautiful and if he doesn’t, he loves me enough to lie about it. I’m lucky. I have two boys. They never lie to me. Still, you can't have everything.
Today is National Poetry Day. I was going to bring you some fun and interesting facts about poetry, but you know what? There aren’t any. Not on the internet, anyway. Poetry is dull. By the way, remember to check out my poetry blog, I’m Not A Verse. * * * * * I did find […]
Viewfromtheside offered fascinating as the weekend theme. I thought you might like some fascinating facts. Can you guess which, if any, are true? You can’t fold paper more than seven times. You can, actually, if you are young and determined and rope in your family and a shopping mall. From Wikipedia: In January 2002, while a […]
With apologies to Paul, who might not find this blog to be quite what he was expecting. Take a look at this You Tube video. This – boy? young man? lad? What do I call him? He’s of a similar age to Tory Boy but obviously we are not on similar terms. I’ll call him ‘person’ […]
I have long been in search of the perfect handbag. It must be black; have a short and long handle, so that I can carry it down, under my arm, over my shoulder or over my chest; it must not be so big that I carry a load of junk around with me that I […]
I have the funniest readers in the blogosphere (not necessarily ha ha…)