Brain to Mouth to Word Issues

Fact: I have speech issues. Actually, it's an issue that occurs in the synapse between the word as a thought and the word as it is spoken. The noun "word" and the verb "word", if you will [and you will because you have no choice]. For the innocent bystanders, it's a magical combination of hilarity and confusion. Literally every time I say these things, the first two sounds from the other person is "HAHAHHAHA....whaaaat?"  For me, it's a debilitating problem and reason numero uno why I hate speaking in public. It's also another reason why I could never be President. Just thinking about it gives me chest pains.

As I've said before, I firmly believe I'm the only one in the world who can make me feel and/or look like an asshole. Unfortunately, I do this to myself on a regular basis. I really should consider keeping a low-profile but that seems boring. Instead, I'll just get over myself and accept the appalling level of speech issues that torture me.

The truth is that I have this awful, unintentional habit of mixing up my words. Most of the time, it's the first few letters of each word. I googled it and discovered [much to my relief and surprise] that it's a known issue:

spoon·er·ism

   [spoo-nuh-riz-uhm]  

noun

the transposition of initial or other sounds of words, usually by accident, as in a blushing crow for a crushing blow.

Thank you, Baby Jesus. I'm not the only one.

Recently, while I was waiting for Husband to return our cart in the Weis' parking lot, a young Vietnamese boy and his mother walked passed me obviously in the midst of a heated Halloween discussion. This child was pleading his case for Harry Potter and how cool it would be to run around as a wizard.  Clearly, you understand how adorable I thought a Vietnamese Harry Potter would be with his little lightning scar and cape. I got to thinking about how fun Halloween REALLY is for kids and adults alike. Other than role-playing [you kinky suckers], when is it socially acceptable to dress up and run around pretending to be another person WHILE conquering the delicious world of candy and treats?! Never. It's never acceptable outside of Halloween. 


Upon Husband's return, I told him about the Vietnamese boy only I said "Vietmanese" instead of "Vietnamese". I didn't even realize I had misspoke! I just kept right on talking about this "Vietmanese" boy who said he wanted to be Harry Potter for Halloween. I am an asshole.  I'm STILL embarrassed that I said Vietmanese. Ugh, it makes my chest feel all tight, and I get a little sweaty [even now as I'm typing this]. 


After the whole "manese" versus "namese" debacle, Husband started repeating some of my finer moments of elocution fail. [Sweet, isn't he?] He likes to point out that I "mess up" words all the time [which is completely true, but he doesn't need to tell me that. god damn it] and that he hardly ever does [which is also true. bitch].

These are actual things that I've said out loud to him:

"Is the frudge shit all the way?"

  

"It will make his shoat kiney."

"My sokes are socking wet."

Based on the illustrations, I'm sure you can figure out what I was trying to say. You can also see how it results in immediate hysteria and complete embarrassment, simultaneously. [What a bizarre combo.] I guess it's because I laugh to keep from shrinking into an embarrassment-induced coma. I'm CERTAIN that can happen. I don't care what the doctors and "medical professionals" say. Either way, it's how I deal with these moments in my life. 


After careful consideration and a totally legit scientific study, I've concluded that there must be a common denominator of all the people that suffer from spoonerism. It can only be one of two things: the other people are somehow related to my mother or the little man in their brain is getting sloppy. I know that my issues come from a combo of Big L and the little man [double whammy. typical]. 


Honestly, I don't care how or why it happens to other people. I take solace in knowing that I'm not the only one running around mixing up my words and embarrassing the shit out of myself. 

Here are some of my favorite examples of other people's brain to mouth to word issues:

"Freepin creaky" - freepin. best word ever? I think so. Thanks Friend.


"Shit from the hoop" -  Friend said to a professor during a critique. 

"Please be hot your soup is careful" - Friend also said this on numerous occasions while 
delivering soup to customers. She is a spoonerism rock star.

"Pan of caint"  - This was Husband's. I cannot begin to tell you how this makes me feel. Not only is it one of Husband's few moments of elocution fail, but we were exhausted from home improvement projects and in our delirium, he produced this magical gem.  I nearly peed my pants. It's a small triumph for me. After years of my asshole mouth, Husband FINALLY succumbed to spoonerism. I'll have you know that he thinks it's a learned behavior because he "never" did it before he met me. I call bullshit. Clearly, the little man in his brain is getting lazy. Let's agree to disagree.

"Cart fucker smeller" - Oh, Big L. She was trying to say fart cupper smeller, but instead she called Bahb a cart fucker smeller. Don't ask.


"I heard the flird boo is back in King Kong or whatever."   - This was one of Sister's from about 5 years ago. 


Now, there are two concerning aspects of this sentence. One being that the bird flu is a real, horrific illness and its "come back" is slightly unsettling. The other being if King Kong heard this, the next thing you would see is this monster rushing you at warp speed:

As you observed in the above image, King Kong is a lot of things. He's a [pissed off/misunderstood] giant gorilla AND a bad ass. He is NOT, however, a city. Bless her soul, Sister didn't even realize what she said until I nearly stroked out on the sidewalk. I can't blame her. She is Big L's kin after all. Even to this day, if I want to say "bird flu", I have to take my time because all I can see in my head is "flird boo." 


And last, but certainly not least, one of my personal favorites because it was said in irritation:


"Oh you think you're so smucking fart."

Smucking fart. HAHAHHAHHA...whhaaaaaaaaat?

Digs for Doug

Happy Friday! It's time to start the weekend. We all know the best way to start the weekend is to rock out with our cocks out, jam out with our clams out, and drink! I'll be at Old Forge doing all three for my pal, Doug. I truly give a fuck about this man and so should you. Come hang out with us! We'll be enjoying delicious beer and awesome live music [Husband will be playing!]. You might even see me dance. Twice.

Join us for a Party!!

On Friday, October 14^th,

the staff of OFBC will host a special

after-hours benefit party

for one of our favorite bartenders,

Doug Van Brunt. 

As some of you may know, Doug suffered some pretty extensive losses in the Great Flood, and we would like to show support for one of our own!!

 11:30pm-2am

**$5 donation at the door**

100% of money from beer sales and donations

 will go to Doug

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

LIVE MUSIC from

House With a Yard

-and- 

Tim Farley

special appearances by some

OFBC musicians, as well!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Cash Sales Only*
the kitchen will be closed for this event, but we’ll provide some snacks!

Crafty the Nocturnal Cow

I'd like to start this post by explaining a few things about my family.

1. We're all insane.

2. My uncles are some of the funniest, most inappropriate people I know.

3. We will take any situation and turn it into ridiculousness.

After Gram's house was flooded, several family members spent their days and nights cleaning out her basement. For about a week, I was one of those family members. I'm sure you'd agree that schlepping buckets of sludge and mud is the least entertaining physical activity on the face of the planet.

After many hours of inhaling sludge air, basement muck, and Molson Canadian beer, we decided to call it a night. Whenever anyone in the family decides to "call it a night", it usually means it's time to decompress and make fun of each other. In other words, it's story time.

I have always loved story time, and I love it even more when Uncles tell stories from their childhood. It's like a little glimpse into a strange world of farmland, poorly placed children, and guns. I hope one day to record  these yarns so that the world may know the wonder that is the Wolfe pack [so named because my grandmother had ten children. yes. TEN.]

Uncles grew up helping out at a family friend's farm. The owner, Farmer Watts, was not only completely out of his mind, but also he owned the most terrifying dog you've ever seen. [think werewolf/demon scary].  All of my memories of visiting the Watts farm involve an enormous, borderline rabid dog that constantly tried to bite my little kiddo face. As you can imagine, Sisters and I hated going there and would stay in the car at all costs. You'll recall that Big L was adamant about politeness and so she would drag Sisters and I out of the car to greet Farmer Watts. Near tears, we would say hello and then scamper back into the car as fast as humanly possible to avoid being seen by the dog. Although the three of us were working together to reach safe ground, we could never secure our perimeter. Too many factors. Too many risks. I am telling you that dog could NOT be trusted. Even in the safety of the Colt Vista, he was a formidable enemy, jumping at the windows and barking like a demon.

Note: this illustration does not do him justice. Many details have been repressed for my own sanity.

Trust me, he was horrifying. Farmer Watts scared the bejesus out of me, too. So not only did I have to contend with his demon dog, I also had to endure Farmer Watts' crazy-eye stare, which wouldn't have been so bad if he wasn't also carrying a rifle.

Aside from his demon dog, Farmer Watts had issues with...well, everything, but my favorite of all his issues was the unbelievable trouble he had with his cows. I should mention that these cows were not pets and so they were not named by Farmer Watts. I believe he used a number system, but we all know that numbers aren't entertaining. Thankfully Uncles, in their infinite wisdom and humor, named these poor creatures. There was Oranges, so named because it ate oranges, which is a bizarre food of choice for a cow apparently. [I'll be honest. I know next to nothing about farm animals and their mastication preferences.] Oranges eventually procreated and produced Son of Oranges.

The most prolific of Farmer Watts' cows was Crafty, named for her uncanny ability to out-run and out-maneuver Farmer Watts. She escaped the farm routinely but never actually ran away.  I'd like to think it gave her immense joy to frolic through the woods and evade capture. Uncles would see her while they were hunting or doing work around the farm. Every time they pointed her out to Farmer Watts, she'd disappear before he got to her [much to the amusement of Uncles].

After several Crafty escapes, Farmer Watts was more annoyed than concerned. He didn't appreciate being put out, especially by a cow. Eventually he resorted to calling Uncles in an absolute rage: "SHE'S GONE NOCTURNAL!"  Ridiculous. BUT TRUE.

Turns out, Crafty had been on the lam for a couple of days returning at night only to take a massive cow shit on the sidewalk in front of the house. Yes, folks. Crafty did indeed go nocturnal, and she was getting her revenge. Poo-style. Farmer Watts considered this to be a deliberate and insulting act. Obviously, Uncles peed themselves at his outburst. A nocturnal cow who shits on the sidewalk and then runs away again?! I don't think they believed him until they saw the fecal gift. A nocturnal cow seems completely absurd, but in the case of Crafty, it's 100% true.

I revel in her creativity. Farm animals, in my opinion, only have two acceptable options when it comes to revenge. [Yes, I actually put thought into farm animal revenge. You should have guessed it would go this way by now]:

1. Organize a rebellion/stampede.
2. Take a massive dump somewhere outside the pens so that it HAS to be cleaned it up. 

If I were a cow, I would opt for the cow-sized shit. Think about it. Watching your master clean up your steaming pile of feces with a shovel while swearing at himself is bound to be hugely satisfying. Also, if you don't have enough animal friends, you can't organize a respectable rebellion OR stampede. Let's face it, half-assing something as extreme as a rebellion or stampede is just lazy and ineffective, not to mention that a rebellion/stampede requires the element of surprise. You only get one shot, so you have to make it count. I wonder if Crafty considered this before she opted for the mega shit.

I cannot begin to tell you how much I wish I was witness to this debacle. Damn me for not being a squirrel or a chipmunk!

Farmer Watts, armed to the teeth with guns and chewing tobacco, rode his ATV through the woods looking for Crafty. Meanwhile Crafty was at the top of the hill, in plain sight, staring at him. She somehow managed to hide from Farmer Watts even though there was snow on the ground and she was a half-ton black cow. By the time he spotted her and made his way to her location, Crafty had managed to disappear.  I need someone to explain to me how that is possible. It's a fucking cow. They're huge, loud, and fairly slow. Not to mention that they are not the most agile of creatures so I'm not sure how she managed to out-maneuver and out-run a man on an ATV.

For your viewing pleasure, I have drawn a series of seamless and proportionally-accurate illustrations:

Clearly, the only plausible explanation is that she was trained by the KGB and sent here as a spy.

And that is the story of Crafty the Nocturnal Cow. I'd like to think she's out there somewhere, pretending to be a shadow.