Hot Ferret Love!

As a former Highlander fan, denizen of the Big List where ferret and weasel jokes were rife (long story), I had to read this tale of the bodice-ripping plagiarism case that somehow involves black-footed ferrets.
For one thing, the author of the offending bodice-ripper is from Mattoon, IL, not far from where some Highlander fans gathered a few years ago for a mini-convention and garage sale of HL-themed gifts. It’s not the kind of place where there are many bodices, let alone where they get ripped.  But it is the kind of place where people who read trashy novels live and dream. Thank goodness for people like the Smart Bitches, who read this crap so the rest of us need not bother with the stuff that truly isn’t worth reading.

I  won’t be reading any romance novels (ever), but I admire women who take them seriously enough to ferret out the good ones, and snark on the bad ones. Heh.

Below, the author whose non-fiction article was one of many sources found almost word-for-word in the novelist’s book, describes how sexy it is to study ferrets and write about their hot, steamy relations.

Move Over, ‘Meerkat Manor’ | Newsweek Books |

Nocturnal, ferrets come out after dark to hunt for prairie dogs, their main source of food. With Livieri at the wheel of his pickup truck, we bounced down rutted dirt roads alongside the prairie dog colonies that fill the Conata Basin—a federal grassland near Badlands National Park. Researchers find ferrets by shining a spotlight on the moonscapelike setting of a prairie dog town. From dusk until nearly dawn we sat in Livieri’s truck—two dudes looking for weasels. Nobody said science was sexy.After three days in Wall, where the highlight is visiting the famous Wall Drug Store, I could hardly leave town fast enough. I returned home and wrote the story for the Summer 2005 issue of Defenders magazine, which detailed how ferrets in the Conata Basin were being threatened by a federal effort to poison prairie dogs.

Had I known that my text would one day appear in a romance novel, I might have sexed up my story: “Hot-loving polecats do it in prairie dog holes.”

h/t Salt Blog, and thanks for the good laugh!

May The Incredibly Bad Farce Be With You

Thanks to Joey de Villa, I’ve now seen approximately 2.5 minutes of the 5 minute version of the 2-hour Star Wars Holiday Special in all its mercifully shortened craptabulousness.

May God bless whoever edited the original special down to 5 minutes. Even so, I had to watch Art Carney rock out to the Jefferson Starship as he stood in Chewbacca’s family home, which was being searched at the time by 2 Stormtroopers, a black-helmeted Imperial Guard, and a rather stuffy officer-type with a fake British accent.

I mean…Art Carneyrocking out…while dressed in a really crappy “Star Wars-y” costume.  Norton, the sewer worker, was cooler than this guy. Maybe he did it for his grandkids without really knowing what it was all about, kind of like Richard Harris did when he took the role of Dumbledore for the first two Harry Potter movies.

[kml_flashembed movie="" width="425" height="355" wmode="transparent" /]

» The Star Wars Holiday Special » The Adventures of Accordion Guy in the 21st Century

[tags]Star Wars, Christmas, horrible[/tags]

The Southwark Pilgrimage

Some days ago several Anglican wagses
Went on a pub crawl, for to maken pilgimages
To memorialize the Good Bishop of Southwark,
Who once one Yule made merry, very merry, ‘thout shirk.

And they wore costumes, and took pictures, and stopped traffic.

Based on a real incident, with a real bishop, and a real Mercedes full of Christmas toys, and an (unbaptized) bear named Teddy. It’s all highly amusing, at least if your college career included an intensive study of Chaucer in the original Middle English, and you’ve since become a high-church Episcopalian. I’m left with just one niggling question: if a prologue is the part that comes before the main speech, and dialogue is speech between two people, and a monologue is speech by one person…then what’s a “*logue?”

Ship of Fools: Features

The Bishop’s Tale
(or What the Butler Seeth Not)


This is a storey tall and quite fantastical
Concerning a man quite ecclesiastical
Of high standing, a pillar of society
But not always known for complete sobriety
The Bishop of Southwark is his name,
And this dear friends is his tale of shame

The Logue

He attendeth a ceremony in Londinium Town
Clad in cassock suplice and gown
Hosted by the embassy Hibernian
The food was plenty and port a-flowing
But before the night yet was old
The guests were cast out into the cold
There was no miracle that night, of whiskey into wine
Notwithstanding the bishop took this for a sign
That further imbibing was what was required
So into the night the prelaat retired
To Londinium Brydge by underground train
Near the Cathederal in Crucifix Lane
To the inn of Shuchard; barred not was he
Where most like he did drink and pee

But lo whilst stepping out to breathe the even air
An Angel of the Lord didst appear
“Fear not” was all he heard before
Hitting his head, hard upon the floor.
For this angel, though not truly bad
Was known to be a bit of a lad
For we are in the noughties
And he a naughty angel be
He thought he would have a little fun
At the expense of God’s holy one
Briefcase and phone just vanished from sight
Leaving his Grace shaking with fright
This brought on a kind of seizure
And, as he later recalled, selective amnesia
(This of course is an oxymoron
but by then the Bishop was too far gone)
For full five minutes there he lay
‘Til he awoke in much dismay

Then guided by a three-pointed star
He came apon a Germanic car
By miracle or some other means
He stole into the back of this machine
Where were stored a multitude of toys
Divers for gyrls and divers for boys
But there was only one plaything he sought
The Sindys and Barbies would count for nought
Oft called Teddy though sometime Rowan
Even to Elvis Presley known
The type of toy common to man
Found in England, Peru and Sudan
An ursa minor of the stuffed kind
‘Twas what he hath need to find
For God had raised him to this high position
So as to undertake a New Commission
To Christen bears and give new name
Before the infidels could do the same
So prevent the bear from being harméd
By calling him after the Prophet Mohammed
All other toys were cast to the ground
Until the little furry one was found
But before he could baptise the wee bear
The car’s alarum pircered the aire
The owner from the inn soon appeared
Not believing his eyes nor ears
Toys on the pavement and toys on the road
And a man and teddy bear praying to the Lord
Thought he veraily performed the will of God
Though drink was in the very sod
For though he was ordained a viker
He behaved more like a bleeding biker
From the car he falleth on his ers
Emitting soto voce a possible curse
I am the Bishop of Southwark this is what I do
Baptising bears in the religion true

Cardinal Saveloy

Swiped with gladness and joy from Ship of Fools, via

*yes, yes, I know it’s derived from the Greek, “logos.” In other words, “word.”