Saturday, July 23, 2005


A new addition to the Big Book of Bunkum:

Elffrontery (n.) a daring display of deity-impaired-ism as in 1. a bad-tempered Buddha 2. a brash brownie 3. a cheeky cherub 4. a disorderly demon 5. a disparaging dryad 6. a defiant dwarf 7. a flippant fairy 8. a forward faun 9. a graceless genie 10. a nasty gnome 11. a hypercritical harpy 12. a high-handed hobgoblin 13. an indecent incubus 14. a loud-mouthed lepruchaun 15. a mocking mermaid 16. a meddlesome merman 17. a naughty nymph 18. an obstreperous ogre 19. an overbearing ogress 20. a pettifogging PAN 21. a presumptuous pixie 22. a sarcastic satyr 23. a snooty Shiva 24. a shameless sprite 25. a supercilious succubus 26. a swaggering sylph 27. a temeritous troll 28. an uncouth undine 29. a vituperative vampire 30. a wise-cracking werewolf

e.g. Zeus, Apollo and Hermes pulled up to the Super-Duper Sports & Stuff Stadium in their gas-guzzling, turbo-charged 1,200 horse-power chariots, while Odin, Loki, Sigurd, and the Valkyries preferred to pile into a crunch-impervious, family mini-van, which meant that Diana, Minerva and Venus quibbled over who was going to drive the affordable, low-mileage Segway and who would have to thumb a ride; needless to say this set of circumstances combined with the fact that Mercury was going retrograde for the next six weeks did not make for good vibes in the universe that hot, muggy day in July 2020 and no doubt caused a bit of calamity in the egregious entertainment industry resulting in pink-slips for 40,000 card-carrying members of the Elves, Gods And Devils Society (EGADS) now regarded by the Big Guy in the Sky as unfortunate redundant mythical deities in the grand scheme of things (which regretably did not play well among the dazzling door-stopping demigods, the ever popular desk-top divinities or their ethereal entourages capable of mind-bending, mind-blowing, and mind-boggling feats of elffrontery such as "mangling misplaced metaphors”, "mincing mixed modifiers" and “dealing a death-blow to dangling phrases”, not to mention a tour de force - "flying by the seat of their pants without the aid of a safety net or a golden parachute".

Contributed by: Snapfinger Loogootee, a dedicated hourglass watcher and cocked hat spotter from Neversink (New York) with a second cousin, “Hooper”, living in Idiotville (Oregon)

Friday, July 15, 2005


A new addition to the Big Book of Bunkum:

catamorous (adj.) 1 a: descriptive of a frisky feline fashion statement on the loose b: related to a clever Casanova-calling critter c: concerned with a pleasant-looking, pawing, petting, purring sort of species with a great tail d: having a great deal in common with a premium-brand, pretentious Puss n’ Boots personality 2: causing, involving, or relating to the act of teasing, twirling, or toying with something before pouncing on it for fun

e.g. As he clobbered the clanging, clodhopping clock-radio before getting out of his Panglossian-brand palliasse, Sir Gaffney Glad-Hand, a cavorting, clumsy carpet knight of little renown, recalled the previous night of utter oblivion he had spent with a catamorous cocktail creature named Princess Poplolly he’d while waiting to see his favorite psychopannuchist, Daniel Dalfibble, BA, MBA, & Doctor of Whatnot whom he casually relied upon for advice to awaken his somnambulant sort-of-lost-soul which apparently had gone missing in a merry-go-sorry metaphysical incident at a place called “Cloud-Cuckooland”, (a theme-park devoted to creating an ethereal gathering place for old coots, codgers, and cockamamie cretins).

Contributed by: Gryphus Kiddliwink, a former full-time flatcar whacker from Cabbage Patch (California), and now a part-time Flower Pot Press worker and Flume Ride Operator in Two Egg, (Florida)

Wednesday, July 13, 2005


A new addition to the Big Book of Bunkum:

crackle-pot (n.) a bothersome, clamoursome, fulsome, grumblesome, lonesome, troublesome so-and-so with a few stale-drunk attributes in keeping with a skyboshing souse or a sottish slawterpooch; not to be confused with another sordid species -- the ‘flush-pot’ -- a jiggle-jangle-bellied, jolly-conscious joint-smoker

e.g. She bushed aside the remarks of the ha-ha, half-assed, half-baked, half-cocked, half-cut, half-pint, half-witted, haggard-eye, hair-trigger, hand-holding, hard-core, hard-boiled, hard-edge, hard-featured, hard-hitting, hard-line, hard-nosed, hard-pressed, hat-worshipping, heads-up, heart-whole, heart-quaking, heigh-ho, helter-skelter, hell-raising, higgledy-piggledy, high-falutin, high-flown, high-handed, high-minded, high-pressure, high-priced, high-speed, high-sounding, high-spirited, high-strung, high-hat, hocus-pocus, hog-wild, holus-bolus, ho-hum, hodge-podge, hoo-ha, hoi-polloi, hoity-toity, honky-tonk, hufty-tufty, or here-and-there, high-and-mighty, Holy-Grail-seeking, high-and-dry, hand-in-glove, hand-me-down, happy-go-lucky, head-over-heels, hem-and-haw, hit-and-miss, hit-and-run, hold-one's-horses, hot-and-bothered, hail-fellow-well-met, high-on-the-hog crackle-pot who just happened to sashay up to her with a leap-to-conclusions look on his freckly frazzled face and nothing but effluvium and elbow grease on his mind; all of which reminded her of a full-blown, full-bodied, full-fledged, full-of-himself fusspot whom she encountered on the dance floor standing next to a futile flame-throwing fuddy-duddy named "Sir Freddy Flip" who attended the lst Annual Blimp Ball held last week, in Yeehaw Junction (Florida), honoring several macho meringue types wearing utterly smashing footwear not to mention impressively long and colorful titles after their names (suggesting they were perhaps miminy-piminy mundivagants of some kind or other as near as one could tell in this bewildering world of bozos and braggarts).

Contributed by: Myrtle Honeythunder, (formerly a Sherwood Forest bucket chucker with the industrial outsourcing firm of “Robin Hood & His Merry Mates”), who currently resides in an off-the-beaten track rather tight-lipped town called Beans Corner Bingo (Maine)

Friday, July 08, 2005


A new addition to the Big Book of Bunkum:

Goldbrick bug (n.) any fool who carries coals to Newcastle and then has the temerity to ask if he can drop off his motherlode at the London Precious Metals Exchange or the nearest Retirement Home for Potty Gold-Diggers

e.g. The goldbrick bug began his wearisome journey on a cold, blistery, wet day (what else would you expect if you lived in Piddletenthride and had to wear welly-boots everyday or get one’s feet soaked in squishy, squashy stuff) ...anyway, to make a long shaggy dog story short... he forgot to pack his colorful map of the United Kingdom not to mention the distinctly vapid environs, his trusty new GPS gizmo with easy-to-read operating instructions in twenty-five languages, and a box of stale tea biscuits foisted upon him by the demented dog-catcher who lives next door; all of which meant that first -- he had a simply wretched time trying to figure out what to do with the anonymous albatross hanging limply around his neck (given to him as a token of affection by a lost mariner, or it it might have been a dodo-bird named "Muggins" that he borrowed from The Museum of Mummified Matter), second - - he had to speculate about why he was carrying a discarded pity pot (full of lame excuses he found in a back-alley somewhere), and third - - he had to cogitate about where a blessedly big bag of jack-hammers came from (that he had reluctantly agreed to deliver to a far-flung friend of a friend who lived in a cottage with a leaking roof and four good-for-nothing robots situated approximately two kilometers south of Affpuddle, England whose longitude and latitude he couldn't recall even if his life depended on it, which it might if he didn't get the bag there in a fortnight).

Contributed by: Inverkeithing Ipplepen, a retired dollwigs hackler from Waterproof, Louisiana (born in Lost Nation but raised in Sandwich Landing, New Hampshire)

Tuesday, July 05, 2005


A new addition to the Big Book of Bunkum:

gumslinging (adj.) descriptive of one who shoots from the mouth first and asks questions later

e.g. Dipple T. Plucknett-Whaplode, (who hated eiderdown comforters as a little nipper in Horton-Cum-Studly, England and thanked his lucky stars that he was neither a glockenspiel virtuoso nor a vertically-challenged member of a carnival freak sideshow), decided that he stood a better chance for swift advancement up the food chain of life if he attended a few ten-course banquets hosted by the renowned International Institute of Piffling Puffery (situated in Boinka, Australia) which is dedicated to serving the special needs of Type-A personality, gluttonous guests who dislike wrestling alligators for a living but delight in satiating their appetite for words ...not to mention demonstrating their egregious, self-serving, gumslinging talents on a captive audience of gut-wrenching vacuous verbivores and loopy if not latitudinarian linguists.

Contributed by: Vigitus Urled, a poor scholar who lives in Cow Yard, Massachusetts (not far from Mashpee, Sandwich and Belchertown) where he survives on weak grog, dog-eared adult magazines, plus salty crackers that break easily when smothered with ample portions of low-carb “cheese-whiz” garnished with gherkins and a few sprigs of Vitamin-C-enriched, organically-grown parsley or lucky flour-leaf clovers