Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Flooftigraphy (floofinition) – 1. Branch of floofology devoted to studying the layers of acquisitions of toys, foods, medicines, etc., to determine which were acquired during what floofnasty. 2. Study of the layers of pet food to identify the fur’s origins.
In use: “When her friend told her that she had white fur on her coat, surprise registered; employing her flooftigraphy training, she realized it had to be from StayPuft, the marshmallow white Spritz who passed away a decade before.”
Beers glasses were raised and clinked together. Tastings followed. The trio got down to business.
“How’d it go with the date?” Ron asked Pat.
“Good, real good.” Pat smiled. “Third one, so you know what that means.”
Bryan laughed. “Is that what that still means?”
“Yes.” Pat nodded. “Indeed, it does.”
Ron raised his glass. “To your new girlfriend? Or is it too early?”
Pat grimaced. “It might be too early. She’s a swell person, wonderfully intelligent and accomplished, sexy, of course — ”
“Of course,” Ron said as Bryan said, “That’s a sexist attitude.”
“It is, but she is a knockout.” After glancing over his shoulders, Pat leaned in over the table. The other two leaned in as well. “The only thing is, she farts a lot,” Pat said in a low voice. “They don’t make any noise, so it’s not that, but they smell terrible.”
“She farts?” Bryan said.
Pat nodded. “And it’s not a little poot now and then. When she farts, I want to flee like the villagers running from Godzilla. And it’s not her fault. We’ve talked about it. She’d apologized after I complained about the rank smell invading my car. She told me it was a side effect of a medicine she’s been on a long time. She’s tried changing her diet and she’s looked into other meds, but nothing will work for her. And anxiety, like from dating, apparently makes it worse.”
“Wow.” Looking at Bryan, Ron sat back. “That’s a shame. A smelly farter. Damn”
Pat sighed. “Yeah, I’d hate for it to end for that, because she’s otherwise so wonderful, and I feel lucky to know her and be dating her.”
Bryan nodded. “Have you told her about your troubles in peckerville?”
Sitting back, Pat sipped his beer a moment and then smiled. “No. The way I see it, there’s no sense in telling her about that until I know if I can live with the farting.”
Floofnasty (floofinition) – the line of pets who ruled a household.
In use: “After scanning childhood photographs his parents gave him, he was able to establish an archival album of the floofnasties of his life. With some rue, he realized that he had more photographs of his pets than of either of his ex-wives.”
I’m stuck in a sour war mood, which prompts recall of my military days.
This song, “Civil War” by Guns n’ Roses, came out two years before I retired from the U.S. Air Force. I retired because the military personnel powers-that-be wanted to move me to a new duty station. I was first offered a position with Air Force Space Command’s Inspector General team. A prestigious position, it would mean a lot of traveling, but it would take me to places that I’ve always wanted to see. Although I was keen, my wife was weary of me being away all the time.* So they instead wanted to send me to manage a missile site command post in the northern boonies. No, thanks.
It’s curious. We stood ready for war, but we didn’t want war, right? That’s what we told ourselves. But we spend all of our time and money preparing for war. That leaves us little prepared for anything else. This trend has gotten way out of hand since I retired in 1995. More and more resources are turned toward preparing for war and fighting war; less goes to social nets, education, infrastructure, etc. And we’re constantly being told that preparing to fight and going to war is what must be done to keep us safe, but as we do so, we’re fighting to save a collapsing nation.
Guns n’ Roses’ lyrics sums it up better than I do.
Look at your young men fighting
Look at your women crying
Look at your young men dying
The way they’ve always done before
Look at the hate we’re breeding
Look at the fear we’re feeding
Look at the lives we’re leading
The way we’ve always done before
* Ironic side note: I retired from the Air Force, and became a customer service/sales operations manager for a medical device startup. Two years later, the company offered me an associate marketing product manager position, and I ended up on the road visiting hospitals, doctors, and trade shows…
Well, the green chair is gone.
I know, it was just a chair. An ottoman and love seat originally went with the chair. Made of a textured green material, the furniture had straightforward lines and were without embellishment. But they were comfortable and sturdy, and they fit our little study.
The little study was in the first home that we bought in Half Moon Bay, California. It was right off the breakfast nook, by the dining room. Sounds fancy, right, but it was small, yet elegant. It’s where we ended up spending a lot of time. With the windows open, we caught a cooling ocean breeze diluting the sunshine. Fog horn often sounded above the sound of Highway 92 traffic. We could watch television, read, and listen to music in there, and be very cozy. Our living room furniture was too large for the little study. Besides, if we put that furniture in there, we’d need to replace it. More furniture was needed, an exasperating decision.
The green chair with the ottoman supporting my legs is often where I sat. That’s where the cats would join me. We had three then. The elderly Queen, Jade, had joined us when we were stationed on Okinawa in 1982 and was twenty-year when she passed away in our HMB home. The sweet, affable Rocky came from our Germany assignment in the late eighties, the sole survivor of his litter. Later came the black long-haired, handsome fellow, Sam, as direct and unpretentious as his name, abandoned at Moffett NAS when some family moved away. Each gave me happy hours of purrs vising with me in the green chair before passing away.
The orange boys, Pogo and Scheckter, (Chubbosaurus Orange) found their way to us, joining us on the green chair and the green love seat, stretching out in the sunshine. They moved up to Ashland with us in 2005. Between cancer and a car, Ashland is where their story ended.
As we moved, the green furniture dwindled. First, the love seat went, because there wasn’t room in our newest house. The green chair and ottoman ended up in the master bedroom. Alas, though, besides sleeping on the chair, the cats found the green furniture to be excellent scratching posts. After Rocky, Sam, Jade, and the orange boys made their marks, Lady and Quinn took up the task of shredding the chair and ottoman. The ottoman was finally defeated and tossed. Tucker and Boo joined Lady and Quinn to work over the chair. All had floofnesia about not scratching the furniture. Lady and Quinn found their way over the rainbow bridge, but then along came Papi, aka Meep. He found the green chair quite comfortable.
Now the final piece, the green chair where I shared their company, is gone. It was just too shredded for my wife’s tastes, so out it went.
Stupid chair. Makes me tear up and cry just remembering it.
Floofnesia (floofinition) – a condition where housepets forget instructions, guidance, etc.
In use: “Opening the front door, they walked in and saw their Great Dane sprawled out on the sofa. He’d clearly suffered floofnesia about not being permitted on the furniture.”
Reading news about the Middle-East puts me in a martial mood. Military.com wondered if war between the U.S. and Iran is inevitable, and have thoughts on how that war would play out.
*snark alert* I know that most believe that war with Iran can be avoided because John Bolton is on Trump’s team. One of the architects of PNAC, Bolton was a prominent voice in demands for the U.S. invasion of Iraq. He thinks that went well. He also wants preemptive war with North Korea. With Bolton in place, surely the lessons of other wars will be learned and war will be averted. *end snark*
All that reflecting introduced a 1970 Black Sabbath tune called “War Pigs”. A taste of the lyrics that Ozzie sings:
