`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves / Did gyre and gimble in the wabe / All mimsy were the borogoves / And the mome raths outgrabe…
—Which, luckily, a hot shower and a bit of creative blowdrying returned the pocket Jabberwocky to its former prominence.
Quite a relief, too. Because let me tell you—few things are more humbling than a gathering of blown snow that has worked its way down the inside of your coveralls and caked itself like frozen custard along the contours of your manzone.
Developing…
Manzone?
Is that like calzone?
Has the turing machine finally taken over ? Steve Grahams’ , “ Hog on Ice “ quote is upper left , co-incidence ?????? I think not.
It’s nice to know the dire conditions haven’t dampened your wit.
”….caked itself like frozen custard along the contours of the manzone . “ Sounds like the morning after inspection outside of a really cold brothel .
“It weren’t that big when I was in Alaska, though.”
“They’re the same anywhere.”
“You put it 15 below zero it’ll shrink the livin’ hell right out of it…”
You know it’s time to come in out of the cold when your borogoves get all mimsy.
Not if your name ends in -stein.
I read that as brown snow the first time. Made for a swell mental picture of a mazone-contoured custard cake.
Scotts, perhaps?
And that’s your random 2 minutes from The World…
LET’S SEE JOE RAGO TRY TO DISPARAGE THIS POST!
That’ll get you back in Wikipedia.
I don’t think this is at all funny.
Well…at least we waited for the ****sucking snow plow driver to fill our driveway and sidewalk before we cleared this time. Last week? I wanted the still beating heart of that Airman in a snowplow in my squeezing fist.
Hey, if you had my back, you’d be pissed too.
Don’t forget to “shun the frumious Bandersnatch!”
Otherwise, that damned Bandersnatch might come “whiffling through the tugey wood and burble
as it came!”
I hate it when that happens……
Jeff –
Keep sucking up that snow. CT doesn’t want it or need it.
Your blizzards are in our prayers. Thank you for allowing me to leave my snow blower in the garage. You Coloradans (?) are doing us an enormous favor. Suck snow, Bozos!
One question, though. Do you have to own a $3,000 bike in Denver, and a $3,000 spandex suit to live there? You know. Just like Boulder? I think copper Rock is a little more to my taste, even though the Urantia people are starting an invasion. How could anyone read the Urantia Book and put 25 300 watt spotlights on the outside of their house? Ask Moe – please.
As I like to say (since the late 60’s), Moe – you need more mushrooms!
AAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
ANTIBANDERSNATCHIST!
I mean, seriously. Frumiousness can be cured!
Not after it has progressed to whiffling.
Regards,
Ric
I don’t thimk so. How can you cure something that you can’t pronounce?
FROO-mee-us, Lost Dog. Not so tough.
There are a few parts of Denver where Spandex is de rigeur, but more where $3,000 buys the optional chrome trim on the Harley. The People’s Republic of Boulder accepts immigrants after ensuring that they’re politically compatible, and Denver and surrounding communities encourage (ahem!) those so minded to emigrate.
By the time the remnants of Jeff’s blizzard got here it was rain at 65 degrees Fahrenheit, most welcome. The tornadoes to south and east of me were less gladly received… at the strength it had when it passed through, and with the encouragement of a strong flow from the south bearing enough moisture to start a shrimp farm, by the time it swings by the dip in the jet stream and makes it up your way there may be enough icy goodness remaining to cool the cockles of your heart quite efficiently. IOW: don’t hock the snow machine just yet, guy.
Regards,
Ric
Vinegar and water, or so I hear.
Aw man, now there is another one I simply have to add to the lexicon…
Is that what happened here today? I thought the sun had died.
Having endured the entire Phoenix summer before the governor signed my pardon and I was allowed to relocate to Aurora, I’m beginning to wonder what I did to piss off the weather gods this year. On a more positive note, I found what was probably the last two-stage snow blower in captivity while shopping for my wife’s last minute menu change items on Christmas Eve. (Albertsons is across the parking lot from Home Depot, so I stopped in to see if they had any brochures for their snow blowers.)
Sure, I was a bit embarrassed while standing in Home Depot, rocking like Rainman, chanting “Walk away, walk away” until Mr. Lookie Lou finally took the hint. That embarrassment was a distant memory yesterday when the only pain from clearing my driveway and the driveways of two neighbors was a lightly pinched finger when I squeezed the actuator paddle incorrectly. With power tools, all things are possible.
I cleared my driveway and the driveway of a couple three neighbors myself. Only I did it with a shovel, a lot of grunting, and the occasional wholly unintended exertion poot.
Which means I’m allowed to drink all the leftover eggnog and not feel terribly guilty about it.
“Exertion poot.” How felicitous.
Your manzone is still developing? Or did I read that too fast?
Hey, Jeff, you missed a spot on my driveway.
Snowballs?
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