poke poke poke

Dental Hygiene Can Be Hazardous To Your Health

The human female doesn’t have a “beauty routine”—and believe me, it shows—but she’s usually pretty good in the cleanliness department.  I mean, she doesn’t reek or anything.  (Unless she’s been doing yardwork, in which case all bets are off.)  She washes her face and combs her hair and prefers clean clothes to dirty ones.  If there’s one thing she excels at, though, it’s tooth-brushing.  I understand that she spent a lot of ugly duckling years undergoing orthodontic rearrangement, so she’s sporting an expensive set of (sadly still misaligned) chompers that she wants to take care of.

She was brushing said teeth this morning when she felt a bit of breakfast get stuck between her two front teeth on the bottom.   Like the dutiful drone that she is, she then reached for the floss, and when she flossed, she felt something fall out over her lip and into the sink.  She’s curious by nature, so she looked in the mirror to see if she’d removed the offending particle. What she saw made her search for the offending particle in the sink in disbelief  She scooped it up, and here it is.

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(poke, poke, poke)  Is that what I think it is?!  No!  Ewww, Sigyn, look but don’t touch.  I’m magically protected against her cooties but we can’t take the chance that you’re not immune.

What I have in my hand is…

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one corner of her lower left central incisor.  It just— “poof”— cracked and fell off.  She keeps poking at the broken edge with her tongue, and apparently there’s a REALLY sharp and pointy point left there, because not only does the tooth hurt, but she’s sliced up her tongue a little too.

Now, we all know that “Schadenfreude” is my middle name, but even I draw the line at tooth owies.  They’re just no fun.

There’s a part of me, though, that is beyond tickled that she now has a dentist appointment, the annual smash-the-frontal-lady-bits, and jury duty all in the same month!  If I can get her to lose her keys or suffer a flat tire, I’ll have a bingo.

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This is More Like It! Sort Of.

Great Frigga’s corset, that was close!  If we had stayed in that religious articles shop any longer, I might have had to start smiting things–or people.  It is a great relief that we are gone now and headed off on other errands.

Uh, oh.  The human female has squealingly spotted something and the human male has turned the car around.  If he’s willing to do that in traffic, it must be something good!

Really?  That’s really what this place is called?

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This has definite potential!  I wonder if I will get a mention, or if it will be all, “Odin, this” and “Thor, that.” I could definitely do without that.

What the….?

asgardgames-anubis

Or, you know, since Midgard is a silly place and this part of it in particular, I guess it’s going to be, “Anubis, that other thing over there.”

Sigyn, get out of his fist, my love.  You don’t know where those paws have been.

I wonder if the inside is as polytheistic as the outside?

Bleargh.  So far, disappointing.

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Isn’t there a Loki-themed game here somewhere?  Or is it all going to be Odin or that puppy-headed fellow?

Sigyn has found a quiet little shrine that—-

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Uh…Dearest?  Don’t be alarmed and don’t turn around.  Just walk away from the temple slowly.   Slowly…   Come over here by me.  There’s a good girl.

Whew!  Another close one!  Let’s bide here a bit.  This corner of the shop seems safer.  Nothing here but foldy paper cranes.

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But kitty-cat folding paper?  Poke, poke, poke.  I don’t trust it.

Oh, now this is interesting. There are several large tables with different “terrain” so that people can  play war games with miniature figures.

asgardgames-playing field

Ehehehehehe!  Look, Sigyn!  It is I, Loki!  Lord of Jotunheim, ruler of a kingdom of ice and snow!  And you, my sunny beloved, are queen of the greensward.  Can I tempt you to cross the line and join me in making some snow angels?

Here is a table being used for a game.  These pillars make good vantage points from which to direct strategy.

asgardgames-directing battle

Bring up the war engines! Circle the cross-bowmen around to the right!  Protect the left flank!  Onward, dogs of war! Let no man turn from glory!  Let—

What’s that?  We’re going to the pen shop now?  How on earth is that more important–or more fun!—than wiping out a whole battalion of marauders?

Pah.  You mortals are so boring.  My rule over you dullards can’t come a moment too soon.

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More Adventures in the Room of Skulls

I was able to rescue Sigyn from the clutches of that murderous deer.  Horrible creatures, deer, really.  I prefer to think of them as merely the larval stage of roast venison.

There are more skulls here, and they are drawing a lot of attention.  The human female and her minions are showing them off to anyone who wanders by.

Sigyn is investigating the pronounced sagittal crest on this opossum.

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The human female says that is where all the jaw muscles are attached.  It certainly looks capable of eating anything it finds.  Opossums are strange creatures–tails like rats, huge rafs of babies which they tote about in pouches or on their backs, fur that always looks like they’ve been washed in the washer on the wrong cycle, and a predilection for rummaging about in compost heaps.

I am more impressed by the dentition of this male vervet monkey.

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This fellow looks quite up to the task of perforating anyone who tried to put him in a funny outfit or make him do silly tricks.  And the overall effect is of a toothy little human.

Great Frigga’s hairpins!  Look who has turned up!  Marty, that goggle-eyed menace, has dropped by to ogle the chicken skull.

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I don’t want to think about what Marty’s skull might look like.  Not much room for a brain, that’s for certain.

Oh, and here is Fisi, trying to sneak in a nibble on the oppossum.

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Shoo!  Bad hyena!  No biscuit!

Sweet Tony Stark on the half shell!  What sort of alien mutant nightmare beast does this one come from?!

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Don’t get too close, Sigyn.  I don’t trust this thing at all.

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poke, poke, poke.

No sirree. I do not trust this thing at all, at all.  Nor can I figure out its modus operandi.  No proper teeth to speak of, but what about these long pincer-like things up front?  What IS it?  Where does it live?  What does it eat?  What does the rest of it look like??

Oh, I am going to have bad dreams and flashbacks about this one, I can tell you.

(Reads label.)  Huh.  I never, ever would have guessed.  Log your guesses in the comments, folks, and we’ll see if anyone comes close.

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みんなでランチをしましょう, Part I: Acquiring Comestibles

The humans have had to run to the Big City to the West for some churchy event or other.  Sigyn was excited, whatever it was.  I didn’t want to know–I’ve just tagged along to see that Sigyn comes to no harm.  At any rate, the humans dragged a few friends along, the churchy event is over, and one of the friends has produced yet another friend, and  now suddenly I find myself in a very odd restaurant, squeezed into a booth with three people I don’t know and two people I only tolerate, contemplating some very peculiar lunch options.

The whole place is very highly mechanized.  A conveyor belt of sorts snakes all around the establishment, laden with small plates of tidbits, mostly of the raw fish variety.

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A plate with a placard announces each new set of arrivals.  One simply reaches out and takes whatever plate one wishes as it trundles by.  The computer by each table registers what has been selected.  Very clever, these Midgardians!

No, Sigyn, you may not ride the belt just to see where it goes.

The human female has selected some round, seedy…things.

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There were three in the bowl, but the human female has already inhaled one of them.  That leaves two, Sigyn, one for each of us. (poke, poke, poke) Now I remember!  They’re filled with sweet and beany goo, and we like them!

It’s not the warmest day outside, so we have ordered some hot ramen soup from the table’s computer menu.  It arrived on a separate little swift conveyor and stopped neatly at the table.  No soup on the main conveyor, because someone else might take it.  Would people really do that?   Take someone else’s food?  Well, I would, but that’s how I work.

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Chicken, egg, onion, noodles, broth.  If it is true what they say, that fat= flavor, it is probably going to be delicious!

We still have room for….Dumplings!

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Dumplings are always a good idea.   This sushi “donut”, on the other hand…

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…can call itself dessert all it likes.  It’s still raw fish.  I think some of it is salmon, which means I should definitely see that the human female has some.  I want to see that funny, itchy rash it gives her that I’ve heard so much about.

Come on, just one little bite?

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Not All Bunnies and Flowers, Part III: An Untimely and Gruesome Carnage

Do you recall the All Hallows pumpkin?  The one that overstayed its welcome?  Back in December, I predicted that the human female was going to put a Santa hat on it and make it suffice for yet another holiday.

Well, as of the Eater Bunny festival, the stupid thing was still sitting on the front stoop.

The human female brought it into the kitchen and gave it a good scrub.

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I was appalled!  Surely she wasn’t going to eat it?!  I mean, technically a pumpkin is a squash and is theoretically edible, but this superannuated pepo had essentially become a family member.

She whacked it open, revealing all its stringy innards.

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Sigyn was quite distressed at its demise.

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(poke poke poke)  It looked a little dry, and one of the seeds had sprouted.  I was very interested at this point, to see if anyone was actually going to eat this mess.

The poor thing was stripped of its skin and cut into chunks.

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A bit of steaming time in the microwave, a dab of butter, and a little maple sugar, and the All-Hallows-Yule-Eater Bunny Festival pumpkin was served forth.

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My sweetie couldn’t bear to have any.

Sigyn, I’m sorry to tell you that your cucurbitaceous friend was dee-licious.

Fetching the Family, Part I: A Bite of Lunch

The human female’s mother (whom I very much like) and sister (whom I tolerate–she’s too much like the human female) are coming for a visit.  This may be a good thing ( the mother cooks and is very kind), or it may be a disaster—there is sure to be more giggling than I can reasonably be expected to endure.  I suppose I can always go to an inn if the silliness becomes too much.

They are both flying into the Big City to the West, so we have to go fetch them.  It would be a long-but-pleasant drive if not for the human female’s tendency to moo at cows as we pass and point out every wildflower on the roadside.  Are we there yet?

(Later.)  We are now in the Big City to the West.  We have a bit of time before the guests will touch down at the airport, so we’ve decided to get some lunch.  Ever ones for something new, the humans have selected an Asian cafe in a strip mall somewhere.

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A quick glance shows Korean, Japanese, Thai, and “British-inspired” dishes, and I’m fairly certain “haus” is German and “potage” is French.  No telling WHAT any of these things tastes like.

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Sigyn is in the mood for fries of some kind but can’t decide between sweet potato fries and tater tots covered in Korean beef and kimchi.  You’ve tried kimchi before, love, and not liked it overmuch. Try the sweet potatoes.

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I wasn’t aware that a) Koreans had wings and b) it was legal to sell body parts for consumption!

We have played it safe, eschewing various body parts.  Instead, we have ordered a bowl of sticky rice with Korean barbecue, pickled carrots, cucumbers, and purple cabbage.

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Poke, poke, poke.  Sniff.  Seems innocuous enough.

<Snarf!>

That was surprisingly tasty.  And because I’m a helpful sort of fellow, I offered the human female a bite.

Now she can go breathe garlic all over her family.

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In India, They Just Call It “Food”

The humans are trying a new restaurant tonight.  Well, it isn’t actually new.  It has been here for a number of years.  They just haven’t gotten up off their fundaments to give it a try, despite the fact that they both like Indian cuisine.  Sigyn and I are tagging along.  We haven’t had any good Indian food since London.

You must forgive the photos–the lighting is low and the human female’s phone thinks this is the cue to make everything purple.

The meal is starting in the usual manner, with flat, breaky things.

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Sigyn and I are old pros at these.  There should be sauces–

And here they are!  I like the hot one.  Sigyn, of course, is going straight for the sweet one.

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The humans have ordered fried pillows.  Why would you do that?

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Oh.  I have been informed that these pillows are full of spicy potatoes and peas, and not polyester fiberfill.  The lack of  a “this notice not to be removed except by the consumer” tag should have tipped me off.

The entrees are here.  The female, being both boring and predictable, has ordered chicken tikka.  Woman, you DO know that’s not actually an Indian dish, right?

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Perhaps the male will have something a little more interesting.  Ah.  Lamb biryani.  That’s a bit better.  And if you don’t want lamb, Sigyn, you can always fill up on naan.

(later)  We have come to the “steaming towel” portion of the evening.

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(poke, poke, poke)  Nice and hot.  All meals should end in this fashion!  When I become sole ruler of Midgard, I shall see that they do!

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