Month: September 2016

The Humans Have Odd Friends, Part I: It’s That Rodent Again

To put it kindly, the humans know some odd people.  Tonight we have been invited to dine with a few of them.  Sigyn is a bit apprehensive because they have a rather enormous canine, but I have promised to protect her.

Ah.  These friends would appear to be devotees of the cult of the Beaver God, the one known as Buc-ee.  They have set up a shrine with votive images.


Apparently soft altar furnishings are acceptable.


This Buc-ee is evidently a capricious god, one who invites his followers to challenge him to pit their bravery and luck against his might in a ritual known as a Farkel®.

Perhaps I should take a page from his book and increase my fame by allowing puny mortals to challenge me?  Not that any of them could best me at anything!  Not at magic, not at feats of arms, not in contests of wit or cunning.  No, while word would quickly spread that I am invincible, unless I were to throw a few of the matches and pretend to be less than I am, I am afraid that the Midgardians would perceive it as a cruel and unfeeling pastime and turn against me. (No one likes to be set up to fail.)

Best, then continue as I have and seek to work my way into absolute rule* in subtler ways.

Ones that do not involve plush simulacra of my noble physique.

>|: [

*I hear that the Provost position at the University is coming vacant.  That might be a good next step…



Of Felines and Stabbiness

This is an image of the humans’ superannuated feline.  Look closely.  She is hiding.


She is not very bright.

The human female says that lately the feline has not been herself.  Really?  How can you tell?  The animal’s default setting is “semi-sentient sofa cushion.”

But here we are at the veterinarian anyway.


I am staying well clear of the beast, because she has a habit of transmogrifying into a peeing, pooping, cat-shaped demon whenever she is brought here.  I am a supervillain– I know evil when I see it.

Fenrir’s fleacollar!  The animal’s blood sugar is 520!  Actually,  I do not know what that signifies, but the human female and the doctor both seem quite concerned.

Ah.  It appears that the feline will have to have medicine.  Or, should I say–a fourth medicine.  She already has three–two which are rubbed into her ears and one which is sprinkled on her food.  Oh, wait.  That food is prescription, so make that five.

(later)   We have now been to the apothecary to purchase the means to administer the medicine.

It was an amusing trip.  The human female is ill herself at present, and she must have had the aspect of an inebriate or addict as she presented her hollow-eyed, swaying self at the service window (after waiting for the woman ahead of her to roll the records from four insurance plans into one.)  She had to invent a birthdate for the feline and endure the clerk’s prattling about his mother’s diabetic canine.  It was all going well, however, until I whispered in his ear and he got a funny look on his face– and told her to go wait on a bench.  So she waited.  And waited.  I can only presume that at my suggestion he ran her name and/or her haggard visage through some database and discovered that she is not to be trusted with pointy things.

At last the clerk decided to let her make her purchase.  That is when the device that reads the plastic money-chits decided not to read hers.  Multiple times.  Then it grudgingly did read it, but the printer device ran out of paper just as it was printing a record of the transaction.


You can see that she had to wait some more while additional paper was found, just so that last bit could be printed out and stapled on.

So here we are, with some gloriously sleek, pointy weapons syringes.


Lots and lots of them.


Soooo many that I bet the human female won’t miss a few.  Hmmm.  Where can I hide some stabby things where they will produce the most humorous and painful results?  Sock drawer?  Car glove-box?  I shall have to contemplate my options.

In the meantime, while I am sorry that the feline is ill, I will greatly enjoy watching the humans catch her twice a day and try to employ these needles unscathed.  It will be interesting to see who is most traumatized…

>|: [


Leave it to Sigyn…

…to see the sunny side of things.  She wants me to point out all of the kitchenware that is cute or friendly as opposed to vicious.  Anything for you, my love, though you must admit that most of these are rather pointless.

There’s this thing, which is supposed to “make juicing citrus fruits a snap.”


If you say so, dearest.  Are you sure you don’t like it just because it is red?

There is a “cute” little long-handled wooden spoon that no one remembers buying.


And a tea-ball that no one ever uses.


I think I could re-purpose this hook and chain, though…

There is a little condiment dish shaped like an eggplant:


And one more-or-less feline in form:


This other kitten is ostensibly a chopstick rest,


But according to Sigyn, it just “wants pettings.”

Augh!  Great Frigga’s Corset Strings–What is that?


What sick mind thought this demented bowl was a good idea?   I think that is even scarier than the Pinky Guillotine!

I’m sorry, Sigyn.  I didn’t mean to shout–it just startled me.   I know you thought it was cute. (But I’m reasonably certain I shall be having nightmares…)

What?  Really?  Sigh.  Very well.  It is beyond schmoopy, but I shall make some cinnamon-sugar Love Toast to make it up to you.


>|: [


The Kitchen is a Scary Place, Part IV: It’s Pure Evil

I can’t lie.  (Well, I can, but not about this. ) This tool is my favorite. It is the King of Graters’ even more lethal older brother.  

Stand back, Sigyn!  Don’t come any closer…


This sort of device is commonly called a mandolin.  The human female used it for the first time the other day, with my supervision, and now it has a new name.

She calls it the Pinky Guillotine.

What did she expect, using it without the ultra-slippy-and-cumbersome prongy food holder?

So now she knows that we have two types of adhesive bandages in the house.


The weird, textured rubbery ones that stick very well but sort of disintegrate when you try to remove them,


and the sort that un-adhere instantly in contact with moisture of any sort.

And after the wailing and the blood and the bandages and the cleanup, there is still dinner to finish making!

Yes indeed, it is my favorite.

>|: [

The Kitchen is a Scary Place, Part III: I’m Grate, How Are You?

The humans seem to have a ridiculous number of utensils devoted to grating. By all means, let us examine this collection of knuckle-shredders!

There’s a box grater.


See, Sigyn?  It has four different faces, so that you can choose just what size you want the little bits of knuckle to be.

This little one looks relatively harmless by comparison.  And it’s green.


Mine, now.

Heimdall’s Horny Helmet!  Sigyn, come look at this tinny contraption!  It’s some sort of antique tumble-grater-grinder.


It is frightening from any angle:


See?  Food goes in the little square chute and is grated against the drum when the handle is turned.


And just in case you managed not to hurt yourself with normal operation, it comes with a set of different drums…


…so that you can shred your fingertips in the drum-changing process.

Oooh!  No! Wait!  Look at this sleek, black beauty.  Truly, this is the King of Graters!


Just look at those blades!  So sharp… So shiny…  I have seen the the human female reduce large carrots to confetti in seconds with this.  See how the little blades are made?  It grates on both the downstroke and the upstroke, for twice the destructive power.  Last time she had it out, I added a special little baffle of my own to the back.  It now distributes the tiny bits over as large an area of countertop (and sink and stove and floor and person) as is mathematically possible.  She will definitely want to keep knuckles away from this magnificent machine, or else the kitchen will look like the last act of a slasher film.

This is fun!  What next?

>|: [



The Kitchen is a Scary Place, Part II: Other Implements of Torture

Odin’s eyepatch!  There really are some gruesome gadgets lurking in the humans’ kitchen!  Will you just look at this:


If I push on this lever, the lethal-looking screw advances.  Supposedly, it is for removing wine corks from bottles.  Or intestines from bellies.  Either/or–it’s up to you.  (Don’t worry, I know that Sigyn is standing right there, and she knows that I know.  I’m just pretending.)

Then there’s this…


Check and see if there’s a maker’s mark, Sigyn.  I’ll wager it says “Torquemada Workshops” on it somewhere.  If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it’s variant of that old standby, the iron maiden.  Tie the torture-ee over the grating with the circular holes and then swing the spikey-masher part down over them.  I imagine it is rather effective!  One’s alliaceous enemies would be spilling their guts in no time, both literally and figuratively.

This next rusty monstrosity looks to me like some type of rack. Clearly it is adjustable. Plop a hapless victim down, tie them to both parts, and then separate, eliciting a precisely incremental confession.  “Are you guilty now?” –click–“How about now?”

Sigyn thinks she could adapt it for opening recalcitrant jar lids.  She’s such a sweet, naive creature…


Oh, I know exactly what to do with this.


Which reminds me… I haven’t had my brother Thor over for dinner recently…  (dials phone)  “Hello, Thor?  Loki.  Want to come over tomorrow?  I have a surprise for you.”

>|: [