flightless hag

A chronicle of the adventures of birdwoman: a lonely, talentless freak who wanders the internet in search of entertainment.

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Location: Philly

I'm a 40-something married white female, survivor of weight watchers, avid reader of pulp. Dogs (not cats), extreme right (handed, not politics), ENTJ, alto, wanna-be knitter.

March 18, 2009

What is Up with These Cover Songs

First, I heard the cover of Careless Whisper by Seether - a "post grunge" band that I know by their hits "Fine Again" and "Broken" (with Amy Lee) - the other day. WTF? It totally is not cool to hear these greezy white guys talking about the dance floor. George Michael must be hurtin' for cash.

But that doesn't end the annoying covers. This morning, I heard a haunting lyric - "shorty want a thug"... you may remember my post about this disturbing song, and now it's been remade, metal style, by some Breaking Benjamin wannabe called Framing Hanley.

Jaysus, canna they come up with their own crap?!?



March 12, 2009

Emergency Room Visit

(joke via my bro, john. Picture bandwidth stolen from some store. I have like 4 visitors; I don't think they'll care.)

The other day, I needed to go to the emergency room.

Not wanting to sit there for 4 hours, I put on my old Army fatigues and stuck a patch onto the front of my shirt that I had downloaded off the Internet.

When I went into the E.R., I noticed that 3/4 of the people got up and left. I guess they decided that they weren't that sick after all.

It cut at least 3 hours off my waiting time.

Here's the patch. Feel free to use it the next time you're in need of quicker emergency service.

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March 06, 2009

The Height of Irony?

So, recently our neighborhood went to single stream recycling. Yipee. I had 4 different bins I used for recycling; I kept only 2. One of these was a big blue plastic garbage can.

It was pretty obvious that it held recycling. Cans, bottles, plastic, cardboard. No bags. But others kept putting bags in it, and then when went to put out recycles, I'd have to pull the garbage out (ick), move it to the garbage cans, dump my recycles, then go wash my hands several times. 

I solved the problem. I wrote "recycle" on the can, with the cute little arrows. Now everyone in my household knows it's recycling!

The garbage men, however, didn't understand the message, and they recycled my can. 

Back to square one.


My husband sent me an email before he left work for grocery shopping: "anything you need at the store toady?"

Now, if I were truly the venemous harridan I purport, my answer should have been, "Just a dictionary for you, my typing-challenged friend."

Instead, I answered: "Since when have I been your toady?" To which he verbally replied (after I made a great deal of being quite obsequious and pandering)... do you know where that term comes from?  I didn't.

Apparently, in olden times, when charlatans roamed the earth (instead of cable television), they would hawk their cures and wares with a little help of an assistant. The assistant would eat a toad, which everyone knew was a recipe for death, and then the charlatan would heal him! So, the old word for shyster-side-kick was toad-eater. Eventually, the guy who would do anything to suck up to the guy in charge was called the toad-eater, or toady.

There's your etymology for the day. The whole conversation has made me want to go watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail - the "she's a witch" scene, if you know what I mean.


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