Small & Big

Hey. You know how it snowed? And there was snow on your car? Well I’ve got a surprise for you. It‘s not any more! I know. Let’s jump up and down. How’d the magic happen, right? Well I went outside in the cold and cleaned it off. You're very welcome, my pleasure, no trouble at all. I almost enjoyed being outside in the fresh air. Anything for you. Oh, by the way. Just a small thing. In the future, maybe after the rainy season, you may see a tiny bit of rust. Like a line of it here and there. Mostly on top of the car but also on the hood and trunk areas. Roughly where snow would be if your good friend here hadn’t cleaned it off wayyyy back in winter. Brrrrrrr, right? Gosh it‘s cold. From the shovel scratches, silly. You shovel snow, you don’t kiss it away. I was shoveling the sidewalk and the next thing you know I was being helpful to you. Steel-bladed shovels work great! Yeah, let’s go see how great it looks. Look there. Isn’t that friendly, that one almost says “Hi!”

What You Need For This Project 1 Broom 1 Dustpan 1 Floor Directions Using the broom, sweep dust, dirt, and debris into a pile. The tidier and more perfect the pile, the better. In fact, go ahead and thoroughly sweep your entire living space. Does the tidiness make your heart sing? Perfect. Wait 30 seconds. From out of nowhere a curious puppy appears, sniffing the pile. Before you can say “Oh no!,“ they are sitting on it, licking it, rolling in it, throwing it, just whooping it up. Your living space is ruined! Make a grab. With a forward motion of your arm like you’re scooping a puppy into a dustpan, scoop the puppy into the dustpan. Congratulations on your new puppy. You should probably move. Note Also works on kittens.

A genuine, authentic, one of... Oh I don't know what this is: What could anybody use this for? Something to perk up that dark corner of the closet that you gotta take a time machine back to 1971 and then an elevator to the 26th floor penthouse suite to access? I think I answered my own question. I like how it’s priced at $129.99. “Don’t offer it at $130; that would give consumers the illusion that it’s overly expensive.” This has been a post by Grumpy Frederick, Spring Allergy Division.

I’m no Miss Marple but I think I can solve the mystery of A Secret In The Litter Box : See those two kitties on the left there? They (spoiler alert!) deposited solid and liquid “secrets” in the box of litter and attempted to cover it up. And it definitely started before 1974. All over the United States. Case closed.

Orange juice is made from lemons. At least it is at my local grocery market. Also, mashed potatoes? 100% Twizzlers.

Dirt Rich Her first business was a little worming operation. A green business with no overhead. Kaitlin Herringtrotter ran it out of the garden owned by the people she lived with, the Parents. Well, not ran it but biked it from the Parents’ garden to the little store down the road, because wormses won’t be herded you know. Anyway, Kaitlin was a child, about seven, and she had money on her mind and her mind on her money. And that dollar-a-week allowance wasn’t cutting it. (Readers: Dollars were something like knarnacks , only 500,000% smaller. This was back in the 20th Century.) In the beginning, before the business venture, worms were intimidating to Kaitlin. Scary even. Like scary little brown scary snakes. And snakes were like little brown inner tubes that had broken and had a hissing hole and could quicken themselves, and you wouldn’t want to float on the lake on one of those, would you? The Parents explained that worms don’t hurt, that “they h...

During the autumnal season I’d do just about anything for candy corn, including clean out the back seat of the car (incidentally, this is also the most likely source for finding candy corn). There’s just something about that single fake, buttery corn, layered in white, yellow, and orange, and molded into a unified mass, a fake kernel of monstrous proportion. Oh candy corn, many are your charms. Your sickly-sweet sugar. Your kickin’ food coloring. My rotting Halloween teeth. Rock on, candy corn. P.S. Here’s why my cat is unlike Stephen Colbert .

Except that unique individual from Malaysia, who, daily and with admirable fortitude, composes the comments I delete daily and with admirable fortitude. As an incentive for everyone else to comment, here’s an ugly pile of mushrooms:

Recently I was alerted to a unique “bathroom helper” product. It’s called GoGirl and it makes you go Wee! when you wee wee. Apparently it allows l’femmes to go #1 whilst standing up, because the literature describes the product thusly: “GoGirl allows women the convenience of standing up to go to the bathroom.” A close family member who shall remain nameless sent it to me for my birthday. No, I don’t know why. Do you?

“Won’t you try my jam?” “Urp.” “Won’t you try my jam?”“ “Eeuhhhhhh.” “Won’t you try my jam?” “Blorb.” Click image below to biggerify. Poor Dorie Greenspan, jam and stomach ache maker.

Caroline exits the bathroom, walking quickly. David used the toilet just previously and waits for her. “Sorry,” he says, “I don’t flush the toilet every time I go.” “Oh, is that a water conservation thing, reducing the number of times the toilet flushes and saving gallons and gallons of water every time?” “No, it’s sentimental.”

(Follow up to: How to use a chainsaw to get a chainsaw out of a tree. ) When at the chainsaw rental store, under no circumstance inform them why you desperately need one. Evade all questioning. I’m not instructing you to lie, mind you, but when cornered offer vagueness like, “Oh, you know, it’s for a tree.” What you do not say is that you’ll be using their dangerous handheld cutting weapon to get out another dangerous handheld cutting weapon you got stuck in a cherry tree. This would only cause them to label you an insurance risk, refuse to rent you a saw, and laugh so hard their teeth fall out. They will also get on the loud speaker to announce your predicament to other patrons, all of whom are expert tree cutter-downers because, after all, this is a chainsaw rental store.

What you will need for this project: 1) Tree 2) Chainsaw 3) Chainsaw Turn on chainsaw and insert into tree. On the side of the trunk you want to fall face down, use two deft cuts to remove a V-shaped section of wood. Move to opposite side of trunk and slice one felling cut all the way through, towards the V. Yell “timber!” and monitor the situation by visually tracking the trajectory of the falling tree... which is travelling in the opposite direction. Look out! Fortunately, the keeling-over-backwards causes the tree to catch on another tree, boulder, and/or house. Look at it hung up there at a 45° angle! Ha hah! Try again. Saw into the trunk, anywhere. Within seconds the tree shifts, the slice closes tight, and your chainsaw is stuck. Nice job! This is where you want to be. Turn off chainsaw. Use a long sturdy post as a lever to prop up the tree, open the cut, and get the saw loosened. This won’t work but try it anyway. Then use a handsaw, then a sledgehammer and ...

A tale composed of tomato varieties advertised in the “2009 Totally Tomatoes” seed catalog . ONCE UPON A TIME, Mr. Stripey and the Mexico Midget lived in the green, Green Zebra. Oh, twas a beauty of a garden, with a Silvery Fir Tree growing right up through the center Sunray, like a Black Prince at a Nebraska Wedding. Twas a right Striped Stuffer of a place, filled with Isis Candy and Sweet Hearts. Twas perfect. Except for the Taxis. And the cussing. You see, each day Mr. Stripey and Midget gulped down a Dinner Plate heaped with Green Sausage, Cream Sausage, and a Mule Team. Plate and all. After the last Nugget, dependable as Orange Bananas, up’d come a mess of Christmas Grapes. (Which is a polite Cherokee Purple way of describing the Tri-Color Variegata.) Mr. Stripey would shout, “Bloody Butcher!” Midget would holler, “Amish Salad!” And Tommy Toe, come to see about the Mortgage Lifter, would stub his Old German Nosegay Stupice and yelp, ...

Did you know that C.I.A. stands for Culinary Institute of America? I learned of this recently because they started sending monthly magazines to my home. I haven’t notified them of the mistake, due to obvious reasons. Like the fear I might send the wrong message, or, worse yet, they might know something about me I don’t. Also, the first issue was No. 46: “Choc-OH!-late”. I drooled up the cover, a Federal offense. On the up-side it’s a relief to know the U.S. is in skilled hands. Double-page spreads prove the C.I.A. knows its way around a butcher knife (p.16), a donut (p. 32), and a solid chocolate wooden shoe (p.30).

The pamphlet says here that the vines “will take over your garden and yard” and “grow 40-50 feet.” Forty to fifty feet? That’s like raising a giant squid. The hard way. Because, according to my calculations: Cost of three giant pumpkin seeds: $5. Cost of tractor and fork-lift attachment to handle pumpkin: $20,000. Giant pumpkin rotting in my front yard, its tendrils clinging to my home, grasping through my windows: priceless.

Six years ago I went to the Marshfield county fair and left with an application for Bee School. Life changed significantly afterward, as can be seen by cupboards full of honey, homemade mead (nothing like that sweet crap sold in stores), and, of course, that degree from B School . Today I left the Topsfield fair carrying three giant pumpkin seeds and an instruction pamphlet. What can I say: who wouldn’t feel compelled to beat this year’s winning pumpkin weight of 1,400 pounds? The man in the Fruits and Vegetables Barn informed me that giant pumpkin growing is not a hobby but a sport. I started to argue but then remembered about Golf. On perusing the pamphlet, I saw another reason giant-pumpkin growing is very like golf: club fees. It takes $15 to become a member of the New England Giant Pumpkin Growers Association, or NEGPGA. (PGA!) I don’t know what I get for that. I expect it involves golf carts and a secret clubhouse sited inside a pumpkin, and is presided over by a...

I took a test and I took it twice. By way of a highly scientific (though secret) process, the test tells me definitively what sort of flower I am. As you can see from the findings I'm not so easy to pin down. Perhaps it's my penchant for letting the cat answer questions by stomping on the keyboard? FIRST TEST RESULTS... I am a Sunflower When your friends think smile, they think of you. There is not a day that goes by that you can't find something good about the world and your fellow human. SECOND TEST RESULTS... I am a Daffodil You have a sunny disposition and are normally one of the first to show up for the party. You don't need too much attention from the host once you get there as you are more than capable of making yourself seen and heard. Does this make me Sundil or a Daffoflower? And what kind of flower are you?

This’d be a cushy landing spot for the Human Cannonball. Natural redheads are orangeheads. Choose one: A) Sofa, B) Couch, C) Davenport Pretty pillow. I mean, that is one fine, fine looking pillow. Tight brocade, pert tassels, uh huh. When someone fibs, are they laying or lying ? What’s the fart content of this cushion? This is not a spaceship but that could change. I thought up the platypus first.