Tuesday, November 28, 2006


The newest addition to the Big Book of Bunkum:

umdrum (n.) [um]+[drum] the pregnant pause associated with a pathetic person, a prosaic place, or a thankless thingumy gone thereabouts and that one wishes one had not encountered in the first place; not to be confused with other commonly known pregnant pauses such as "ah", "er", or "uh", or "dram", a small portion of drink that one could consume to forget all about an "umdrum"

e.g. As Sir Prance-A-Lot, (a colorful Carpet-Knight of some renown), approached the curious castle made of Owyhee Idaho spuds containing sugar, corn syrup, coconut, partially saturated vegetable oil plus one or more of the following: cottonseed, soybean, palm, not to mention cocoa powder, chocolate liquor, egg albumen, agar agar, salt, lecithin (an emulsifier), vanillin (an artificial flavor), potassium sorbate (a preservative) and sulfites, he had a nagging umdrum that he should have brought along his pair of spanking new spurs, his favorite hobbyhorse and his swishy swashbuckling sword to ward off any cookie monsters or candy trolls lurking about in the freaking forest run by a sourpuss named "Snow White" and a band of blowhards identified by authorities as "The Seven Deadly Dwarfs".

Contributed by: Sally Spinwam, "Our Lady of Lite Libations", and born-again bartender at the Church of Chuckles located on a highway off-ramp approximately half-way between a destination hot tub in Red Sucker Lake, Manitoba and a tantalizing town in the province of Nova Scotia called "Petoobook", a marvellous Mi'kmaq term meaning "a long dish full of salt water".

Monday, November 27, 2006


Newest addition to the Big Book of Bunkum:

freep-sleep (n.) – descriptive of a slumbering state punctuated by the short sharp sounds of sliders and skillsaws in a bed of roses, a fancy fold-away camp cot, or a chic chesterfield; an expression coined by an intrepid Canadian Broadcast Corporation television technician with idle hands and a penchant for the mellifluous melody of a well-worn 'whoopee' cushion

e.g. As Foxy Fladderbister, (better known as "The Bombshell from Ballycumber"), examined the flatus-factor in the food menu at the tastefully appointed Vixen Vegan Restaurant on the corner of Glutt Lodge and Famagusta in Big Beaver, Saskatchewan, she realized that her need her forty winks without freep-sleep looked far more inviting than a plate full of wilted watercress coated in a tarty Tasmanian Devil dressing with a thick layer of fetid-smelling crumbly cheese on top, and a baby-bear-sized bowl of tepid to the taste squash soup garnished with three sticks of cinnamon, two half-baked croutons, and a sprig of fourteen-day-old, organically-grown, non-genetically-modified, atomically-delicious, grassy green parsley (or as Latin-lovers call it, "petroselinum crispum").

Contributed by: Chaucer Oswald-Twistle, (a scallywag of sorts, a part-time CBC clock-watcher, and a downsized miller by trade), has few accomplishments to his name other than feeling “slightly squeamish” about stamp-collecting or, as 14th century English put it, “somdel squaymous of farting”.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006


Newest addition to the Big Book of Bunkum:

wazoople (n.) a member of the kowtowing, mealy-mouthed, apple-polishing, brown-nosing, sucky-faced, toad-eating family of frightfully fawning fruitcakes

e.g. Ruina didn’t know quite what to expect from this blind date, but from everything her friends had told her about the weak-kneed wazoople who occupied cubicle #33 beside the water cooler just three steps away from the ladies’ loo and the vexing vending machine that made stale soup every Thursday, he certainly seemed like a harmless enough fellow; after all, she wasn’t exactly a long-legged, high-stepping, tap-dancing member of the world-famous Radio City Rockettes, but in a pinch she knew how to bat her eyelashes unobtrusively and smile since having her braces removed last week, and could maneuver majestically around a dance floor provided she wore a grade-A girdle, two pairs of pantyhose, and had access to a music map with a built in Global Positioning System lest she lose the beat or her way, whichever came first.

Contributed by: Oughterby Papigochic, a part-time airline baggage-handler from Frying Pan, California who in his spare time just adores leaping onto tables with sword in hand and pulling battleaxes, coats-of-arms, and miscellaneous muskets off the wall in one fell swoom, just to impress anyone who will watch him in the faint hope that they might help him realize his lifelong ambition, to land a walk-on part in a Hollywood horror film.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006


Newest addition to the Big Book of Bunkum:

cad rags (n. pl.) form-fitting fashion items worn only for display purposes in pulp novels, usually to impress cuisine-conscious cougars out for a night on the prowl

As the Queen of Shebang entered the pungent pantry overflowing with amatory aromas, lavishly melodramatic mood-music sprinkled with copious amounts of candlelight, she knew she was in for a potent pot of perturbations when she spotted the cad rags lurking ever so noticeably behind a scintillating shelf of assorted All-Clad nonstick cookware, beneath a rather grand grilling tool set, and just to the right of a cabinet filled with some rather intriguing small superfluous appliances offering a lifetime of use with a money-back guarantee if not entirely satisfied with the product; ooh-la-la she thought...was this what the Galloping Gourmet had in mind when he offered his fair maidens a night of culinary delight?

Contributed by: Nempnett Thrubwell, a safety-conscious skidoo-driver in the Royal Geographical Society Islands, Nunavut, (a wonderful place to visit particularly if one enjoys cold comforts be they cold feet, cold shoulders, or cold sweat not to mention cold turkey on special occasions such as Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Canada Day.)