I don't know if these are actually true or not, but they're pretty funny either way. Especially the coffin thing. (Maybe I'm just morbid.)
---
* Lead cups were used to drink ale or whiskey. The combination would sometimes knock them out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a "wake."
* England is old and small, and they started running out of places to bury people. So, they would dig up coffins and would take their bones to a house and reuse the grave. In reopening these coffins, one out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they thought they would tie a string on their wrist and lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night to listen for the bell. Hence on the "graveyard shift" they would know that someone was "saved by the bell" or he was a "dead ringer."
* Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May and were still smelling pretty good by June. However, they were starting to smell, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the b.o.
* Baths equaled a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying "Don't throw the baby out with the bath water."
* Houses had thatched roofs. Thick straw, piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the pets... dogs, cats and other small animals, mice, rats, bugs lived in the roof. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying, "It's raining cats and dogs."
* There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could really mess up your nice clean bed. So, they found if they made beds with big posts and hung a sheet over the top, it addressed that problem. Hence those beautiful big 4 poster beds with canopies. I wonder if this is where we get the saying "Good night and don't let the bed bugs bite"...
* The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt, hence the saying "dirt poor." The wealthy had slate floors which would get slippery in the winter when wet. So they spread thresh on the floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on they kept adding more thresh until when you opened the door it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed at the entry way, hence a "thresh hold."
* They cooked in the kitchen in a big kettle that always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They mostly ate vegetables and didn't get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes the stew had food in it that had been in there for a month. Hence the rhyme: peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old."
* Sometimes they could obtain pork and would feel really special when that happened. When company came over, they would bring out some bacon and hang it to show it off. It was a sign of wealth and that a man "could really bring home the bacon." They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and "chew the fat."
* Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with a high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food. This happened most often with tomatoes, so they stopped eating tomatoes...for 400 years.
* Most people didn't have pewter plates, but had trenchers - a piece of wood with the middle scooped out like a bowl. Trenchers were never washed and a lot of times worms got into the wood. After eating off wormy trenchers, they would get "trench mouth.
* Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the "upper crust".
Credit: Brobdignagian Bards.
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Monday, June 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
CATTLE GOT YOUR TONGUE?
by Cynthia MacGregor
(cont'd from yesterday)
By the way, speaking of Washington, which we sorta were, it’s interesting how Washington D.C. got the latter part of its name. It got that appellation (and pearlation and plumlation) because it was the home of most current events, and D.C. is a type of current. (The currant farmers got a subsidy every time it was used.)
The wheat, which we were talking about just a few minutes ago (are you paying attention?), would have been harvested with wheat-whackers, except that those didn’t get invented for another century.
Meanwhile the fruit farmers were up in arms that they were being ignored in favor of the vegetable farmers and the cattlemen, so they invented Steve Jobs, who pays the apple farmers a royalty for every picture of their product that he uses on his product.
This treatise is being written on an Apple Macintosh. That’s why it’s so juicy. (Did juicy what I wrote earlier?)
Some of the other fruit farmers were plum disgusted at being left out of the loop. A pear of them marched on Washington together, but they were two small a group. They had a grape deal of difficulty getting heard, despite raisin their voices, so they decided to go home and send in their complaints by post. After a while of fruitless (pun intended) labors, they despaired, “Watermelon in all these letters going to accomplish?” they sighed. They suspected that the mail carrier wasn’t even delivering their gripes (or grapes), he being too busy going for fittings for his new bulletproof vest, a requisite if you’re going to work for the Post Office. Thus was born FedEx.
The chicken farmers thought the name was FedEggs and decided their product was finally being recognized by the government. They wanted a royalty or subsidy for every time the name “Eggs” was used. A lot of eggs-husbands got upset at that. They thought their divorces were costly enough already without this additional burden.
“Go lay it on the camels,” they said. “They’re used to being beasts of burden.” Unable to find a camel in the U.S., the farmers invented cigarettes.
Meanwhile, over in Rome, the Pontiff issued a papal bull. The cattle ranchers threw up their hands in despair, crying, “Everyone wants to get into the act!” They retaliated in a number of ways. First they tried to make the meat of their young cows more universally popular. They did this by selling the meat in calfeterias. Second, they got into the beer-and-beef-restaurant business, joining the many popular chains already in existence, with a new one of their own, which they named Whole Stein.
Gertrude Stein immediately sued for royalties.
(cont'd from yesterday)
By the way, speaking of Washington, which we sorta were, it’s interesting how Washington D.C. got the latter part of its name. It got that appellation (and pearlation and plumlation) because it was the home of most current events, and D.C. is a type of current. (The currant farmers got a subsidy every time it was used.)
The wheat, which we were talking about just a few minutes ago (are you paying attention?), would have been harvested with wheat-whackers, except that those didn’t get invented for another century.
Meanwhile the fruit farmers were up in arms that they were being ignored in favor of the vegetable farmers and the cattlemen, so they invented Steve Jobs, who pays the apple farmers a royalty for every picture of their product that he uses on his product.
This treatise is being written on an Apple Macintosh. That’s why it’s so juicy. (Did juicy what I wrote earlier?)
Some of the other fruit farmers were plum disgusted at being left out of the loop. A pear of them marched on Washington together, but they were two small a group. They had a grape deal of difficulty getting heard, despite raisin their voices, so they decided to go home and send in their complaints by post. After a while of fruitless (pun intended) labors, they despaired, “Watermelon in all these letters going to accomplish?” they sighed. They suspected that the mail carrier wasn’t even delivering their gripes (or grapes), he being too busy going for fittings for his new bulletproof vest, a requisite if you’re going to work for the Post Office. Thus was born FedEx.
The chicken farmers thought the name was FedEggs and decided their product was finally being recognized by the government. They wanted a royalty or subsidy for every time the name “Eggs” was used. A lot of eggs-husbands got upset at that. They thought their divorces were costly enough already without this additional burden.
“Go lay it on the camels,” they said. “They’re used to being beasts of burden.” Unable to find a camel in the U.S., the farmers invented cigarettes.
Meanwhile, over in Rome, the Pontiff issued a papal bull. The cattle ranchers threw up their hands in despair, crying, “Everyone wants to get into the act!” They retaliated in a number of ways. First they tried to make the meat of their young cows more universally popular. They did this by selling the meat in calfeterias. Second, they got into the beer-and-beef-restaurant business, joining the many popular chains already in existence, with a new one of their own, which they named Whole Stein.
Gertrude Stein immediately sued for royalties.
Monday, April 13, 2009
CATTLE GOT YOUR TONGUE?
by Cynthia MacGregor
In the days of the Old West, fellows would try to steal cows, but the cows, who belonged to Carnation and were therefore all Contented, didn’t want to be stolen and put up a good fight. The thieves had to get the cows in half-nelsons in order to get them to submit to being stolen, and thus became known as cattle wrestlers.
Carnation wanted to keep the remaining cows happy so they wouldn’t leave with the rustlers voluntarily. The company asked the cows what would please them. The cows asked, “How about a ’56 Chevy convertible?” Carnation supplied the cars, even though they hadn’t been invented yet, but now instead of rustling the problem was rusting, so Carnation erected canvas structures over the vehicles to prevent the weather from damaging them. Thus the Carnation Cows became car-in-tented cows.
But eventually the cows met their fate at the hands of cooks all across America. As our land grew, so did our appetite for beefsteak. Rich or poor, man or woman or child, East Coast or West, everyone wanted beef. And the cows had to grow accustomed to winding up on dinner plates. Fortunately long days on the scorching prairies made them acclimated to the heat, so they didn’t object to the temperatures of the stoves across our great land; yes, truly they were at “Home on the Range.”
The cows did have one problem: They minded that the plural of cow is “cattle.” They felt that if they were stuck with this Miss Nomer, then felines owed them one in reciprocation and the plural of kitty ought to be cowl. They sent representatives to march on Washington (the town, not the president, who was long out of office by now, with no hope of getting re-elected by virtue of the fact that he was long dead). The representatives picketed up and down the corridors of the Federal buildings and thus became known as the Beef Lobby.
Another century later and male strippers became the rage in certain nightclubs in D.C. (Washington, not direct electricity). These strippers became colloquially known as beefcake, a term that angered the cattle, who felt their trademark had been infringed on, so they went on strike. When that didn’t work, they rolled another ball and went on spare. Pro bowlers immediately protested as they objected to finding cow patties on the lanes.
Meanwhile, the anti-beef people, who ranged from vegetarian health fanatics to PETA members, started seeking a substitute for beef. One such was soya, used in soya burgers It derives its name from, “I soya try to pass that off as a hamburger.”
“Hamburger” is itself an interesting word, since it has no ham in it. It derives from the very first cow who was ground up into beef for one of these dinners. A little-known fact is that this cow had been used onstage in a production of Gypsy (remember the cow?), but it constantly upstaged the two-legged actors, who threatened to quit the production if the cow wasn’t replaced. “She’s too big a ham!” the actors protested So she was yanked out of the cast and served for that night’s dinner ... a ham-burger.
A little-known fact is that she learned of her intended fate beforehand and tried to make an escape. This led to the first recorded usage of, “Where’s the beef?” later co-opted by Medicine Avenue, so named because of all the ad executives on it who live on Mylanta and ulcer preparations. Meanwhile, though the cow took it on the lam, she was captured, thus becoming the nation’s first lam-burger.
Soya substitutes became known as sham-burgers.
The nation’s vegetable farmers, upset at their product being overlooked, what with all the furor over beef, declared “We will have peas in our time.” But the cattle lobby didn’t carrot all for that approach and decided to beet them at their own game. They marched on Washington, also aprilled and mayed. But the vegetable farmers said, “We’ve bean overlooked once too often. We’ll squash your rebellion. We’ll turnip evidence that you have a congressman in your pockets.” Of course, cows don’t have pockets, so the claim was udderly ridiculous.
The wheat farmers, meanwhile, succeeded in getting a picture of their product on every penny minted by the government. (And with all the congressmen’s lunches and dinners the taxpayers were paying for, there were a lot of after-dinner mints. And before the dinners there were a lot of liquid refresh-mints.) For each stalk of wheat that was impressed on a penny, the wheat farmers got paid. This was known as the Wheat Subsidy.
(Cont'd tomw)
In the days of the Old West, fellows would try to steal cows, but the cows, who belonged to Carnation and were therefore all Contented, didn’t want to be stolen and put up a good fight. The thieves had to get the cows in half-nelsons in order to get them to submit to being stolen, and thus became known as cattle wrestlers.
Carnation wanted to keep the remaining cows happy so they wouldn’t leave with the rustlers voluntarily. The company asked the cows what would please them. The cows asked, “How about a ’56 Chevy convertible?” Carnation supplied the cars, even though they hadn’t been invented yet, but now instead of rustling the problem was rusting, so Carnation erected canvas structures over the vehicles to prevent the weather from damaging them. Thus the Carnation Cows became car-in-tented cows.
But eventually the cows met their fate at the hands of cooks all across America. As our land grew, so did our appetite for beefsteak. Rich or poor, man or woman or child, East Coast or West, everyone wanted beef. And the cows had to grow accustomed to winding up on dinner plates. Fortunately long days on the scorching prairies made them acclimated to the heat, so they didn’t object to the temperatures of the stoves across our great land; yes, truly they were at “Home on the Range.”
The cows did have one problem: They minded that the plural of cow is “cattle.” They felt that if they were stuck with this Miss Nomer, then felines owed them one in reciprocation and the plural of kitty ought to be cowl. They sent representatives to march on Washington (the town, not the president, who was long out of office by now, with no hope of getting re-elected by virtue of the fact that he was long dead). The representatives picketed up and down the corridors of the Federal buildings and thus became known as the Beef Lobby.
Another century later and male strippers became the rage in certain nightclubs in D.C. (Washington, not direct electricity). These strippers became colloquially known as beefcake, a term that angered the cattle, who felt their trademark had been infringed on, so they went on strike. When that didn’t work, they rolled another ball and went on spare. Pro bowlers immediately protested as they objected to finding cow patties on the lanes.
Meanwhile, the anti-beef people, who ranged from vegetarian health fanatics to PETA members, started seeking a substitute for beef. One such was soya, used in soya burgers It derives its name from, “I soya try to pass that off as a hamburger.”
“Hamburger” is itself an interesting word, since it has no ham in it. It derives from the very first cow who was ground up into beef for one of these dinners. A little-known fact is that this cow had been used onstage in a production of Gypsy (remember the cow?), but it constantly upstaged the two-legged actors, who threatened to quit the production if the cow wasn’t replaced. “She’s too big a ham!” the actors protested So she was yanked out of the cast and served for that night’s dinner ... a ham-burger.
A little-known fact is that she learned of her intended fate beforehand and tried to make an escape. This led to the first recorded usage of, “Where’s the beef?” later co-opted by Medicine Avenue, so named because of all the ad executives on it who live on Mylanta and ulcer preparations. Meanwhile, though the cow took it on the lam, she was captured, thus becoming the nation’s first lam-burger.
Soya substitutes became known as sham-burgers.
The nation’s vegetable farmers, upset at their product being overlooked, what with all the furor over beef, declared “We will have peas in our time.” But the cattle lobby didn’t carrot all for that approach and decided to beet them at their own game. They marched on Washington, also aprilled and mayed. But the vegetable farmers said, “We’ve bean overlooked once too often. We’ll squash your rebellion. We’ll turnip evidence that you have a congressman in your pockets.” Of course, cows don’t have pockets, so the claim was udderly ridiculous.
The wheat farmers, meanwhile, succeeded in getting a picture of their product on every penny minted by the government. (And with all the congressmen’s lunches and dinners the taxpayers were paying for, there were a lot of after-dinner mints. And before the dinners there were a lot of liquid refresh-mints.) For each stalk of wheat that was impressed on a penny, the wheat farmers got paid. This was known as the Wheat Subsidy.
(Cont'd tomw)
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
A MERRY CAN HISTORY
by Cynthia MacGregor
Back in ’76 we passed a resolution to free ourselves from England. This led to the Resolutionary War. We were freeing ourselves from the Mother Country because it was aptly named, behaving like a typical mother and saying, “Look both ways before you cross the ocean,” and, “Don’t go overseas in all that water without your rubbers.,”
We had to get ourselves free of the ruler (also the yardstick), a character given to orgies for entertainment, who was thus known as Kink George. To confuse the people into not realizing there had been a change in leadership, which would make them more willing to obey our New Leader, we selected for our first president a same-named fellow (“George,” not “Kink”).
Just like the You’re Up Peein’ monarch, he too had no last name, which made it hard to tell the two apart. The people clamored (also oystered) for a last name for our new president. Now, in those days the head of the country did not earn a munificent salary. So he had to do additional work to help bolster his income. Georgie’s wife took in laundry on the side. Therefore they hung a sign outside the White House that said, “George and Martha, Washing Done.”
Thomas Jiffyson was a leader of the young country who was known for getting things done quickly. He took a look at these new developments—not the housing developments, which came later—and saw that we had a preseident, our first First Lady, and the beginnings of graft and corruption. And he said to the American people, “Well, all the ingredients are in place. You’re a nation.” He was a real pisser!
Of course, I committed an error back there when I referred to “The White House.” That is how we know it today. It was puce in those days. It has faded over the years. And a good thing. We would never have been taken seriously as a world leader with our president living and working in a Technicolor palace.
It was George who started the modern-day practice of having a home office. Owing to the size of the presidential living-and-working quarters, it was known, in those early days, as “the Wide House.” When the original color faded, George Washing Done gave orders to have it re-painted. But his tongue had picked up splinters from his wooden teeth, and he couldn’t talk clearly.
Ben Frankly, another early leader, who was known for his forthrightness, got the painting contract. But misunderstanding Georgie’s orders to paint The Wide House, he painted the building white. Washing Done, angered when he saw the finished job, told Ben Frankly to go fly a kite. Ben, by the way, was known for his interest in voting hanky-panky, which is why his name has become synonymous with elect tricks.
George Washing Done is not the only president whose last name has been mangled by history. Our first Jewish president, Abe Lincohen, is another example.
George is also not the only president who, when elected, had only a first name and acquired his last name while in office. The two Johns are another example. The first John came to office known only by his name. But the Secret Serviceman at the front door was hard of hearing. (He was also low in his supply of pickled fish, which made him short of herring, but that’s a different story.) When visitors, arriving after a long horse ride, would reach the White House in need of the rest room, they would ask the Secret Serviceman at the door, “Where’s the john?” But he, hard of hearing, would think they had just asked, “Where’s John?” and show them directly in to see the president. The carpet around the Oval Office had to be cleaned frequently as a result.
It was decided that John needed a last name in order to distinguish him from the facilities. In an underreported assassination attempt right at that time, a fellow with a sword arrived and tried to cleave President John right down the middle. Since the wannabe assassin had tried to split the president, it was decided the president must be an atom. So he came to be known as John Atoms.
“But we’re not scheduled to split the atom for another couple of centuries,” the Secret Service complained. The assassin was tried on charges of Trying to Alter the Course of History, and since all the country’s alterations were still being handled by Martha Washingdone, who was doing tailoring along with the laundry, that made it a treasonable offense.
But the judge thought the prosecutor had charged the assassin with a “reasonable offense.” So the judge gave him a reasonable sentence. The sentence was “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.” The assassin was condemned to keep repeating it till he could say it twenty times in a row without tangling it.
Unable to do so, he shot himself in despair. (But since it was da spare, he still had one left.) Thus he saved the country from having to send him to the electric chair, which was a Very Good Thing since electricity hadn’t yet been discovered.
As for President Atoms, as I said earlier, his last name, just like Georgie’s and Abe’s, got transmogrified over the years. His son, who had a sour face, was known as John Quince-y Atoms. His great-grandson, who never held a steady job and rode the rails a lot, was known as the Atoms bum.
Other interesting characters in American History whose names got changed over the years include Wall Jackson, who toked frequently and came to be known as Stoned Wall Jackson; a Southern leader who screwed like a bunny and was thus known as Rabbitty Lee; and the General who became famous for leading us through W.W. II despite a variety of pains plaguing his body, Ache Eisenhower.
Back in ’76 we passed a resolution to free ourselves from England. This led to the Resolutionary War. We were freeing ourselves from the Mother Country because it was aptly named, behaving like a typical mother and saying, “Look both ways before you cross the ocean,” and, “Don’t go overseas in all that water without your rubbers.,”
We had to get ourselves free of the ruler (also the yardstick), a character given to orgies for entertainment, who was thus known as Kink George. To confuse the people into not realizing there had been a change in leadership, which would make them more willing to obey our New Leader, we selected for our first president a same-named fellow (“George,” not “Kink”).
Just like the You’re Up Peein’ monarch, he too had no last name, which made it hard to tell the two apart. The people clamored (also oystered) for a last name for our new president. Now, in those days the head of the country did not earn a munificent salary. So he had to do additional work to help bolster his income. Georgie’s wife took in laundry on the side. Therefore they hung a sign outside the White House that said, “George and Martha, Washing Done.”
Thomas Jiffyson was a leader of the young country who was known for getting things done quickly. He took a look at these new developments—not the housing developments, which came later—and saw that we had a preseident, our first First Lady, and the beginnings of graft and corruption. And he said to the American people, “Well, all the ingredients are in place. You’re a nation.” He was a real pisser!
Of course, I committed an error back there when I referred to “The White House.” That is how we know it today. It was puce in those days. It has faded over the years. And a good thing. We would never have been taken seriously as a world leader with our president living and working in a Technicolor palace.
It was George who started the modern-day practice of having a home office. Owing to the size of the presidential living-and-working quarters, it was known, in those early days, as “the Wide House.” When the original color faded, George Washing Done gave orders to have it re-painted. But his tongue had picked up splinters from his wooden teeth, and he couldn’t talk clearly.
Ben Frankly, another early leader, who was known for his forthrightness, got the painting contract. But misunderstanding Georgie’s orders to paint The Wide House, he painted the building white. Washing Done, angered when he saw the finished job, told Ben Frankly to go fly a kite. Ben, by the way, was known for his interest in voting hanky-panky, which is why his name has become synonymous with elect tricks.
George Washing Done is not the only president whose last name has been mangled by history. Our first Jewish president, Abe Lincohen, is another example.
George is also not the only president who, when elected, had only a first name and acquired his last name while in office. The two Johns are another example. The first John came to office known only by his name. But the Secret Serviceman at the front door was hard of hearing. (He was also low in his supply of pickled fish, which made him short of herring, but that’s a different story.) When visitors, arriving after a long horse ride, would reach the White House in need of the rest room, they would ask the Secret Serviceman at the door, “Where’s the john?” But he, hard of hearing, would think they had just asked, “Where’s John?” and show them directly in to see the president. The carpet around the Oval Office had to be cleaned frequently as a result.
It was decided that John needed a last name in order to distinguish him from the facilities. In an underreported assassination attempt right at that time, a fellow with a sword arrived and tried to cleave President John right down the middle. Since the wannabe assassin had tried to split the president, it was decided the president must be an atom. So he came to be known as John Atoms.
“But we’re not scheduled to split the atom for another couple of centuries,” the Secret Service complained. The assassin was tried on charges of Trying to Alter the Course of History, and since all the country’s alterations were still being handled by Martha Washingdone, who was doing tailoring along with the laundry, that made it a treasonable offense.
But the judge thought the prosecutor had charged the assassin with a “reasonable offense.” So the judge gave him a reasonable sentence. The sentence was “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.” The assassin was condemned to keep repeating it till he could say it twenty times in a row without tangling it.
Unable to do so, he shot himself in despair. (But since it was da spare, he still had one left.) Thus he saved the country from having to send him to the electric chair, which was a Very Good Thing since electricity hadn’t yet been discovered.
As for President Atoms, as I said earlier, his last name, just like Georgie’s and Abe’s, got transmogrified over the years. His son, who had a sour face, was known as John Quince-y Atoms. His great-grandson, who never held a steady job and rode the rails a lot, was known as the Atoms bum.
Other interesting characters in American History whose names got changed over the years include Wall Jackson, who toked frequently and came to be known as Stoned Wall Jackson; a Southern leader who screwed like a bunny and was thus known as Rabbitty Lee; and the General who became famous for leading us through W.W. II despite a variety of pains plaguing his body, Ache Eisenhower.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
HYSTERICAL FIGURES
by Cynthia MacGregor
(cont'd from yesterday)
But let’s move on into the 20th century, where we find such famous figures as Francisco Franco, whose battle cry of, “Franco, my dear, I don’t give a damn!” led many beavers to join the Spanish Revolution. A contemporary of his was Charles deGaulle, who wanted to be president for life and couldn’t believe deGaulle of some people in opposing him. Meanwhile, in Argentina, the folks in Buenos Aires had decided that Juan Peron was enough for a lifetime.
It was a great century for dictators (also commentators and french fried taters). Ghadaffi won a prize for having the most different correct spellings of his name. Idi Amin said, “Amin business—now listen up!” And Saddam Who’s Sane? proved he wasn’t.
Not everything in the twentieth century was bad news. Sun Yacht Sen-Sen, the licorice-flavored ruler, made powerboating popular in a land that had previously known only junky boats. And Mikhail Garbage Chef showed the starving Russians how to go dumpster diving and come up with some fabulous meals. Then there was Imelda Mar Cosine, who sined a bunch of checks and then went off on a shopping tangent. Her husband’s re-election was a shoe thing.
But it was not all good news, either. Mayo Tea Tongue, who had exotic tastes in foods, ruined a fine set of China. And Chiang Kai passed a bad Shek. Everyone had their doubts about Kaiser Will He? (Unfortunately, he did.) And another certain Bad Guy who followed him, in Germany, was too bad to even make jokes about.
Things were busy in Russia. While Leon Trotsky put the pacers through their paces, Josef quit Stalin and got on with the deepening grip of communism. Vladimir Lenin was one of the most famous of the rushin’ rulers, and after Lenin changed his first name he began a whole new career with a Merzey beat, though as a Rushin’ Ruler he had shown no mercy at all.
The vatican meanwhile elected a new pup who hounded the Catholics to be more attentive to their religion.
Back in the States, the 20th century was filled with a plethora of good guys and bad guys. Willie Satin was a bank robber who enjoyed the fabric of his life. Franklin Delano Rosenfeld was our eminent Jewish president. Walt made people Dizzy on the rides in his amusement parks but had trouble answering the question, “Are you a man or a mouse?” Al Capone made a lot of money off that other Al, Cohol.
Jimmy from Georgia retired from the presidency but lived up to his name at his next job, standing at the door of a club and making sure everyone who entered was of legal age. He was followed by Ronnie Ragin’, who failed to live up to his name but got an “A” in napping during cabinet meetings, giving every child who dozed in class an excuse: “I was practicing being presidential.”
George was our most direct president—he never beat around the Bush. Danny Boy didn’t Quayle but did eat crow after making a fool of himself over a lowly potatoe. President Billy-Bob earned a variety of disrespectful monikers and one very awed Monica. His presidency suffered a crushing blow. And Ken starred in the most vile proceedings since Sen. McCarthy, not to be confused with Charlie McCarthy—the latter was wooden headed, while the former simply wooden leave a bad issue alone. There’s no boogeymen under your bed, darling, just a lot of Communists, so go to sleep.
But sleeping through the 20th century was tough to do (unless you were Ronald Ragin’, who wasn’t a president but played one on TV). Perhaps the “Naughty Oughties” will be more restful. But don’t count on it.
(cont'd from yesterday)
But let’s move on into the 20th century, where we find such famous figures as Francisco Franco, whose battle cry of, “Franco, my dear, I don’t give a damn!” led many beavers to join the Spanish Revolution. A contemporary of his was Charles deGaulle, who wanted to be president for life and couldn’t believe deGaulle of some people in opposing him. Meanwhile, in Argentina, the folks in Buenos Aires had decided that Juan Peron was enough for a lifetime.
It was a great century for dictators (also commentators and french fried taters). Ghadaffi won a prize for having the most different correct spellings of his name. Idi Amin said, “Amin business—now listen up!” And Saddam Who’s Sane? proved he wasn’t.
Not everything in the twentieth century was bad news. Sun Yacht Sen-Sen, the licorice-flavored ruler, made powerboating popular in a land that had previously known only junky boats. And Mikhail Garbage Chef showed the starving Russians how to go dumpster diving and come up with some fabulous meals. Then there was Imelda Mar Cosine, who sined a bunch of checks and then went off on a shopping tangent. Her husband’s re-election was a shoe thing.
But it was not all good news, either. Mayo Tea Tongue, who had exotic tastes in foods, ruined a fine set of China. And Chiang Kai passed a bad Shek. Everyone had their doubts about Kaiser Will He? (Unfortunately, he did.) And another certain Bad Guy who followed him, in Germany, was too bad to even make jokes about.
Things were busy in Russia. While Leon Trotsky put the pacers through their paces, Josef quit Stalin and got on with the deepening grip of communism. Vladimir Lenin was one of the most famous of the rushin’ rulers, and after Lenin changed his first name he began a whole new career with a Merzey beat, though as a Rushin’ Ruler he had shown no mercy at all.
The vatican meanwhile elected a new pup who hounded the Catholics to be more attentive to their religion.
Back in the States, the 20th century was filled with a plethora of good guys and bad guys. Willie Satin was a bank robber who enjoyed the fabric of his life. Franklin Delano Rosenfeld was our eminent Jewish president. Walt made people Dizzy on the rides in his amusement parks but had trouble answering the question, “Are you a man or a mouse?” Al Capone made a lot of money off that other Al, Cohol.
Jimmy from Georgia retired from the presidency but lived up to his name at his next job, standing at the door of a club and making sure everyone who entered was of legal age. He was followed by Ronnie Ragin’, who failed to live up to his name but got an “A” in napping during cabinet meetings, giving every child who dozed in class an excuse: “I was practicing being presidential.”
George was our most direct president—he never beat around the Bush. Danny Boy didn’t Quayle but did eat crow after making a fool of himself over a lowly potatoe. President Billy-Bob earned a variety of disrespectful monikers and one very awed Monica. His presidency suffered a crushing blow. And Ken starred in the most vile proceedings since Sen. McCarthy, not to be confused with Charlie McCarthy—the latter was wooden headed, while the former simply wooden leave a bad issue alone. There’s no boogeymen under your bed, darling, just a lot of Communists, so go to sleep.
But sleeping through the 20th century was tough to do (unless you were Ronald Ragin’, who wasn’t a president but played one on TV). Perhaps the “Naughty Oughties” will be more restful. But don’t count on it.
Monday, April 6, 2009
HYSTERICAL FIGURES
by Cynthia MacGregor
The study of history goes way back to…well, way back in history. And there are fascinating facts about folks even then that are in some way parallel to modern times. Take, for instance, the queen who tiptoed around the Egyptian palace—I’m referring, of course, to Cleo Patterer. Just like many modern folks, Cleo had a drinking problem and wouldn’t admit it; she was the queen of de Nile. Several of her contemporaries were equally famous and remain so. Julius Scissor is still remembered for his cutting remarks.
He is also remembered for his speech on the occasion of his friend Brutus’s bankruptcy. (I told you their problems had modern parallels.) When Julie’s friend Brutus declared Chapter 11, he tried to lay the blame on the popular entertainers of the day, who had enticed him to attend their many performances (and thus spend too much money). But ol’ Julius set him straight, saying, “Default, dear Brutus, lies not in the stars.”
Cleo tried to leave Mark Antony for Julius. She floated down the river and barged right in on him. But Mark wasn’t having any of this desertion nonsense and called to his private guards, “Seize her!”
Another fellow with similarities to modern times is the guy who crossed the Alps on all those elephants. His elephant wasn’t equipped with directional signals, a steering wheel, or even a rear-view mirror, not to mention a GPS system. History doesn't record whether Hannibal ever got lost in the Alps, but if he did, since he was a man, you can bet he didn't stop to ask directions.
A leader whose moniker derived from his habits is that famous Roman emperor who had a strange belief—he believed you could tell how brave a warrior was by the knobbiness of his knees. Therefore he required all new recruits for the army to line up before him weekly in a straight line, raising their togas to mid-thigh so he could examine their degree of knobbiness. He of course became known as Knee Row. Knee Row would have been a much better ruler if he hadn’t fiddled around so much.
But as modern figures are generally easier to relate to, let’s take a look at some more recent folks who, like the kid who didn’t bother to study for the test, have gone down in history.
Religious leaders are always worth studying…if they stick around long enough. Sometimes it seems they are Gandhi minute we notice them. Sometimes they get lost in all the Confucian. But some make the headlines—like Bernadette, who is famous for incinerating her church’s mortgage.
France is an absolute treasure trove of famous names. Napoleon invented the first flushable water loo. Madame du Bury made sure her competition wound up six feet under—whether they were dead yet or not. And then there was a certain marquis who swore he was so serious about the politics of the day that no one could make him crack a smile. His contemporaries all tried. The top 40 radio station in Paris even started a contest, offering a basket of truffles to the first person who could get the guy to grin. Now, the French never trifle with truffles, but alas, the answer remained No every time the sponsors of the contest asked, “Is the Marquis laughy yet?”
The French didn’t think everything was a laughing matter, though. They certainly were far from giggly when they invented the guillotine. The French revolutionaries won their war because they had the best heads in Europe. But it was hard to keep your head on during the Revolution.
It was over in Europe, too, that a prize was first awarded for honesty. If you were—and, to this day, still are—completely honest in your product advertisements, you are eligible to win the No-Bull Prize.
Another famous European from a relatively recent century was King Gorge, who loved to eat. He was veddy veddy Briddish, and only got high on high tea, which is several octaves higher than high C.
King Gorge was followed (not too closely) by Queen Victorious. (Actually she hired a Private Eye to do the following for her.) Queen Victorious was famous for winning every battle. That’s why she was known as an old battle-axe. If you axed her, she would tell you so herself. Queen Victorious was the world’s most famous prune, or prude—I’m not sure there’s much of a difference. Under Good Queen Bess (well, not directly under her), Will Shakes and his peers had felt free to be bawdy—everybawdy did it. But Queen Victorious ushered in a new era of prudery, which caused Edgar L.N. Poe to write The Fall of the House of Usher, even though summer had barely started.
There was also Mary, Queen of Scotch, whose favorite drink was Dewar’s.
...And a few others, but we'll save them for tomorrow's installment.
The study of history goes way back to…well, way back in history. And there are fascinating facts about folks even then that are in some way parallel to modern times. Take, for instance, the queen who tiptoed around the Egyptian palace—I’m referring, of course, to Cleo Patterer. Just like many modern folks, Cleo had a drinking problem and wouldn’t admit it; she was the queen of de Nile. Several of her contemporaries were equally famous and remain so. Julius Scissor is still remembered for his cutting remarks.
He is also remembered for his speech on the occasion of his friend Brutus’s bankruptcy. (I told you their problems had modern parallels.) When Julie’s friend Brutus declared Chapter 11, he tried to lay the blame on the popular entertainers of the day, who had enticed him to attend their many performances (and thus spend too much money). But ol’ Julius set him straight, saying, “Default, dear Brutus, lies not in the stars.”
Cleo tried to leave Mark Antony for Julius. She floated down the river and barged right in on him. But Mark wasn’t having any of this desertion nonsense and called to his private guards, “Seize her!”
Another fellow with similarities to modern times is the guy who crossed the Alps on all those elephants. His elephant wasn’t equipped with directional signals, a steering wheel, or even a rear-view mirror, not to mention a GPS system. History doesn't record whether Hannibal ever got lost in the Alps, but if he did, since he was a man, you can bet he didn't stop to ask directions.
A leader whose moniker derived from his habits is that famous Roman emperor who had a strange belief—he believed you could tell how brave a warrior was by the knobbiness of his knees. Therefore he required all new recruits for the army to line up before him weekly in a straight line, raising their togas to mid-thigh so he could examine their degree of knobbiness. He of course became known as Knee Row. Knee Row would have been a much better ruler if he hadn’t fiddled around so much.
But as modern figures are generally easier to relate to, let’s take a look at some more recent folks who, like the kid who didn’t bother to study for the test, have gone down in history.
Religious leaders are always worth studying…if they stick around long enough. Sometimes it seems they are Gandhi minute we notice them. Sometimes they get lost in all the Confucian. But some make the headlines—like Bernadette, who is famous for incinerating her church’s mortgage.
France is an absolute treasure trove of famous names. Napoleon invented the first flushable water loo. Madame du Bury made sure her competition wound up six feet under—whether they were dead yet or not. And then there was a certain marquis who swore he was so serious about the politics of the day that no one could make him crack a smile. His contemporaries all tried. The top 40 radio station in Paris even started a contest, offering a basket of truffles to the first person who could get the guy to grin. Now, the French never trifle with truffles, but alas, the answer remained No every time the sponsors of the contest asked, “Is the Marquis laughy yet?”
The French didn’t think everything was a laughing matter, though. They certainly were far from giggly when they invented the guillotine. The French revolutionaries won their war because they had the best heads in Europe. But it was hard to keep your head on during the Revolution.
It was over in Europe, too, that a prize was first awarded for honesty. If you were—and, to this day, still are—completely honest in your product advertisements, you are eligible to win the No-Bull Prize.
Another famous European from a relatively recent century was King Gorge, who loved to eat. He was veddy veddy Briddish, and only got high on high tea, which is several octaves higher than high C.
King Gorge was followed (not too closely) by Queen Victorious. (Actually she hired a Private Eye to do the following for her.) Queen Victorious was famous for winning every battle. That’s why she was known as an old battle-axe. If you axed her, she would tell you so herself. Queen Victorious was the world’s most famous prune, or prude—I’m not sure there’s much of a difference. Under Good Queen Bess (well, not directly under her), Will Shakes and his peers had felt free to be bawdy—everybawdy did it. But Queen Victorious ushered in a new era of prudery, which caused Edgar L.N. Poe to write The Fall of the House of Usher, even though summer had barely started.
There was also Mary, Queen of Scotch, whose favorite drink was Dewar’s.
...And a few others, but we'll save them for tomorrow's installment.
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