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Killed anything with a whisk lately?


racheld
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Some years back my parents were getting ready to barbecue. Dad was carrying the tray loaded with stuff out to the back door, and a mouse ran across the floor in front of him. With admirable presence of mind, he put the tray down on top of the mouse. NOW what to do? As it happened, the mouse's head was sticking out from under the tray yet, so Dad grabbed the meat tenderizing mallet and clobbered the little guy.

He couldn't understand why Mom refused to use the meat mallet again, no matter how much he cleaned it. I'm pretty sure the barbecue tray and contents got used anyway. :laugh:

Nancy Smith, aka "Smithy"
HosteG Forumsnsmith@egstaff.org

"Every day should be filled with something delicious, because life is too short not to spoil yourself. " -- Ling (with permission)

"There comes a time in every project when you have to shoot the engineer and start production." -- author unknown

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Okay, I can’t resist posting this one, and since it involves an empty liquor box, I guess it technically qualifies.

Several years ago, I was living in a second-story apartment in a restored Victorian, and I didn’t have any screens on the windows – but I had floor-length sheers that pretty much kept the mosquitoes and moths out.

It was late at night, and I had been asleep but was suddenly awake, having heard a “skittering” noise. I held my breath for a few heartbeats and heard it, faintly, again. A mouse, I thought muzzily.

When I was just about to surrender to sleep again, I not only heard but felt the critter running across the bed and over the covers. Now, to this old country girl, a mouse is a goddamned nuisance but nothing to get out of bed about. However, when one starts going near Where No Man Has Gone Recently, it’s time to spring into action.

So I got up and turned the overhead light on. Nothing. Silence. I shook my head and headed for the light switch to turn it back off. Wait a minute, I said to myself. What is that? About eye-level, on the wall next to the light switch, there was a dark brown lump, about the size of a clenched fist. Since I’m practically blind without my glasses, I took two steps to the nightstand to retrieve them, and returned, squinting myopically, to the wall-lump.

It was furry.

Suddenly, the lump exploded into action. It was a brown bat, with about a ten-inch wingspan. It got confused and started a frantic circuit around the ceiling fan blades, circling in the opposite direction from the fan’s movement.

Now, I’m no shrinking violet. But I don’t want to kill it, because of a) the unsanitary mess I’ll have to clean up and b) the fact that I feel sorry for it; it’s scared and confused and surely did not mean to come inside. Probably it was just chasing a moth and got tangled in my curtains, and fell inside inadvertently. So I look around for a way to capture it without hurting it. Eureka! There’s an empty cardboard wine box at hand – and you know how they razor the three sides of the top off and leave a flip-lid? So I grab that, flip the lid open, climb on the bed and try to time a ceiling-capture to avoid injuring the bat. And you know what? I did it! I trapped that bat right against the ceiling with that box.

Did I mention I was not, uh…wearing a nightgown?

So there I am, starkers, standing on my bed, with a frantic bat trapped against the ceiling, scrabbling around in the wine box, and me in all my glory, with the open box top pressed against the ceiling. Well, I thought, this is a fine how-do-you-do. I started yelling for my roommate. “STEVE!!! STEVE!!!” Steve was a relatively new roommate, and he was a shrinking violet; as a matter of fact he had a new friend, Sergio, over for a “sleepover” for the first time. “STEVE! HELP ME!” I screamed. Naturally, Steve and Sergio (hadn’t met him yet) come bursting into my bedroom, and There. I. Am. “Hi,” I say, conversationally. “Uh, there’s a bat in here.” Well, you would have thought I’d said “Uh, there’s bubonic plague in here.” After about five minutes of them screaming and waving their hands about, I managed to convince them I didn’t need them to do anything except one thing…open the window in the kitchen that led out onto the fire escape. “I’ll take care of everything, just open the window in the kitchen,” I said.

Traumatic for them. Not only a bat, but also a naked girl.

So I finally convince them to open the kitchen window and I wait until they retreat to Steve’s bedroom and close the door. Then I oh-so-carefully tilt the wine box and slam the lid closed. I make a run for the kitchen window, plonk the box on the fire escape, flip the lid open, and slam the window shut.

The next morning at work, I bragged about both my bravery and my humanity, having performed a perfect catch-and-release operation. Around 1:30, Steve called me. “You know that bat?” he says, the disgust apparent in his voice. “Yeah,” I say. “I saved its life! How cool is that?”

“Not exactly,” he says. It was summer, and the temperature was topping out at about 102F that day. “You know that box? Well, it had a dry-cleaning plastic in it.” “Oh, NO,” says I. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s still out there on the fire escape, tangled up in the plastic, inside the box. It’s actually sizzling. I’m pretty sure it’s dead.”

So I had to dispose of the bat after all. Poor bat. Poor Steve. Poor Sergio.

Marsha Lynch aka "zilla369"

Has anyone ever actually seen a bandit making out?

Uh-huh: just as I thought. Stereotyping.

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Okay, I can’t resist posting this one, and since it involves an empty liquor box, I guess it technically qualifies.

Several years ago, I was living in a second-story apartment in a restored Victorian, and I didn’t have any screens on the windows – but I had floor-length sheers that pretty much kept the mosquitoes and moths out.

It was late at night, and I had been asleep but was suddenly awake, having heard a “skittering” noise.  I held my breath for a few heartbeats and heard it, faintly, again. A mouse, I thought muzzily. 

When I was just about to surrender to sleep again, I not only heard but felt the critter running across the bed and over the covers.  Now, to this old country girl, a mouse is a goddamned nuisance but nothing to get out of bed about.  However, when one starts going near Where No Man Has Gone Recently, it’s time to spring into action.

So I got up and turned the overhead light on.  Nothing.  Silence.  I shook my head and headed for the light switch to turn it back off.  Wait a minute, I said to myself.  What is that?  About eye-level, on the wall next to the light switch, there was a dark brown lump, about the size of a clenched fist.  Since I’m practically blind without my glasses, I took two steps to the nightstand to retrieve them, and returned, squinting myopically, to the wall-lump.

It was furry.

Suddenly, the lump exploded into action.  It was a brown bat, with about a ten-inch wingspan.  It got confused and started a frantic circuit around the ceiling fan blades, circling in the opposite direction from the fan’s movement.

Now, I’m no shrinking violet.  But I don’t want to kill it, because of a) the unsanitary mess I’ll have to clean up and b) the fact that I feel sorry for it; it’s scared and confused and surely did not mean to come inside.  Probably it was just chasing a moth and got tangled in my curtains, and fell inside inadvertently.  So I look around for a way to capture it without hurting it.  Eureka!  There’s an empty cardboard wine box at hand – and you know how they razor the three sides of the top off and leave a flip-lid?  So I grab that, flip the lid open, climb on the bed and try to time a ceiling-capture to avoid injuring the bat.  And you know what?  I did it!  I trapped that bat right against the ceiling with that box.

Did I mention I was not, uh…wearing a nightgown?

So there I am, starkers, standing on my bed, with a frantic bat trapped against the ceiling, scrabbling around in the wine box, and me in all my glory, with the open box top pressed against the ceiling.  Well, I thought, this is a fine how-do-you-do.  I started yelling for my roommate.  “STEVE!!!  STEVE!!!”  Steve was a relatively new roommate, and he was a shrinking violet; as a matter of fact he had a new friend, Sergio, over for a “sleepover” for the first time.  “STEVE!  HELP ME!”  I screamed.  Naturally, Steve and Sergio (hadn’t met him yet) come bursting into my bedroom, and There. I. Am.  “Hi,” I say, conversationally.  “Uh, there’s a bat in here.”  Well, you would have thought I’d said “Uh, there’s bubonic plague in here.”  After about five minutes of them screaming and waving their hands about, I managed to convince them I didn’t need them to do anything except one thing…open the window in the kitchen that led out onto the fire escape.  “I’ll take care of everything, just open the window in the kitchen,” I said.

Traumatic for them.  Not only a bat, but also a naked girl.

So I finally convince them to open the kitchen window and I wait until they retreat to Steve’s bedroom and close the door.  Then I oh-so-carefully tilt the wine box and slam the lid closed.  I make a run for the kitchen window, plonk the box on the fire escape, flip the lid open, and slam the window shut.

The next morning at work, I bragged about both my bravery and my humanity, having performed a perfect catch-and-release operation.  Around 1:30, Steve called me.  “You know that bat?” he says, the disgust apparent in his voice.  “Yeah,” I say.  “I saved its life!  How cool is that?”

“Not exactly,” he says.  It was summer, and the temperature was topping out at about 102F that day.  “You know that box?  Well, it had a dry-cleaning plastic in it.”  “Oh, NO,” says I.  “Yeah,” he says.  “It’s still out there on the fire escape, tangled up in the plastic, inside the box.  It’s actually sizzling.  I’m pretty sure it’s dead.”

So I had to dispose of the bat after all.  Poor bat.  Poor Steve.  Poor Sergio.

Poor Bat! :sad:

Poor Marsha! What a great way to <ahem> "introduce" yourself to the houseguest and let the relatively new roomie get an idea of what he's in for! That story is going to get some mileage I suspect. :laugh:

Katie M. Loeb
Booze Muse, Spiritual Advisor

Author: Shake, Stir, Pour:Fresh Homegrown Cocktails

Cheers!
Bartendrix,Intoxicologist, Beverage Consultant, Philadelphia, PA
Captain Liberty of the Good Varietals, Aphrodite of Alcohol

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That story is going to get some mileage I suspect.  :laugh:

It's a party staple. Everyone should have a story like that to tell!

Marsha Lynch aka "zilla369"

Has anyone ever actually seen a bandit making out?

Uh-huh: just as I thought. Stereotyping.

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Some friends stopped by this evening on their way home to Phoenix after spending 10 days in north Tahoe at a relative's vacation home.

I had been reading eG and happened to mention this thread and got this story in return.

When they arrived at the cabin, they found the ground floor door into the garage/basement (house built on a hillside) had been broken into. Inside they found the lid had been torn off a fairly large chest freezer and the contents consumed or scattered about (horrible stench). Plus a keg of home-made wine had been shattered.

There was also abundant evidence of the identity of the perpetrator. More awful smells!

When they questioned neighbors and a local ranger, they learned that a large male bear had been found dead a mile or so away having fallen off a cliff.

The ranger said there had been a distinct odor of alcohol around the bear and his face was stained purple. Until learning about the wine consumption, they had thought it had eaten overripe berries that had fermented.

My friends were sad about the bear dying but were relieved that they would not have a surprise visitor in the middle of the night.

The owner of the house is getting a steel security door to replace the wood garage door.

Edited by andiesenji (log)

"There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half empty. The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: What's up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass!" Terry Pratchett

 

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Whoa. And I thought it was bad the time my little Pomeranian dog got drunk at a party by drinking anyone's beer from the glasses that they had put down for a moment. I did have to walk him around quite a bit, later, to sober him up.

(Though it was rather amusing to see him topple merrily sideways against the tree as he lifted his leg to pee, I admit. . .)

Poor bear. Let's hope that at least he was a happy drunk, since it seems to have done him in.

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Delete

Edited by kdl1221
Deleted (log)

~K

Thank you as well for the conversational haitus. I generally refrain from speach during gustation. There are those who attempt both at the same time. I find it coarse and vulgar.

Big Dan Teague

O Brother, Where Art Thou?

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Whoa. And I thought it was bad the time my little Pomeranian dog got drunk at a party by drinking anyone's beer from the glasses that they had put down for a moment. I did have to walk him around quite a bit, later, to sober him up.

(Though it was rather amusing to see him topple merrily sideways against the tree as he lifted his leg to pee, I admit. . .)

Poor bear. Let's hope that at least he was a happy drunk, since it seems to have done him in.

Drunken animals can be very funny. Growing up on a farm, like all my contemporaries, I was in 4-H. One year I raised a polled angus bull calf that grew up to be an enormous bull. He was very gentle and was allowed to roam freely around the home grounds.

One night he got into the peach orchard, after most of the fruit had been picked, and must have eaten a lot of the groundfalls which had fermented.

About 3 a.m. we heard a lot of bellowing and the men went out to see what was happening. Apparently Beau had knelt, either because he was unsteady on his feet, or because it was easier to eat the peaches in his condition. He had leaned sideways under a heavy limb and was stuck.

When it got light enough to see, I sat and petted his head, to keep him calm, while my uncles sawed off the limb.

After being freed from the "trap" Beau staggered around for a while, drank several gallons of water and found a shady place for a nap.

Later that day he seemed hungover, rubbing his head on the grass and generally acting like he felt miserable. The farm vet gave him something to keep his stomach working properly and said he would be fine. I don't think he ever bothered the peaches after that.

The hogs would often be turned into the orchards to clean up after the various fruits had been harvested and they would get drunk - I think they looked forward to it - one of the older sows would knock all the others out of her way to get first in line at the gate. You would be surprised at how fast one of those big animals can move.

"There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half empty. The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: What's up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass!" Terry Pratchett

 

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