Archive for the Our animal friends Category


Posted in And now the snorting starts, Food, Headline, Headlines, News, Newt Gingrich, Our animal friends, snaaks on December 9, 2013 by paulboylan


TAMPA, Florida –  Florida state officials have officially stopped their efforts to rescue ten pilot whales stranded in the Florida Everglades.

“Screw those whales,” said Cooter Babcock, appointed as Head Whale Rescuer by the State of Florida.

“I hate whales,” Babcock admitted.  You can’t hunt ’em. You can’t eat ’em. And you can’t claim you killed ’em because they made you afraid for your life.  No jury would believe that. Not even in Florida,” Babcock concluded.


Not a whale.
Not a whale.




Posted in amusant, And now the snorting starts, Food, gülen yüz, greannmhar, Grim Fairy Tales, Hapax Legomenon, Joseph Bleckman, kluchtig, lächerlich, Monsters, neşeli, Orcs, Our animal friends, Politics, Rage Against the Machine, rimshot wav download, snaaks, The Wilhelm Scream, USA! USA! USA!, سياسة policy on November 24, 2013 by paulboylan

Hello, children. I am Brother Grim. Would you like to hear a story?

It is that time of year again.  I post this story every November as we North Americans get closer to our Thanksgiving feast – which invariably features a big roasted turkey.

My friends, I give you…

The Somber Turkey

Once upon a time, outside of the Kingdom of Woodland, east of Winters, in the Land of California, there lived a happy turkey farmer named Hannigan.  He loved raising turkeys, killing them, and selling them – in part or in whole – to clients all over California – where turkey eating was a big thing, especially during Thanksgiving and Christmas.

On Hannigan’s turkey farm lived a happy turkey named Norman.  Norman was the happiest and most contented turkey the world had ever known because he was the biggest turkey anyone had ever seen.  Farmer Hannigan often brought other humans to marvel at Norman’s size and physical beauty.

“That’s gonna be some big turkey,” the human visitors would always say.

“Yep,” Farmer Hannigan would always reply.

Farmer Hannigan was happy, which made Norman happy. Norman was proud of the fact that he was so big and fat with lots of white meat, whatever that was.

The other turkeys knew how Norman felt, because he was always bragging about himself.

“I’m gonna be some big turkey!” he would say.

The other turkeys got fed up with Norman’s bragging.  One day Leonardo decided to do something about it.

Leonardo was not an especially big or happy turkey. Not being big didn’t make Leonardo unhappy.  He could give a rat’s ass about how big he was.  He didn’t buy into that neo-fascist farmcentric value system.  Leonardo was a fiery-eyed revolutionary with a strong interest in pragmatic Marxism.


“You are one fine, big turkey,” Leonardo said to Norman one day.

“Yes, I am,” Norman preened.

“You know what they’re going to do to you because you’re so big?” Leonardo asked.

“Admire me,” Norman said, meaning it.

“Sure they are.  They’re going to admire how good you taste,” Leonardo said.

“I beg your pardon?” Norman asked.

“They’re going to eat you, buddy.  In a couple of months they’re going to catch you, kill you, cut off your head, pull out all of your feathers and your internal organs, cook you and eat you, and they’re going to pick you first because you’re so big.  Lots of white meat.”

“Oh, my god!” Norman said.  “They’re going to eat me!”

Norman realizes the truth.

“You mean you didn’t know?”


“Everyone else knows.  Why do you think that so many turkeys die while they’re drinking water?”

“Because they forget to breath?” Norman suggested.

Leonardo laughed. “You believe that?  It’s a lie invented by the Man.  Have you ever forgotten to breath?”


“Of course not. You got to be really stupid to forget to breath.”

“But we are pretty stupid.”

“No we’re not.  That’s just a lie to keep us down, to ruin our self esteem so we will be easy to exploit and so we won’t cause any trouble.  I’ll tell you why some turkeys die drinking water. Depression.  They’re depressed.  Why else do you think those other “stupid” things happen?  Why do you think some turkeys kill themselves by opening their throats in the rain and drowning?  Why do you think hens sit on their eggs so hard they break the eggs?”

“Oh my god, they’re killing their babies,” Norman said, in horror.

“Right.  They know what’s in store and they can’t take it. Would you want someone to eat your babies?”

“No,” Norman said.  “What can I do?” he asked, whispering in abject terror.

“Maybe I can get you out of here,” Leonardo said.  “On the outside there is an underground network of birds and humans who can take you to a place where you will be free.”


“Of course!”

“Okay  I’ll see what I can do.”

Time went by.  Leonardo often spoke with Norman, teaching the bigger bird the truth about the world, teaching him hatred for the seemingly unbreakable power structure that doomed him and his race to be imprisoned, enslaved, slaughtered and devoured by killer apes.

“But remember,” Leonardo cautioned one night. “Not all humans are ravenous cannibals.  Some are good, and eat only plants and bugs.  These are the ones that help some of us get away.”

“How?” Norman asked in the star lit darkness.

“Every now and then there is a condition called Dark of the Moon, when there is no moon out and the darkness is as total as it can be.  During this time, a human jumps the fence and opens a big box. As many of us run in as we can.  We call it the Box of Freedom.”

“Just one box?”

“Yes, one box, but it is a big box, and it is better that some of us escape to keep the flames of hope burning.”

“I hope we both make it, brother,” Norman said.

“Me too, brother.  Me too.”

Then came the Dark of the Moon.  The turkeys were all quiet, making sure that there was no reason for Farmer Hannigan to investigate.

Suddenly the man with the box appeared.  He placed a big box on the ground and opened the side.

“This is it, brother!” Leonardo said, running.  Norman followed.

Leonardo made it into the box.  Norman didn’t get in before the man closed the box.

“Don’t worry, brother!” Leonardo cried from inside the box. “I’ll be waiting for you in paradise!”

But it didn’t happen.  The friendly human with the big box didn’t come back.  And Thanksgiving approached.  Leonardo was right – they came for Norman first.

Farmer Hannigan and his employees placed Norman in a big wooden crate built out of slats so that Norman could see and breathe.  Then Norman was carried to a truck, to an airport, into the belly of a jet, into another truck, and onto a large lawn next to a big white house.  Eventually, humans came to set up a lectern, chairs and cameras.  More humans came.  Some talked at the lectern in front of the crowd.

And then Norman’s cage was opened and gentle hands removed him from the crate.

“My god,” one human said.  “This had got to be the biggest turkey I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s why the President is getting it,” another human said, not trying to make a joke.

Norman was brought to the front of the crowd.  One human in a black suit made a short speech to another man, also standing in front of the crowd.  Humans in the audience took pictures with still and video cameras.

And then Norman did it.  He thrust out his neck and tried to bite the man who wasn’t giving the speech.  Norman knew that he just couldn’t go gently into that good night.

The man giving the speech reached out, grabbed Norman’s long neck and choked Norman.  Other humans helped stuff Norman back into the crate.

“That is one feisty bird,” the President quipped, and the reporters laughed.

In those days it was customary for the President to display generosity, and pardon the White House Thanksgiving turkey.  So Norman was taken to a farm in Virginia, where he lived for the rest of his natural days.

Leonardo was not so lucky. He ended up as dinner for the man with the big box, who was nothing more than a thief who just couldn’t get over how stupid those turkeys were and how they would be so quite and just waddle into the box, as if they wanted to be eaten.

Which was, from the thief’s point of view, always possible.  After all, turkeys are so stupid.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!



Posted in And now the snorting starts, Grim Fairy Tales, Our animal friends, pandemic, zombies, سكارليت جوهانسون on October 15, 2012 by paulboylan

It is that spooky time of year again, and that means more Grim Fairy Tales.  This next one was pulled from the archives of the now defunct but fondly remembered Journalspace that, like a ghost, was there one minute, and then vanished the next.



Once upon a time there was a zombie kitten.



The story of how she became a zombie is long and complicated and would be a huge waste of time to tell.



All you need to know is that she was a kitten who died and came back to life as a zombie.



Which meant she was very sad.  No children wanted to pet or cuddle her.  They would always run in abject terror when they saw her.

You see, being a zombie meant she had an insatiable desire to kill other creatures and eat their brains.  To be honest, it didn’t cause any trouble as long as she was hunting birds and rodents and eating their brains.  But it didn’t stop with birds and rodents.  And that really prevented her from becoming a pet that is loved.  Which is all she wanted.  She just wanted to be loved.



She tried everything to find a family to adopt her.  She would run into houses when the door opened.  She would mew piteously in the rain.  She spent a small fortune and used a lot of favors to put up posters showing her picture with the words “lost kitten” in the hopes that someone would see her and take her in while her true owners were located.  She hoped some nice family would just fall in love with her and want to keep her.



These tactics worked once or twice.  But the whole brain-eating thing always ended up ruining everything.

One rainy night, some family she was haunting finally had enough of her running into their house when the door was open and mewing piteously in the rain. They tricked her into a box, baited with some cow brains, and took her to the Animal Shelter where they tossed her unceremoniously into the night drop box.



The shelter staff didn’t know what to do with her. It soon became evident that she was a zombie kitten and she was put in a cage all alone. The shelter staff knew no one would claim her and that no one coming in to adopt a pet would want a pet that would eventually attack them and try to eat their brains. So they had to kill her, but how do you kill one of the Undead?  No one at the shelter was willing or ready to shoot that zombie kitten in the head.

 Eventually they decided to cremate her along with a load of gassed, unwanted, unclaimed, unloved animals. The shelter staff didn’t know if this would work, but they figured it was worth a try.



Then – on the day the zombie kitten was scheduled for cremation – in walked a man and a woman and their daughter.  They were a zombie family looking for a pet. Ordinarily, zombies are not allowed to adopt children or pets – for obvious reasons – but the shelter made an exception and let the zombie family adopt the zombie kitten.

It was a win-win solution for all concerned.

MORAL OF THE STORY:  You never know.



Posted in Hate Crimes, Headline, Headlines, Isnt nature wonderful?, News, Our animal friends, Paying Attention with tags on October 6, 2012 by paulboylan

DAVIS –  The death of a monkey found  in a research lab hanging from a light fixture with a bungee cord wrapped around its neck has been ruled a suicide.

“Our preliminary investigation has determined that Jojo killed himself,” said Sgt. Helen Smedby of the U.C. Davis Police Department.

“Why would a monkey commit suicide?” asked animal rights advocate Jason Dante. “This monkey didn’t die by his own paw.  This wasn’t the result of auto erotic asphyxiation gone wrong.  This monkey was killed because of what he knew.”

“What can a monkey know?” asked UCD Primate Researcher Center Director Hans Gruber. “They know lots of things. They know bananas taste good.  They know they like to throw their poo.  But they don’t know anything that could get them killed. We’re talking about monkeys here.   They aren’t subject to depression or ennui,” Gruber added.

Jojo was described by those who knew him as a loner who kept to himself.



Posted in amusant, And now the snorting starts, Brave New World, buffo, Cowboys and Aliens, Fashion Forward, greannmhar, Headline, Headlines, Hubris, 재미, αστείος, kluchtig, News, Our animal friends, Paul Ryan, Post Modern Knock-Knock Jokes, Research and Development, The Great State of Montana!, The Wilhelm Scream, What are you sick or something? with tags , , , , , , , on October 3, 2012 by paulboylan

The medium is the message.



“The cows are all liars!!” yelled Farmer Brown when he heard the news.



Posted in amusant, おかしなふるまいの, अजीब, buffo, Canada, Crime and Punishment, пицца, Free Utilization Doctrine, gülen yüz, greannmhar, Headline, Headlines, Isnt nature wonderful?, 스타게이트유니버스, 재미, αστείος, kluchtig, lächerlich, News, neşeli, скарлетт йоханссон, ученые, Our animal friends, photograph, Photography, public outrage over the waste of public money, Research and Development, snaaks, The Wilhelm Scream, مصارعه, سياسة on September 30, 2012 by paulboylan


The relationship was determined to be consensual.


A GRIM FAIRY TALE – The Schnauzers of Boogerville

Posted in amusant, And now the snorting starts, Dogs, greannmhar, Grim Fairy Tales, kluchtig, lächerlich, Our animal friends, Politics, Small Town America, The Great State of Montana! on August 31, 2012 by paulboylan


“Hello, children. Would you like to hear a story?”



            Once upon a time on Earth 35916782(a) there was a small town called Boogerville. In this town there lived a most contented family of schnauzers.  Poppa worked at the paper mill where he supervised the maintenance crew.  It was a humble job but it had lots of responsibility. Poppa was proud of the work he did and proud of the men he supervised.

            Momma worked in the family home taking care of her two puppies, Jessica and Max.  Jessica, being the older of the two, had a fine sense of responsibility. She loved her little brother very much and did all she could to keep him out of trouble, but somehow trouble always found Max.  He was always falling into puddles and chasing cars.  But overall, Jessica and Max were good dogs. Momma and Poppa were proud of them and loved them very much.

            One day while Poppa was reading his newspaper at breakfast before work, he read that people wanted to change the name of Boogerville to something else.  The article said that there was going to be a town meeting that night to decide the issue.

            “They want to change the name of Boogerville,” Poppa said to Momma as she scrambled eggs for breakfast.

            “For heaven’s sake, why?” Momma asked.

            “Some folks are embarrassed by our town name,” Poppa read. “They think it hurts business and depresses property values.

            “What are property values, Poppa?”  Jessica asked, stirring her Cream of Wheat.

            “Well, honey, property values are something grownups talk about when they lack conversational skills.”

            “Oh,” Jessica said, sounding a little sad.

            “I’m an astronaut!” Max yelled as he ran through the kitchen with a bucket on his head.  Max bumped into the wall and fell to the ground, moaning.

            “Oh, that boy,” Poppa said, smiling and shaking his head.

            “He sure is,” Momma agreed.

            “Well,” Poppa said, putting down his newspaper. “I think it is terrible that they want to change the name of Boogerville.  Our town has been Boogerville since before the War for Independence!  It is wrong to change it because some people don’t like it.

            “But what can we do?” Momma asked.

            “We can go to the meeting tonight and tell them how we feel about it!” Poppa proclaimed.

            So that night after work on the day of the big meeting Poppa dressed in his very best and most expensive suit. Momma put on her prettiest dress. Jessica combed her fur and Max chewed on a pair of slippers.

            They walked together, with Poppa in the lead, all the way across town to City Hall where the meeting was taking place.  The schnauzer family found seats somewhere in the middle of the auditorium and listened quietly as Councilman Hamphister spoke.

            “I am tired of being embarrassed by the name of the town I live in!” he proclaimed. “I think I speak for everyone here when I say that Boogerville is a terrible name for a town!  We need a new name.”

            “Thank you, Dick,” the Mayor said as Hamphister sat down. “Unless there is someone else who wants to say something, I move that we vote –“

            “I have something to say,” Poppa said and his voice rang out through the hall.  Everyone watched as Poppa walked up to the podium and, standing on a chair in front of the lectern, began to speak.

            “I must oppose any motion to change the name of our town,” Poppa began.  “For the last two hundred and seventy-five years this place has been called Boogerville. The Battle of Boogeville was the turning point in the Civil War.  Two American Vice Presidents were born in Boogerville. Instead of being embarrassed, we should hold our heads up with pride!  The sons of Boogerville fought in the American Revolution, the War of 1812, the Civil War, the Spanish American War, and both World Wars.  We fought for freedom in Korea and Vietnam.  Now our sons and daughters serve with distinction in the Middle East.  Our humble town is a center for business and art.  Our schools are the best in the Tri-State area.  We say hello to each other on the street and we help each other during times of trouble.  We are the children of Boogerville, and I say we hold our heads up high with pride and proclaim to the world “Boogerville is my home!”

            Poppa finished, staring defiantly into the crowd.  And then, out of the hushed silence, someone shouted “Hey! It’s a talking dog!”

            The crowd descended upon Poppa. Momma, Jessica and Max made a run for it, but it was too late.  Only Max got away.  Poppa, Momma and Jessica were put in a cage and sold to a university where they were subjected to unspeakable medical experiments. Max ended up performing in a traveling carnival as Jojo the Talking Dog Boy.  He wasn’t happy, but at least he ate regularly.


MORAL OF THE STORY:  If you are different in any significant way, don’t ever let anyone know or you might end up being used for medical experiments.



Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 48 other followers