Your pinky is stinky

This is a post-to-come.
Dedicated to my friend the "Doob," introduced to me as the "guy with the huge face".

Tales of the Attack Dressing (#2341)

This is one of those inside stories...So it might not be so funny if you didn't see it...

At dinner last night, I, the publisheR, sat around the table with my closest friends: dancing queen, bacon bit, skyscraper, secret agent, milo, and the climber.

Upon arrival at the "den," we all went into a flurry of activity, as the various courses were prepared for the table. Secret agent greeted us at the door, and the climber was a few paces back, putting on fresh clothes after a recent shower (at least that's what I was told. Sweet climber, you had just dressed yourself up all nice for us - cute shirt, cute pants - all ready to host some company. Skyscraper spun the salad (formerly a salad spinning virgin) while dancing queen chopped the veggies with a knife the size of Missouri, and about as sharp as my elbow. Secret agent made the final table settings and cut the homemade bread. The Climber poured the wine, made homemade balsamic salad dressing, and served the hunks of beef...what a guy, that climber.

What did I do, you ask? I made stupid jokes, tried to stay out of the way, and drank wine as fast as possible to get my groove going. And I ate a popcorn ball (well, tried to eat - I do NOT recommend this so-called delicacy) and made fun of a chocolate goodie called "smidgens". Sidetrack: I have never heard of a popcorn ball or smidgen before (neither had secret agent, so I don't feel so bad); if I had, I might not have tried it. But, being the curious publisheR that I am, I'll eat anything, especially if it's in ball form. (oops - that didn't come out right.) Anyway, apparently these unique things are a central PA thing. Bunch of weirdos.

We settled down for a quiet dinner to break a 2-lb loaf of bread, eat hunks of meat, and drink copious amounts of wine. The table was set, the food prepared, and we all held hands and said "grace" together. We clinked our glasses for a toast; the ambiance was accentuated as "put it in your mouth..." played as the background music. A fine dining experience had begun.

The climber was running around, tying up loose ends, while the rest of us began eating. As is usually the case, the host(s) are the last to sit & eat, this night was no different. The climber finally sat down, across from secret agent, and directly to the left of me. He reached for the salad dressing and the next few moments have become a blur - apparently, dancing queen didn't really screw on the cap too well. Ok, well, not at all. Thus, when the climber picked it up, and brought his balsamic concoction towards his salad, it, well, clipped the plate, tipped forward and spilled about a half-cup directly onto his crotch. My jaw dropped, and all at the table turned purple with laughter, except for me & the climber. For some reason, I was completely befuddled by this situation - the climber handled it so well - not yelling, not jumping up right away - I didn't know what to make of it. He just stared at the brown puddle in his lap as did I - I wanted to help clean it up and say one of the treacherous jokes that popped into my head - but I didn't want to throw a napkin on his package or try to dab and sop up some of the dressing up, lest he think I was trying to cop a feel. If the spill had happened anywhere but his crotch, I would have been the first one to dab, believe me. Instead, not knowing how to deal with this situation - wanting to help clean up, but not wanting to get frisky, the only thing I could do was to toss a napkin in the direction of the mess, and say "Oh, this is terribly awkward..." as I began to try and wipe up the floor where the brown mess had dripped down his leg and off the chair. Then the laughing began...and it didn't stop for a good 10 minutes or so. We laughed until we cried, the climber stripped in the kitchen and threw his balsamic-stained clothes into the side-loading washer, and we all ate dessert off of his naked body. (Ok, I made that last part up. We did body shots instead. Ok fine, he got dressed again and we ate cookies and cream ice cream out of bowls. The same bowls we ate bourguignon out of earlier in the night).

We fish ewe a beary Chris moose and a hippie reindeer

Holiday happiness to all. There really is nothing like downing a gallon of eggnog and two bottles of wine to get you through Christmas dinner with the family. While we're on the topic of eggnog, who exactly thought an eggy substance and rum would be a good combo? A GENIUS - that's who! Actually I don't really like eggnog, frankly, I'd rather take shots of drano and call it a night; but anyone who can combine two vastly different flavors, call it a "nog," and please the masses, has to be a genius in my book.


I also enjoy how a burning log on TV with Christmas carols in the background can sweep the network ratings for Christmas morning - again, another stroke of brilliance. I'll remember you all when it's my fireplace burning the yule log on TV - don't be jealous - I'll try not to rub it in that my yule log is better than yours. Maybe for the 4th of July, I'll take a video of a barbeque sizzling - that might be a "sweeps" show in itself!


Toy packaging has got to be a gabillion-dollar business. Never had I realized the extent to how much cardboard goes into strapping in a playskool baby toy. Not having been in a toy store since I was age 7, I did not understand the packaging revolution that has taken place. Oh, decades ago, packaging was a mere afterthought. Games came in saran wrap; barbies were held in by flimsy cardboard boxes and a small piece of plastic the thickness of a cat hair. You could look at a toy funny and it'd pop right open and turn itself on, ready to play. Fast forward to 2005, where every child's toy is child and adult-proof. It's a marketing tease. You see the toy, you buy the toy, but you can't actually have the toy without rupturing 2 discs, severing 3 major blood vessels, and accidentally hitting yourself in the face with the box, creating a contusion in the shape of Texas on your forehead.

In case you haven't come into contact with these things recently - the 10-inch baby-safe plastic toys are fit into little grooves of the box, zip-tied or wired down in with industrial grade plastic that you need hedge clippers to remove, then are surrounded on 5 sides with heavy corrugated cardboard. (Most power tools aren't packaged this safely. hmmm...baby toys vs. power tool packaging - discuss.) It's that open side that is the real teaser. If you can see it, it must be easy to remove, right? Just pull it through the well thought out open window. At this point is where those packaging engineers holed up in some warehouse in Arizona are laughing hysterically at you, possibly even wetting their pants. Your naive belief that you can open this toy easily is a source of great amusement. Even more humorous is to see a grown adult, what's say 5'10", 200 lbs, wrestling with a box in an attempt to free a toy for a 1 year old, who is watching the scene develop with this wide-eyed, bewildered gaze. And this wrestling match goes the full 10 rounds; and even at the end of that, we're not too sure who the winner is - it has to go to the judges for a point count. The best part about it is that the toy barely moves, despite the challenger's shaking, stomping, ripping, and screaming of profanities. Those damn materials engineers - while sadistic - are brilliant.


WHILE I'm on the topic of 1 year olds (there are now 2 in the family) let's chew on this one, folks: they can barely walk, can't talk, have the fine motor control of a snail, and the attention span of an ADHD flea - do you actually think they can pull the wrapping paper off a box to reveal what's inside? NO! Do they really even care what's under the paper? NO! They would rather play with the shiny bow on top! (As would I). And you wonder why the eggnog went so fast...

Silent but Deadly

So I'm on the way home to my 15,000 square foot mansion yesterday via the famed, metrorail system (www.wmata.com). Packed like a bucket of twizzlers, people who I do not know and never care to squished in on me from all sides; outside of this tin-can (though Italian-made) train, some guy's rear end pressed up against mine, and my elbow in some woman's neck could be considered assault. Ah, but not on the Metro...it is a touchy-feely (groping is the standard rush-hour greeting), and lawless place (except, of course, if you have a candy wrapper stuck to your shoe...then you're cuffed and cavity searched faster than you can say Butterfinger).

I'm only 2 stops from home. As I journey to the suburbs to catch my limo that will take me home, I think about what my personal chef will be cooking me before I take a lap in the pool and then get a full-body shiatsu massage...when, out of nowhere, an odor I can only describe as pungent, acrid, with a hint of lime (you put the lime in the blah blah blah...) assailed my nostrils.

The doors had just closed after vomiting a ridiculous number of passengers onto the platform, and I looked around for the culprit, and lo and behold...not a soul was around me. I spun round and round and wondered: "did that come from me and I just didn't realize it?" "Do I detect a hint of sulfured apricots in the aroma?" "Should I have salmon instead of steak?"

I came to the conclusion that I had become a victim of a toot-and-run (or poot-and-run, depending on where you are from). You've heard about it in movies, maybe experienced it yourself, either as the gas-passer or the victim left behind for dead. You know what I'm talking about. One thinks the cheek-flapping flatulence's noise and odor will get lost in the crowd, and no one will be able to identify the culprit, since everyone is thinking that someone else did it, so you're off scott free. The problem for me? The "run" part...that sweet smell was trapped in a box as the guilty party exited the train into fresh air, leaving me there to make those funny "do you smell that?" faces and trying desperately not to breathe. Chew on this: just because you don't breathe through your nose and smell it, doesn't mean it has magically vanished from the air. No, friends, the passed gas particles are still in the air, only now, you're swishing it around in your mouth, swallowing it in addition to that whole breathing thing.

Anyway, back to me. Panic gripped me, not only because I was turning blue and getting woozy from lack of oxygen, but also from thinking: "what if someone thinks I did it???? There was no one else around to blame it on, and if I tried to explain, I'd sound even more like a babbling idiot with a gastrointestinal problem. I clawed at the windows, and as the doors opened for my stop, I gasped for air, appreciating every cubic inch of smog-filled particulate air I brought in. Running for home, I wondered..."Should I have the chicken or beef-flavored Ramen???"

In what context is snag used for this site?

As you'll note in the definitions section, snag means more than just funked up teeth... as you'll recall, snag can also refer to: an opening made forcibly as by pulling apart; "there was a rip in his pants"; an unforeseen obstacle [syn: hang-up, hitch, rub]; get by acting quickly and smartly ("snag a bargain"); and to hew jaggedly.

So here's the deal - as well as dental-related snag spottings and commentaries, i'll be dumping my every random thought on all other types of crap...life's little hang-ups, smart moves, etc; we'll rip apart the fabric of society and see what's underneath...whatever the heck that means.

Take it from the top...definitions: SNAG

snag is:
(Noun)
1. A stump or base of a branch that has been lopped off; a short branch, or a sharp or rough branch; a knot; a protuberance. "The coat of arms Now on a naked snag in triumph borne." (Dryden)

2. A tooth projecting beyond the rest; contemptuously, a broken or decayed tooth.

3. A tree, or a branch of a tree, fixed in the bottom of a river or other navigable water, and rising nearly or quite to the surface, by which boats are sometimes pierced and sunk.

4. One of the secondary branches of an antler. Snag boat, a steamboat fitted with apparatus for removing snags and other obstructions in navigable streams. Snag tooth. Same as Snag. "How thy snag teeth stand orderly, Like stakes which strut by the water side." (J. Cotgrave)

Verb
1. To cut the snags or branches from, as the stem of a tree; to hew roughly.
2. To injure or destroy, as a steamboat or other vessel, by a snag, or projecting part of a sunken tree.
3. To obtain by a quick action, as though by snagging something passing by; often used of an opportunistic or fortunate action.

Origin: Snagged; Snagging.

Source: Websters Dictionary

Additional sources:
snag
Noun
A rough, sharp, or jagged protuberance, as:
A tree or a part of a tree that protrudes above the surface in a body of water. Also called sawyer. See Regional Note at preacher.
A snaggletooth.
A break, pull, or tear in fabric.
An unforeseen or hidden obstacle. See Synonyms at obstacle.
A short or imperfectly developed branch of a deer's antler.

Verb
To tear, break, hinder, or destroy by or as if by a snag: snagged a stocking on a splinter.
Informal. To catch unexpectedly and quickly: snagged a bargain.
To free of snags: snagged the river.
To catch (a fish), especially by hooking in a place other than its mouth.

Definitions part 2: snaggle

Snaggle is an abbreviation and adaptation of the english noun snag·gle·tooth
(= A tooth that is broken or not in alignment with the others). While a snaggletooth refers to only 1 tooth, snaggle refers mainly to snaggle "teeth," plural. Thus, a person having snaggle has an entire mouthful of snaggleteeth. Snaggle also varies in intensity, on a scale from snag (1 or a few snaggleteeth), to snaggle (full-on horrendous dentitional misalignment of a significant amount of the mouth). Of course there are a number of adjectives that can be used with both snag and snaggle, to indicate the severity of the condition. For example, "slight snag" may indicate only a minor misalignment, barely noticeable; "slight snaggle" being more severe than bad snag, but on the minor end of the snaggle end of the scale. "Terrible snag" would indicate that a few teeth are really out there, but not the entire mouth. Whereas "terrible snaggle" would indicate that the entire mouth is a jumbled mess of oddly-angled teeth, that one is pained to look at. Note also that snag or snaggle is only describing the alignment of teeth, not their color or other characteristics.