FIRST--hello to everyone visiting from Miss Moira's place. The confirmation of my blithering ineptitude she speaks of is found in the entry below from Friday.

And now for something completely different...

This is a very rare weekend post. Usually I am bolted to the wall by overwhelming domesticity, but I have some catching up to do on administrative duties related to the burgeoning silliness that is the Axis of Weevil, the railings and fury of those with ties to the 22nd State.

I am running on about 2 hours of sleep. I stayed up past midnight last night writing 50 thank-you notes to the Bible teachers at our church. I have to give them out tonight at a teacher's appreciation banquet I have been responsible for planning (Something new this year--a sit down dinner at Johnny Ray's Barbecue!)

I had finished them all, answered some late e-mail, and was just about to hit the hay when Baby Daughter woke up at 12:30 a.m. with a terrible case of some stomach problem. She had tedrall streaming out her bottom and was blowing chomskys out the other end. Got that cleaned up and made her a pallet on the floor, then was woken back up around 4:00 when she sprayed more tedrall on the floor as she tried to make it to the fisk. Got THAT cleaned up, then had to get up at 7:00 to get ready to take Middle Girl and Little Boy to soccer practice. Got showered and got them up and dressed, then the bottom dropped out and it started raining buckets. No soccer today. Just then Tiny Girl woke up, ready to go full speed. I went back to bed and got absolutely no sleep, because by then, everyone wanted to play. Thankfully, Reba rounded them up and took them downstairs for breakfast.

So, having explained all that, be forewarned; some of the following may have some misspellings or odd syntax. Just use Babelfish, translate it from English to Chinese and back to English, and it should make sense.

You want fries with your order?
Miss Lee Ann of Spinsters wrote to say she liked the listing of Bamablog requirements. She did think that I had forgotten a few:

a) Must have an ungodly hankering to own a hound dog.
b) Must prefer biscuit to bagels.
c) Must have, at some point in time, donated money to save Vulcan's ass.
d) Must have committed, or threatened to commit, violence against someone due to their Alabama/ Auburn allegience.
e) And of course, the ultimate test: The Bear. Sir Charles. Discuss.

The only problem is that if we add these, I have to kick myself out. I mean, a nice little feist dog would be good, and I'm an Eskimo Spitz man myself. Then there's the biscuits/bagels conundrum. I don't think it can be adequately resolved, in that you wouldn't put Yellow Label syrup on a bagel, nor would you put cream cheese on a biscuit. c) and d) I have covered, but we might have some John McCain supporters who would like to see Vulcan's ass melted down and made into tie rods for an M-Class. Finally, e) I just can't work out in my mind, because it neglects the George Wallace paradox.

HOWEVER, I believe these constitute a right nice set of qualifications for the Axis of Weevil's newest award for meritorious Alabamaosity, THE ORDER OF MORAWSKI. Those of the Axis who meet these qualifications may wear upon their uniforms the emblem of the Order, being a pig iron medallion in the form of a cathead biscuit, having upon it the image of Vulcan's glutes and a streamer of either blue-and-orange or crimson-and-white.

Of course, our first recipient is Miss Morawski herself--wear it with pride, young lady!

Next, our newest member Charles Austin has a heartfelt response to his inclusion as a member of the Alablogger Gang on his blogsite, in which he notes with pride his stellar fulfillment of all the requirements. He seems a bit worried about his status due to being a minivan owner, but he uses it just as he would a pickup, and seems to enjoy the prospect of pissing off Saint Louis soccer moms by hanging his A-Bolt in the window, so no worries. (For the record, the Possumblog clan has a 1994 Plymouth Grand Voyager Sport Wagon, a 1994 Olds 88 Royale, and the beloved Franklin, a tired but proud '82 Ford F-100--previously the subject of his very own blog entry ).

Mr. Austin also relates that his mean, intolerant wife won't let him keep the co-eds. I tried to plead that they are quite useful for organizing Junior League rummage sales and for going to the mall to help her shop for shoes, all to no avail. Oh, well. We'll put them back on the shelf, but they were so looking forward to the exotic joys of grocery shopping at Schnuck's and getting a nice ice-cream headache from a concrete.

So then ends this installment of the Possumblog--see you all Monday, if I survive the weekend's festivities.

posted by Terry at 12:56:00 PM