Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Midnight Floof (floofinition) – Australian floof rock (flock) band (informally referred to as the Floofs) active from 1972 – 2002.
In use: “Midnight Floof had two songs, “Treats are Burning” and “The Floof Heart”, which reached number one in numerous countries.”
Floofmidity (floofinition) – A humid warmth generated by having one or more animals resting on or against a person.
In use: “Despite a cramping leg and rising floofmidity that made him feel hot and sweaty, he didn’t move, unwilling to disturb the cat and dog using him as a mattress.”
h/t to Alain
I haven’t read about many streakers recently. I am surprised.
As lockdowns and business shutdowns are argued and protested, I’d think that stripping off your clothes and running outside would be a natural mechanism to make your voice heard. Nothing makes people hear you more than running around with all your bits flapping. Makes more sense than shouting in police officers’ faces, or threatening others with guns.
Maybe I’m just too early on the curve, and the streaking is about to commence. Perhaps my idea will inspire someone to do it. Yeah, don’t look at me to be the spark plug. I’m a hairy fellow. Last time that I went streaking, people thought a mini Bigfoot was running around. Ended up with that nickname for years. Strangers would see me and shout, “Hey, Bigfoot, how’s it going?” Mom and my sisters started calling me that, too. I thought that showed poor taste on their part.
In honor of the idea, the song, “The Streak” by Ray Stevens (1974) is today’s theme music. Ray had the idea for the song but didn’t execute it until streakers were suddenly everywhere in the news. It’s a story-telling song that utilizes puns and double meanings to express what was going on from a reporter interviewing a witness. The witness is married to Ethel, and he’s always warning her, “Don’t look, Ethel,” and it’s always too late. The song culminates with the witness shouting, “Is that you, Ethel? You get your clothes on.”
“Well you don’t know what uh we can find
Why don’t you come with me little girl?
On a magic carpet ride
You don’t know what we can see
Why don’t you tell your dreams to me?
Fantasy will set you free
Close your eyes girl
Look inside girl
h/t to Metrolyrics.com
Yeah, it’s Steppenwolf with “Magic Carpet Ride” (1968). I was a big Steppenwolf fan in those days; “Born to be Wild”, “The Pusher”, “Sookie, Sookie”, and today’s theme music were heard at least once a day in the summer of my twelfth year. Mom was aware enough of them that when an article about the group and John Kay’s escape from the Soviet side of Germany was in the Pittsburgh Press, she brought it to my attention.
It’s come up today because, hey, locked into the house, a magic carpet ride would be mighty fine to do a flyover. Even more, fantasy will set you free. Fiction writing is the fantasy that sets me free. Although my quasi-official writing time is about three hours a day, fiction writers (including me) will tell you that the story and its twists and characters invade every mental recess, influencing (and influenced by) every interaction and activity. It’s an interesting trip.
Enjoy the music. Happy Friday, and happy May 1st. Another month in the books. Persevere and overcome the current adversity, endure, and then prosper.
That is all.
Both were big. Who could say which was bigger, the black and white long-haired with the damaged eye and big paws, or the heavy black short-hair with the white diamond on his chest?
Each cleared nineteen pounds on their last check, and could be over twenty now. While the long-haired had oversized paws, the house panther had tiny feet and ran with mincing steps. The long haired was Tucker. He sported a thick, long, all-black tail.
The panther was Boo. Tailless for reasons not known to his current people, he had issues. He didn’t trust other cats, other people, or loud noises, and was adverse to wind, rain, and unusual smells.
Neither liked the other. To be fair, neither liked other animals (except the small female tortie from next door, who both courted from a cautious distance), and were ready for a fight. Didn’t go looking for it, mind you, but if it came, they were stepping up to it.
Which made the moment fraught with tension.
Tucker was on a dining room chair. His long tail was hanging off the side. It swung from side to side, its tip testing the directions. Inner thoughts, perhaps about sleeping or eating (he was fond of both) seemed to occupy him, for he sat, doing nothing, looking at nothing, ears settled as though they listened to nothing.
Amber eyes wide, Boo approached from behind. Seeing the tail, he couldn’t resist. Walking up to it, he sniffed and sniffed and sniffed, moving to sniff its tip as the tail moved around.
The tail stopped moving.
Tucker’s head snapped around with realization, someone was sniffing his tail.
Boo’s head jerked up. Caught.
Twisting around, he minced away fast on his tiny feet.
Tucker stared at the vacated space. After a few seconds, he closed his eyes.
His tail began moving around, testing new directions.
Cinnafloof (Not to be confused with cinafloof.) (floofinition) – 1. Animal who is cinnamon-colored.
In use: “Cinnafloofs are rare but include bears, foxes, dogs, and cats. With each, people pause to regard and admire their cinnamon-colored fur for its unique hues.”
2. Animals who enjoy eating cinnamon-flavored foods.
In use: “The little calico loved doughnuts but was a bonafloof cinnafloof, stealing and eating cinnamon rolls whenever a chance arose, which was every Sunday morning in Paul’s house.”
