Frog Applause by Teresa Burritt for April 08, 2011

CRIKEY!!

It’s after 9am, Left Coast Time (LCT), and there are no comments. Suspicious. I don’t know the proper etiquette and procedure for leaving a first comment, so I’d better back off slowly…….keep walking, nothing to read here, folks……….

CRIKEY!! back at ya.

Made famous by crocodile hugger, Steve Erwin.

Jimminy crikey, Cricket!

Oh, those old Swanson TV dinners… I can’t count how many of those I ate while a kid… followed up with a massive slab of Sara Lee frozen brownies… now tragically defunct.    

I love yodeling… Here’s a younger yodleuse, reminiscent of Manon Bédard… - and here’s Kerry Christensen, a good friend of mine with whom I worked in Austria in the 70’s. I bought Kerry’s CD “U2 Can Yodel” about 15 years ago and yelled myself hoarse in the car on the way to work… I’m nowhere near as good as these talented folks, but I’m passable.

Cornucopian? Did you wake up this a.m. and say to yourself, “I must think of a way to use ‘cornucopian’ in a sentence today?”

Two can play at that game. My new goal for the weekend is to work, “Weasels would taste like lasagna if goats could sing” into a conversation.

P.S. Welcome back!

I would use “cornucopian” to describe a bosom (or maybe a huge pot of pasta), not reader support. (Maybe “ample” is a better description for a bosom.) FA’s reader support is myriad, multitudinous, innumerable, incalculable and faithful, however. Also, by crikey, we are loony, batty, bonkers, unbalanced, and disturbed. (I can never decide whether to put a comma after the penultimate word in a series, so I compromised and used it in one of two lists. I’m sure several of you caught that.)

Welcome back Teresa! Hooray for the renewed direction! I couldn’t agree more. Frack tradition! What has it done for us, lately? Besides, as someone once said, ” Who cares what they think of me, it’s none of my business anyway”.

Whadda ya know? In this context I thought cornucopian just meant plenty horny.

Strewth mate!

”Shane Ferguson” (Included in numerous compilations of Jewish Humor - not in any way intended as a slur.)

In Golders Green there is a six-star hotel frequented by the Jewish clientele. It offers massage, mud baths, 24 hours a day kosher eating, wonderful almond Danish and best of all, g-o-s-s-i-p. The hotel pages its guests via high quality, clear sounding speakers sited all around the hotel. Listening to messages such as “Telephone call for Moishe Cohen from his lawyer,” or “Could Sadie Levy ring her counsellor,” or even “Benny Chesnick – could you please call your parole officer,” is a gossiper’s dream. One day, everyone was surprised to hear over the speakers, “Telephone call for Shane Ferguson, telephone call for Shane Ferguson.” At once, several people went to reception to get a look at who this gentile staying at their hotel could be. They were therefore surprised and very curious when an old hasid, incontrovertibly Jewish, came up to the desk. Later, one of the guests asked the old man how he came to be named Shane Ferguson when he was so obviously Jewish. This is what he told them. “When I left my home town to come to London, my name was Samuel Mincoffski. But my uncle thought it might be best if I told immigration that my name was Sam Lyons. I practiced saying my new name over and over for the entire boat trip. I asked the sailors to say it for me and I learned how to pronounce it. Time passed very quickly and soon I was standing in line at the immigration office. But while waiting, I began to worry about everything. Would I say my name properly? What if they wouldn’t believe me? Would I be able to spell it? Would they arrest me and send me back? My mind started to spin and I got so confused that when I reached the front of the queue and the officer asked me my name, I panicked and said, “schane fergessen” (I forgot already). So that’s what the immigration man wrote down.”

Good one, Chris!

Art strips are right up my alley!

The Teresa Support Organization is out in force today!

WB, Teresa!