First off, I learned a new word from one person who reviewed one of my novels, Bubba and the Dead Woman. Homophone. (Homophone for those of you who can't read the rainbow colored letters.) This means words that sound the same or possibly are spelled the same but mean different things. (Like a rose can be a flower or someone rose from the dead.) Apparently this reviewer, of a review that I'm not supposed to read anymore, felt that I abused homophones in my novel. My comment: The word 'homophone' sounds like a communication device that has decided that it doesn't like other communication devices that prefer the same sex.
So I suppose I should swear off reading reviews again. I really should. We'll see how that works out.
Onto the next subject. Recently on Facebook several friends were discussing Duck Tape. I do mean, Duck Tape, not Duct Tape. (Brand name difference.) So when I went into Target last week, I found this, and I mean the display of various tapes, not the kid. I came to Target with the kid pre-attached to me:
|Cressy showing her choice of which Duck Tape should|
be used ideally. (Paint splotches.) I liked the
leopard skin one. But hey, they had so many to choose from.
So then I was compelled to Google funny uses for Duck Tape and discovered these. (All pix from Uses for Duck Tape who apparently has lots of time and alcohol on their hands):
|HIM, the man to whom I'm married,|
will love this. Now everyone can drink Foster's, including
people without thumbs.
|How did they hold him up long enough to get the Duck Tape to stick?|
What if he has to go pee pee? (I'm just saying.)
I'm sorry to announce that the pumpkin with the weird butt has passed onto the place where all pumpkins go. (From 'The Attack of the Giant Monster Pumpkins OR What to Do When Your Garden Doesn't Produce (Get It?)' from August 2011). The poor pumpkin developed some kind of wasting disease and started to rot. Then it had to go into intensive care.
|I know this is truly horrifying but it had to be|
seen. The poor pumpkin.
|I bet some of you are Googling right now.|
|Hah! More Googling. This is only for die hard Casablanca and|
African Queen fans.
|These are the famous last words of many an inebriated redneck.|
It doesn't really fit the empowered pumpkin with the weird butt
theme, but WTH?
With that in mind, I came up with a conclusive poem. It's called, 'The Lament of Irene.' (I know. I'm not a poet and I may never write another one. Someone will probably legally restrain me from doing so, but go with the humor on this one.):
Oh, mean, mean Irene,
Our summer vacation is so lean.
We could have had such a fun beach scene.
Instead Chuck E. Cheese's is from which we're forced to glean.
We're forced into a mundane routine.
Oh, I pray this is the end of Irene.
I can hear the comments now. (GROOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAN!!!!!)
And so this is the end of Fat Woman's blog.