Saturday, November 29, 2008

Snark Bites, 11/23-29

11/29
City Kicks Off Unspecific, Inoffensive, Yet Semi-Christmasy Celebration
Annual nondenominational, nonjudgmental seasonal shindig offers something for everyone and objectionable content for none

11/27
Lane Kiffin Hired as Carol Petersen's Etiquette Coach
Former Oakland Raiders headman recognized as authority on manners

11/25
Hillcrest Threatens to Become Celebrity Rehab Center
"Don't make me bring Amy Winehouse to Knox County," warns director

New for Knoxville Voice - Ask Miss behavior: Knox Holiday Etiquette

Ask Miss Behavior
Knox Holiday Etiquette
by Miss Behavior

With Thanksgiving looming like a large, angry mound of mashed potatoes, you are probably confronted with numerous stressful issues, such as what to do when everyone brings green bean casserole as their dish, how to react when Aunt Edna loudly passes gas at the table, and besides a doorstop, just how many other uses can you put a fruitcake to? These holiday concerns can overwhelm you. But never fear, Miss Behavior is here to advise you on even the touchiest of Thanksgiving etiquette questions.

Dear Miss Behavior: Since our county government is one big turkey (with plenty of hams too), this Thanksgiving, why don’t we save ourselves some money and just eat our hearts out? – Signed Fed Up in Fort Sanders

Miss Behavior says: Dear Fed, don’t eat your heart out, it will only leave a bitter taste in your mouth. Instead, Miss Behavior suggests you give thanks for the many positive attributes of Knox County government, such as its tendency to eat its own (as evidenced by the recent roasting of Scoobie Moore). And when you say grace, remember to ask that some be bestowed upon county government. It needs all it can get.

Dear Miss Behavior: There are so many organizations in greater Knox seeking financial assistance this holiday season. How do I choose which one to give my money to? - Signed Flummoxed in Fourth and Gill

Miss Behavior says: Dear Flum, although helping the needy is indeed a worthy goal, what you must realize is that many of these organizations, which have street handles like KARM and VMC and go by many aliases, are in reality addicts. Yes, addicts, hooked on the milk of human kindness flowing from the public teat in the form of your tax dollars. And they will do anything to feed that addiction. They’ll do anything to get their mouths on that nipple to suck just a little bit more of your money from it. They’ll say things like, "We promise never to move north of the Interstate if only you’ll just give us this one little teensy-weensy million-dollar donation," or "If you just give us another $250,000 for our Minvilla, we promise to stop coming around asking for more." But these poor souls, they’re need for boodle is so whack, as soon as they gobbled down their last hit, they’re back for another suckle. So when one of these entities accosts you for a donation, it’s best to direct them to the proper authorities, like the IRS, who can help them with their problems.

Dear Miss Behavior: With all the stress that comes with the crowds adding to traffic problems during the holiday season, what I want to know is, when I’m stuck in traffic surrounded by idiots who don’t know how to drive and don’t know where they’re going and don’t move fast enough at the red lights and won’t take a chance and turn into oncoming traffic and don’t know how to merge and none of them will get out of my way, is it appropriate to ram them? – Signed, Seething in South Knox

Miss Behavior says: Dear Seething, no, it most certainly is not appropriate. Save up those emotions to share and explore them with your family at Thanksgiving dinner.

Dear Miss Behavior: What do you call those things you use to pick up a turkey? – Signed, Bumfuzzled in Bearden

Miss Behavior Says: Dear Bum, your hands?

Dear Miss Behavior: Why aren’t people saying, "my blood runs deep orange" these days? – Signed, Curious on Clinch

Miss Behavior says: Dear Curious, because nothing in orange runs deep this year.

Dear Miss Behavior: Wasn’t that a very bad joke and don’t you regret it? – Groaning on Gill

Miss Behavior says: Dear Groaning, yes and yes.

Dear Miss Behavior: Every year, I get stuck preparing the entire Thanksgiving meal while my husband sits in his Barcalounger sipping his Scotch and watching football. This year, I’m trying to get him to help with dressing the turkey. I plan to work miso butter and spices into the meat, gently rubbing and massaging the skin around the breast with my fingers and slowly working my way down the legs until the whole body is creamy and aromatic. My question is, while I’m doing this, how do I convince my husband to stuff the cavity? – Signed, Frustrated in Farragut

Miss Behavior Says: Dear Frustrated, I’m sorry, but this column cannot concern itself with what two consenting adults and their turkey do in private. But drop me a line and let me know how dessert comes out.

Dear Miss Behavior: What is appropriate seating for Thanksgiving dinner? – Signed, Guessing in Gibbs

Miss Behavior Says: On the buttocks, dear Guessing, on the buttocks.

Dear Miss Behavior: No, no, I mean how do you arrange your guests for Thanksgiving? – Signed, Still Guessing in Gibbs

Miss Behavior Says: Dear Still, oh, I’m sorry, I misunderstood.

Dear Miss Behavior: That’s OK, could happen to anyone.

Miss Behavior Says: Anyway, we always put children and pets outside and grandpa closest to the turkey because his eyesight is going and when he mistakes grandma for the bird it always draws a chuckle.

Dear Miss Behavior: Unfortunately, we have to have an official from the Knox County government at our Thanksgiving dinner. How should we treat it? – Signed, Family of a Knox County Official

Miss Behavior Says: Dear Family, treating it with alcohol is probably best. While you’re at it, you should probably apply some to yourself. In regular doses, 2 to 12 ounces, repeat as needed.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

New for Knoxville Voice

Latest "funny ha-ha" for Knoxville Voice:

CSI: Knoxville
Investigating especially offensive offenses against humanity
by Scott McNutt

The scene opens in an ordinary living room, one that could be in any house in Anywhere, USA. A couch stands against one wall, a loveseat against another. Two lounge chairs are set at jaunty angles toward one another on opposite sides of a side table. Some papers lay on the floor at the table’s base. A man and a woman are crouching over the documents, examining them, but carefully avoiding touching them.

"What’s on the papers?" asks the woman.

"I’m not sure…" says the man.

"Oh my god! What’s that smell?"

I’m not sure…but I have a bad feeling we’re going to find out."

What are…what were those papers?"

"I’m not sure. But we know the marriage license and the guest list, along with notations of what gifts they gave, were on the table. And we know they no longer are on the table. Based on where these papers are on the floor, I’d say those are the license and the guest list."

"Damn," remarks the woman. "They’re useless to us now."

"That’s right," the man sighs, then looks closely at the soggy mass of documents. "Hm. I think I can see the outlines of more than one stain. Yes, it looks like…it looks like, yes, we have a stain covering a stain, and hey, hey, hey, we have another stain covering the stain covering the stain. And another! And…"

He straightens up. "What we have here is layered stains. And you know what, I think I see a print in the stuff saturating the papers. That cinches it. Standard modus operandi, the style is unmistakable."

"So it’s the usual suspects?"

"Definitely. It’s a paw print. The cats did this."

The Cat Stain Investigation Unit, that’s us. Whenever a crime scene investigation occurs at our house, it goes something like that. Our cats are our evil nemeses, who constantly commit crimes against humanity, or at least, against my wife and me, and flaunt their evil acts at us. They leave telltale clues for us to find, or, more precisely, stains for us to see and smell, then silently laugh at our futile attempts to catch them in the act. They are heinous.

In a way, it’s our own fault. It was Dana and I who brought these furry felons, these clawed criminals, these pee-pee perpetrators together. I brought brother and sister Linus and Lucy, a gray tuxedo kitty duo, to the household. Dana brought tortoiseshell Bailey. It was a day that would live in infamy, although little did we mark it at the time.

Right after we conjoined households, we began to notice that the trio were peeing outside their litter boxes. At first, we couldn’t fathom their motivation for doing so. For the three cats, we have four litter boxes. Five, if you count the back porch. Hundreds, actually, if you count all the other places they now pee. But, at the time, we supposed four litter boxes for three cats, changed regularly, would be sufficient for their needs.

However, we didn’t account for one factor. They hated each other. Bailey, although she doesn’t have full control of her hind legs, particularly relishes terrorizing Lucy. She delights in chasing Lucy all about the house until Lucy finds refuge by leaping up on some surface taller than Bailey’s less-functional legs allow her to attain. Bailey then retaliates by going off and peeing someplace. Lucy, meanwhile, is skulking off to another pee-place of Bailey’s to put her mark on it. Relentlessly, each launches proxy attacks on the other by peeing someplace the other has previously peed. One act sparks a retaliatory act. And so it goes. War is hell.

But it was the incident with the marriage license and the guest list that really let us know what collateral damage would ensue from their urine struggles, because Bailey and Lucy fight pee wars with the same gusto Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker fought Star Wars. It’s dueling territorial boundary marking in this Battle of the Bulging Bladders, and the combatants don’t care whose floor, rugs, walls, doors, drapes, bookshelves, books, furniture, appliances, clothes, and yes, important documents, are destroyed in the process.

What happened was this. The weekend after we were married, we had only partly completed the thank-you notes for our wedding gifts. Intending to resume the task the following weekend, we had left the guest/gift list on a table in the living room. The marriage certificate we left there out of laziness. Sometime over the course of the week, we noticed what had occurred. So if you gave us a wedding gift and never got a thank-you note, now you know why. And probably wish you didn’t.

That is the story of CSI: Knoxville.

If you have any ideas about how to stop cat-pee wars, let us know. Best suggestion wins a free cat. Runner-up gets two free cats.

"Snark Bites" 11/2-8/08

11/8
Ragsdale Vetoes Neighborhood Politician Ban
Congratulations pour in from around the globe


11/5
Obama Wins, Promises "Spare Change in Every Pocket"
Local officials expect only "small change" to trickle down here


11/4
Obama to Coach Vols?
AD Mike Hamilton hints football program is "moving ahead with a change"