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Archive for the ‘Words’ Category

Of Nazis, Kittens, and Surfing

In a shameful display of blog-whoring, there is a new blog titled “Nazi Surf Kittens Must Die”  (just think NSKMD, sort of like XKCD only different)

It is a no-pictures blog dedicated to quotes, wordsmithing, and insane utterances found in comments to blog posts wherever they may be found.

Think of it as a verbal mementos box.

It’s also meant to be short utterances (when possible) and rated “PG”.

Note:  Link added after original posting after oh-so-Mr.-Sarcastic Mitchell corrected the error of my ways.

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A new put-down.

Simple usage:

Oh HIM??? He’s such a barbie.

Words cut real  deep.

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The Crafting of Words

Yesterday’s post was in jest, the coining of what I think would be a fun word… douché (look it up).  Yes, it is a rude(-ish) word.  Still, the world is full of rude people that deserve that particular rejoinder.

But today on NPR (yes, NPR -all my truck radio gets is FM and most stations I get suck) I was driving home and heard an interview with Roseanne Cash, Johnny Cash’s daughter.  It was a serious interview, just like this is kind of a serious posting.

In the course of the interview it came out that in her memoir she told a story that would wreck a person if they had even a shred of heart and experienced it.  A story of  “a haunting roadside encounter on a cold night”… I will always remember the turn of phrase she used to end that story:

This is how the heart sounds when it’s broken open.

Ok, first off, that is first-class wordcrafting in my opinion, but you kind of need to hear the story that leads up to it.  (warning, might even be a two-hanky story for some)  It is certainly enough to cause you to think.

The NPR page with the link to the audio is here.

As a rule, I hate memoirs, but darned if she didn’t captivate me with her insights, and I’ll probably pick it up.

****

Ok, to offset the seriousness, I managed to get my daughter to grimace in a way that I just LIVE FOR.

I asked Girlhead as she was getting ready for bed if she had brushed her teeth yet.

“No, not yet,” she says as she turns around to head to the bathroom.

“Well you better brush ’em before they fall out!”

Few things offend a seven-year-old girl’s sensibilities quite like a father’s statements of the absurd.

As she trudged to the bathroom she was heard by Cruel Wife to have muttered quietly “They won’t fall out until I’m TWELVE…”

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