Ooh…Eew!–Once Upon a Time…

There was a little shoe. A little, partly-blue shoe.

Once, it had been one of two partly-blue shoes. A duo of partly-blue shoes that belonged to you-know-who.

And what did I do?

I ordered some poo!

Specifically, I went next door and enlisted the help of the neighbor’s stoopid, ill-mannered, pooch. That four-footed menace was only too happy to leave a little “present” in the tallish grass right along the edge of the humans’ driveway. The human female, coming home in her old silver car, stepped right in it and tracked it into the house.

The human male was telling her about how he spent the day cleaning up a stinky feline mess. ( What sort of mess? Let’s just say the Federation is not the only entity troubled by Klingons…) She was making faces and sniffing and saying that– Pew!– she thought he had missed something. After a moment or two of playing “Hunt the Stench”, she caught a clue that it was her own footwear that was so truly offensive. Eew! She put the shoe outside so that the poo could be a bit less “fresh” when she tried to clean it off.

The next day, she attempted to clean it off, using a bamboo skewer like a hoof-pick. Of course, she put it off until she was running late, so she didn’t have time to do a proper job. She was forced to leave it until she could get back to it with soapy water and an old toothbrush.

That was several days ago, and the shoe is still sitting outside the front door.

Everyone who has visited the house has remarked upon the single shoe sitting all alone. “You‘ve been robbed.” “Did you know there’s a shoe on your porch?”

(poke, poke, poke)

Noop. I’m not volunteering to de-goop this shoe.

Meanwhile, she has grabbed her older pair of shoes, the ones that have been reduced and demoted to gardening, and she’s been wearing those. It was when she put them on that she noticed that the gardening pair was actually in better shape than the half-pooed pair! Perhaps it was time for a new pair?

Of course, when she went to order replacement shoes online, they were out of her size, so she’ll have to make do with something different. Will the new ones fit when they come?

What do you think?

Stay tuned…

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And While I Am Down Here…

While I am down here in Room 303, showing you where I hid the human female’s ID card, I thought I’d do a little more mischief.

Room 303 is where most of the lab dishes get washed.  Test tubes, beakers, graduated cylinders–you name it, if it’s dirty, it comes here.

These tubs are full of spirometer parts.  Since people have breathed through them, they have to be soaked and disinfected to make sure no pestilence is spread.

gonna spit in the tub

In theory, this results in a sanitary experience for the next group of cardiopulmonary lab experimenters.

In practice, I always make it a point to spit in the spirometer-part-soaking-tubs, as part of my ongoing research into the effects of Jotun saliva on the cardiopulmonary health of university undergraduates.

I have reams of data to date.  Can publication be far behind?

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Going to the Dentist is Supposed to be Good For You

Midgardians are encouraged to visit their dentist twice per year, just to make sure nothing is rotten or loose.  These mortals spend a lot of time and money on their teeth, and for what?  They get maybe ninety years out of them.  Pffft! That’s nothing!  I’ll have you know Jotuns NEVER have to go to the dentist.  Our teeth will last for millennia, we never get cavities, and, unless one is knocked out in battle, we never lose them.  Asgardians are much the same.  Proof again that Midgard is Yggdrasil’s lowest, least-highly-evolved branch, probably due for  a good, hard pruning. (Don’t blame me–I tried!)

Howsomever, Sigyn and I have accompanied the human female on a visit to her dentist.  We actually like going with her, because a) she gets tortured and has to PAY for it,  b) there are toys, and c) the dentist and hygienist there are quite friendly and never fail to greet us.  Still, Sigyn has had one or two little mishaps there, as have I.  So let us say we are cautiously enthusiastic.

What’s this?!  Our friendly dentist has retired?!  Great Frigga’s knitting needles, this is intolerable!  The new dentist seems friendly enough and is pleased to make our acquaintance, though.  I suppose we shall just have to get used to the new dentist, new front desk help, new decor, and new equipment.

For example, there is apparently a new, extra-powerful spit-sucker


Hold on, dearest–I’ll save you!

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More Field Day

That’s a relief. The human female has managed to haul her carcass down off the mountain.  I was thinking I was going to have to bring out my most powerful magic to shift her.  I made sure to keep Sigyn well behind her on the way down, so that if there was a tumble, my beloved wouldn’t be crushed beneath far too many pounds of bouncing botanist.

We have repaired to the lovely farmhouse belonging to a local naturalist.  And look!  Lunch!  While the human female talks edible plants with an anthropologist, Sigyn and I shall check out the dessert table.  What are those little cakes?  Ah!  So that’s what a madeleine looks like!  I have read about those!


Sigyn, you found your way inside the fly screen.  Can you find your way out on your own, or do you need help?

What the—?  The hostess is handing out thank-you gifts to this morning’s presenters and to the leader of the upcoming afternoon plant walk, and the human female was just given a gift and hailed as an expert!  Really?  Do you mean all her botanistic drabble has actually been heeded by anyone is actually being lauded?  Surely not.

But here we go!  As I may have mentioned before, the latter half if this year has been abysmally dry, so what plants there are are mostly looking unenthusiastic, if not actually crispy.  Sand shuffles underfoot and is rising with every step.  (The human female is sure to have brown nose boogers tonight.  Eew.)  It’s warm, and the posey procession is moving at a gastropod’s gait.

For all the human female’s vaunted prowess in the field, it is my beloved who has found the first interesting plant.  This is one of the sumacs, known for reliably producing fall color in this otherwise drab part of Midgard.


Augh!  I believe the Norns have decreed that each time Sigyn stops to take a photo, the sun will be in my eyes.

Despite there not being much in flower, the human female is finding plenty to blather about as we walk very, very slowly down the path.  Oak, oak, oak, elm, croton, poison ivy (careful, Sigyn!), grass, grass, grass, cactus (ehehehehehehe–the human female now has a pant cuff full of little barb-y hairs!), yellow daisy thing, yellow daisy thing, smaller yellow daisy thing.

Tall purplish-pinky daisy thing!


Nerd fact:  what looks like a single blossom is actually a whole bouquet of tiny florets.  Sigyn, I know they are pretty, but look!  There is a bee there!  Stick close to me and do NOT climb up there!

The human female and her hostess are having a fine time putting names on every single plant, but some of the other walkers are starting to flag from the heat, the sand, and the uninterruptible stream of botanese issuing from the know-it-all leading this meander.  Someone has just mentioned heading back.  Yes, please!  I hear lemonade calling!

I thought we’d be going home now, but argh!  I forgot:  After every every expedition, botanists feel the need to sit down and rehash everything they saw, write out a list of slanty Latin names, and make plans for future trips.  Please, can’t we be done now?

Oh, no.  Nerd alert!  The books have come out.  In particular this big black one.


There are hundreds and hundreds of pages of dense, inscrutable angiospermic verbiage.  Blocks and blocks of text and hardly any pictures.  What’s this?  The human female wrote this behemoth?  Somehow this doesn’t entirely surprise me–she’s as un-shutuppable on paper as she is in person.  Be careful handling the pages, Sigyn, in case the nerdiness rubs off.

After a quick trip around the acres and acres of this ranch on a spiffy electric cart , plotting out paths for future surveying, the human female has finally accepted a gift of a dozen farm fresh eggs, promised to return, said her goodbyes, and loaded everything back into the car for the drive home.

Did you have a fun day, Sigyn?  Between tales of gold and golden daisy thingies, I’m actually sort of glad I came.

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In Which I Contemplate Eating Several Odd Things But Decide Against It

All of this housework has given me an appetite.  Sigyn, my sweet, let us accompany the humans as they dine out tonight.

Wait!  What goes on here?  The human female mentioned her “favorite dive.”  Dive, ocean, seashore– I was expecting seafood.  Lobster, crab–or at least some shrimp.  But this establishment is a tiny, humble place with a sign that says “Café Centroamericano.”

I have no idea what to expect in here.  The humans have been here before and are ordering confidently, and they’re not dead, so it is probably safe to eat what they do.

Ah, the drinks have arrived.  Volstagg’s grocery bill!  What is this?


The menu says, “liquada de cacahuate,”  which is no help at all, though it sounds vaguely familiar.

Wait.  Now I remember what “caca” is Midgardian baby talk for, and it is NOT making me want to take a sip…

And here’s the food–it smells appetizing enough…  (poke, poke, poke)


…but it’s called a “poo-poosa,” which, along with the “caca” business leads me to believe that there is something other than the advertised pork and cheese inside.

Come on, Sigyn, let’s go eat Chinese.

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Loki Helps Around the House, Part VI: Excavating the Pantry

Ehehehehe.  I’ve got Gungnir back, so I’m in a good mood.  Just to show the human female that there are no hard feelings, I will take on a housekeeping task which was not even ON her original chore list.

So— I am cleaning out the pantry.  I know, I know, I had some fun in there not too long ago. But I have more ideas.

Ugh.  The humans have really managed to muck things up in just that short time.  Here it all is on the kitchen counter, waiting to be resorted and reshelved.


Sigyn is interested in the currants because she has not seen the humans actually use them for anything.  It’s just as well–“zante currants” in this part of Midgard are nothing more than little champagne grape raisins and not real currants at all.  Someone should sue.

Eeeew!  Look at what I found way in the back!


Now, I am not perfectly conversant with Midgardian food preservation techniques, but my gut says that when a can bulges out like that and weeps black ichor through its label, it is time to give the contents a very wide berth.  But if I discard the scary can and transfer the contents to a cute little blubberware container, I can put them in with the human female’s take-to-work lunch!  With any luck, she’ll shovel in a good mouthful before she knows what’s what.

They might pair well with these:


Sigyn, you probably don’t want to open that.  I mean, we don’t even know  for sure what is in there.  Is it steak?  Is it sardines?  Or is it herring?  Clearly, even the manufacturer does not know—and has further obfuscated the piscine mystery by drowning it in soy sauce and hot green chilies.  I’m trying to think of a foodstuff that sounds more vomitous, and failing utterly.

Wash it all down with a can of papaya or guanabana nectar and you’ve got a meal you will remember always.

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Loki Helps Around the House, Part IV: Dusting


I think I hate dusting most of all the chores I have undertaken so far.  Knowing that what I’m shooing and wiping is really just a microscopic mix of Midgardian epidermis and dust mite bits makes me want to lose my lunch.

What’s worse is that the human female is making me dust all the places she can’t reach (which are legion), starting with the chandelier in the dining chamber.


This is disgusting!  Just look at the cobwebs! Are they perhaps ranching spiders up here?!


Bleargh.  Sticky spider-dust is the worst.  While I’m up here, I think I will loosen half the bulbs and tickle the others so that one blows out each of the next three times the lamp is lit.

Achoo!  Dusting woodwork is a little more satisfying because you can see where you’ve been.


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Loki Helps Around the House, Part III: Bathroom Duty

Ugh!  I am definitely being punished.  I cannot think why, unless perhaps it is because last night I summoned what store of weather-working magic I have and arranged to have just enough cloud cover to obscure the lunar eclipse which the humans wished to view.

Thus, today, the human female says I my job is to clean up the bathing chamber.  I really did not wish to become this intimately acquainted with Midgardian hygiene.

Replace toilet paper.  Check.  (Do not belabor me about in which direction the paper must unfurl.  I do not care.)

Squeegee down the shower door.  Check.  (Squeegee–what a most peculiar word.)

Put out fresh towels. Check.  (I may have rubbed my sleek Jotun backside on them all.)

Wipe the toothpaste splatters off the mirror.  Eew!  How do they get toothpaste on the mirror? How is that even possible?  I mean, the distribution pattern is stunning in its breadth, but how hard is it to just spit the foam down the drain?

The next item says , “Toothpaste globs in sink.”


Done and dusted.  (The human female needs to be more specific in her instructions.)

Last job is to wipe down the counters.  This is not hard to do, because the lazy humans buy canisters of disposable wipes in a cleaning solution, all ready to go.  Most convenient.


It’s only irksome if someone uses the last one and just leaves the empty container.


Job done.

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Loki Helps Around the House, Part II: Cleaning Out the Cooling Unit

I have given the house a thorough searching, and since I have not found Gungnir on my own, I am forced to continue my indentured servitude to the human female. What’s next on the chore list, O Mistress of Grunginess?  Clean the refrigerator?  Why, of course!  I’d be glad to.  (In truth, I have a vested interest in whether the fridge is sanitary, as I do occasionally eat things that come out of there, and so does Sigyn.  Not much can harm me, but it would not do for her to be felled by some preventable food-borne illness.)

By Odin’s puckered bellybutton!  Look at all the nasty bits and pieces around the vegetable bins!


Bleargh!  And, might I add, Eew! Wouldn’t it be easier simply to buy a new fridge?

Ehehehehehe.  I just now noticed–there’s another one of my peanut butter jars back there!

While I’m in the neighborhood, I think I’ll pop into the bin and slimify some carrots and celery. There’s a fine line between moist and crisp and sludgy-slick.  Sometimes all they need is a good nudge.


There. The fridge is much cleaner now.  I took everything out, wiped down the walls, de-stickified the shelves, ferried spoiled produce out to the compost heap, and euthanized whatever that furry green thing in the bottom of the cheese drawer was.  Time to put all the groceries back in, adding my own special touches.  See this juice?


Well, it used to be juice, the 100% juice juice.  Bing!  Now it is 64 ounces of “juice drink,” which means it tastes like a cross between cough syrup and purple magic marker.

I put the milk back too.

empty milk

What?  No, I did NOT put back an empty jug.  I would never do that.  It is not empty. There are twelve molecules of milk left in there.

I counted.

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