It’s been another great (or awful) year for Loftus puns and wordplay. Here’s this year’s lineup. . . .
Jan. 3: Bryan looked at his laptop, then at his tablet, then at his mobile . . . and got a synch-ing feeling.
Jan. 7: It gradually dawned on Herman that perhaps he had made a mistake going into avian dentistry.
Why?
Beak ahs.
Beak ahs.
Jan. 12: So glad I’m not wealthy. I’d hate to have to split heirs.
Jan. 17: I was hoping to land a membership in that hot new health club . . . but I got weight listed.
Feb. 13: Rodger picked up hints from the script that the character he had been cast to play might have an Irish background . . . so he decided to go for brogue.
Feb. 24: Frankie the Big Cheese recognized he had no more use for the two gorgeous brunettes he had employed as seductive hit women to take out unsuspecting competitors.
So he told Rocko to eliminate ’em—but quietly … by strangulation.
You heard right: Frankie told his trusted enforcer it was time he went out to wring slay belles.
March 18: While we were having dinner at Sweet Heart Pizza, we noticed a large Chocolate Lab leashed to a post on the sidewalk outside the window. The dog appeared quite dignified and calm, in spite of the steadily passing human and canine traffic.
At one point, a tiny, fluffy-white dog passed with its two-legged companion, but paused three times to whip around and stare at the big tethered dog.
I decided the breed was a “Small-Tease.”
March 19: We got in a fight, despite my best efforts.
I tried a Loki approach on him, but he was just a Thor head.
Apr. 10: As the book group was breaking up tonight, the real estate attorney and the psychologist were discussing the relative virtues of rent control—who benefits, who doesn’t.
“If your landlord happens to be your father’s sister,” I commented, “you can enjoy the status quo auntie.”
Well, no, the lawyer answered earnestly, and got all the way through his initial subordinate clause before he noticed the wicked grin on my face, and said, “Oh. Boo, hiss!”
May 7: Looks can be receding. . . .
May 9: Peering in the mirror, Sylvester realized his hairline was creeping upward on both sides of his forehead, which naturally led to a fit of peak.
May 10: It looked like a row of carriage houses along an alley that had been converted into urban apartments, but that did not fool Holmes.
“Look, Watson!” he cried. “Fake mews!”
June 11: Harold decided to found a religion which consisted of drinking ceremonial wine, brandy, and fruit mixes all day to honor one’s ancestors and the saints.
He called it Sangeria.
July 7: The host told us that, traditionally, your structure wasn’t a Catholic Church unless it contained a relic (bone or hair of one of the saints, the handkerchief of St. Paul, a sliver of the True Cross, etc.).
He had once visited a church in Spain where he spotted a small lump of something in a glass case on the altar, and was told this was the foreskin of Jesus. However, he continued, a number of other churches across Europe also claimed to possess the true foreskin of Jesus as their holy relic.
I commented: “Sounds like they were making a mountain out of a mohel.”
He had once visited a church in Spain where he spotted a small lump of something in a glass case on the altar, and was told this was the foreskin of Jesus. However, he continued, a number of other churches across Europe also claimed to possess the true foreskin of Jesus as their holy relic.
I commented: “Sounds like they were making a mountain out of a mohel.”
July 19: Jason was bothered by a watery discharge from his eyes that also featured a disgusting odor. He referred to it as “a rheum with a phew.”
July 20: [WARNING: esoteric and extremely far-fetched wordplay ahead. . . . ]
In Europe during the Middle Ages, and across the Ottoman Empire even into the 18th century, horsemen liked to cover their steeds with blankets, decorative saddles and harnesses, and even chain mail. But nowadays, most riders—and probably their mounts, as well—agree:
Caparisons are otiose.
July 23: While Carole and I were strolling through the booths at the Salem Art Fair, we marveled at the contrasting design styles and especially the bright colors of the work of a rug weaver.
“That looks like a dye-ing art,” I remarked.
Sept. 8: There were two of them: agile goat-antelopes with hooked horns, gamboling and wiggling . . . doing the chamois-chamois shake.
In Europe during the Middle Ages, and across the Ottoman Empire even into the 18th century, horsemen liked to cover their steeds with blankets, decorative saddles and harnesses, and even chain mail. But nowadays, most riders—and probably their mounts, as well—agree:
Caparisons are otiose.
July 23: While Carole and I were strolling through the booths at the Salem Art Fair, we marveled at the contrasting design styles and especially the bright colors of the work of a rug weaver.
“That looks like a dye-ing art,” I remarked.
Sept. 8: There were two of them: agile goat-antelopes with hooked horns, gamboling and wiggling . . . doing the chamois-chamois shake.
Sept. 20: He seemed a little blue as he said goodbye and turned to leave. You might say he had that “cyan aura” look.
Oct. 9: Vincent was sitting calmly in the first pew at the memorial service when he was startled by the sound of a voice in front of him. Had he entered an altared state? Was he about to have a coffin fit? But then he relaxed . . . because he realized it was just the bier talking.
Oct. 13: Not many people know that Richard Nixon aspired to be a dessert chef when he was young. He was kind of obsessive about it, too; he kept mumbling “Let me make one thing perfect—eclair!”
Nov. 3: When a creek floods at sunrise, this is known as a “dawny-brook.”
Nov. 9: During a shoot-out with the police, the suspect suffered a gunshot wound in the right eye.
After he had been stabilized in critical condition at a local ER, he was examined by an ophthalmologist, who pronounced it the worst case of Glock coma he had ever seen.
Nov. 10: The grocer assured me he stocked regular onions, but he turned out to be a shallot-un.
Nov. 10: When he was out riding, did Roy Rogers habitually have to give other people Trigger warnings?
Nov. 10: Although I had a very wet cough, the doctor couldn’t tell what sort of ailment it was . . . so he pulled out his rheum key.
Whereupon I went into an extended catarrh solo.
After he had been stabilized in critical condition at a local ER, he was examined by an ophthalmologist, who pronounced it the worst case of Glock coma he had ever seen.
Nov. 10: The grocer assured me he stocked regular onions, but he turned out to be a shallot-un.
Nov. 10: When he was out riding, did Roy Rogers habitually have to give other people Trigger warnings?
Nov. 10: Although I had a very wet cough, the doctor couldn’t tell what sort of ailment it was . . . so he pulled out his rheum key.
Whereupon I went into an extended catarrh solo.
Nov. 10: Remember when President Nixon took the president of South Vietnam out for a round of golf, and he had to order a tee for Thieu?
Nov. 12: We conducted a survey of the pigs to get their opinion . . . just in case anybody wanted polled pork.
Nov. 23: The priest had come to a turning point. He had had enough of leading services in praise of God and all creation. It was time, he felt, to preach about everything that was wrong, and heavenly promises yet to be fulfilled.
Father O’Halloran was ready to achieve critical mass.
Nov. 24: The weaver had nearly completed what she was certain would be her greatest tapestry ever, when she discovered she had run out of ultramarine.
She preferred natural sources rather than synthetics for her colors, but she was so close finishing the work that she didn’t want to abandon it to go shopping for more supplies.
In her fevered haste to complete the tapestry, she noticed the blood in the skin of her wrist, and thought it might be just the right hue to complete her masterpiece, but . . .
SHE DYED IN VEIN.
Nov. 29: We keep getting shocked from shuffling around on the carpet this time of year. I’m thinking of calling in a static-tician.
Dec. 24: Since their father was currently serving aboard a battleship in the frigid North Atlantic, the kids chipped in to send him multiple layers of soft, napped insulating fabric made from polyester to resemble wool, but that breathed better . . . because they wished him a fleece Navy Dad.
Dec. 25: The turnout for the costume party at the home of the Freuds was fantastic.
Papa Sigmund was dressed as Santa, daughter Anna was Alice in Wonderland. Various guests—Rank, Gonda, Ferenczi, Ernest Jones—came as ghosts, trolls, vampires, and other fantasy figures.
One guest arrived in a full suit of armor, and kept his visor firmly closed. No one could figure out who it was. The longer he tarried among the crowd without speaking or revealing himself, the more nervous the other guests became.
Finally, it dawned on the host, who proclaimed to the gathering: “Relax, everyone! The Knight is Jung!”
She preferred natural sources rather than synthetics for her colors, but she was so close finishing the work that she didn’t want to abandon it to go shopping for more supplies.
In her fevered haste to complete the tapestry, she noticed the blood in the skin of her wrist, and thought it might be just the right hue to complete her masterpiece, but . . .
SHE DYED IN VEIN.
Nov. 29: We keep getting shocked from shuffling around on the carpet this time of year. I’m thinking of calling in a static-tician.
Dec. 24: Since their father was currently serving aboard a battleship in the frigid North Atlantic, the kids chipped in to send him multiple layers of soft, napped insulating fabric made from polyester to resemble wool, but that breathed better . . . because they wished him a fleece Navy Dad.
Papa Sigmund was dressed as Santa, daughter Anna was Alice in Wonderland. Various guests—Rank, Gonda, Ferenczi, Ernest Jones—came as ghosts, trolls, vampires, and other fantasy figures.
One guest arrived in a full suit of armor, and kept his visor firmly closed. No one could figure out who it was. The longer he tarried among the crowd without speaking or revealing himself, the more nervous the other guests became.
Finally, it dawned on the host, who proclaimed to the gathering: “Relax, everyone! The Knight is Jung!”
HAVEN’T HAD ENOUGH?
[ Photo credits: my thanks to Pixabay in general, and for specific images above, Hyena = Elli Stattaus/Elli60 . . . gangster = Vitabello . . . caparisoned steeds = Parker West . . . mouse coffin = Shutterbug75 . . . and knight = Manfred Richter ]
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