Curmudgeon on Naval Signal Flags

How Naval Signal Flags Were Invented

The Bosun's Bustiere

Encompassing a Tale of Wooden Ships, Iron Men, and Scandalous Undergarments, and Other Divers Matters of Interest to Gentlemen of Refined Discernment and Ladies of Gentle Breeding. Or Not.

By Curmudgeon

Avast, ye swabbies. If I recollect, I promised to tell you true story of how naval signal flags were invented, way back when I was a struggling young writer and nautical person. Our story begins with the Crusades, which some of you may recall from your 7th grade social studies class was an epic battle between the forces of Christianity and the forces of the burgeoning Muslim empire. (Always wanted to use burgeoning in a sentence. Have no idea what it means, but it looks great and sounds musical to the ear.)

What you may not remember was how those Crusades actually got started. Allow me to refresh your memories. The Crusades were the sorry brainchild of the idiot younger son of well-to-do French nobleman and diplomat/spymaster named Giorgio H. W. de Beaushois, Duke of Cannes-n'est B'unc'port. The idiot child, also named Giorgio (in full, Giorgio Dubois-Aux de Beaushois), an indolent youth and wastrel, eventually inherited his father's mantle (and his wick, and in fact the entire lantern), but disdained it, claiming that being the scion of a French noble was too snooty, so he moved to Italy, which he conceived of as being more "down to terra." (This was nonsense, of course, but people tended to humor the young wastrel and mountebank, since he was filthy rich and being dumb as a il stumpo, he was easy to suck up to.) "Dubois-Aux," as he was known, even pretended to join the Knights Templar, but instead of reporting for sword training in Arromanche, he spent most of his time in neighboring Spain aiding the Inquisition and getting looped on calvados.

[Etymological interlude: Linguists familiar with American slang from the Depression Era may recognize the similarities between Giorgio Beaushois's last name and the phrase, "bushwa," which means nonsense, bullhockey, or words even less pleasant. Some etymologists claim the origin of the word bushwa is uncertain, while others suggest it is a corruption of the word bourgeois. I respectfully suggest that the origin of both bushwa and bourgeois lie buried in our own tale of the wastrel son of the Duke of Cannes n'est B'unc'port, a boor if ever there was one]

Back to our tale. After he moved to Padua, Italy, Dubois-Aux bought himself a bocce ball team, and managed it for a few years until he grew bored and ran out of grappa. Being a wastrel, mountebank, charlatan and failed bocce ball manager, Dubois-Aux came up with the idea that he'd make a pretty durn good pope and Vicar of Rome (this was during the dark days of the Church, when it went through a string of pontiffs who were, to put it politely and no offense to any present-day Catholics, a long line of wastrels, mountebanks, charlatans and scoundrels like the Borgia and de Medici clans). So Dubois-Aux purchased himself an archdiocese equipped with a cardinal franchise and after a couple of years doing the cardinal and archbishop thang got himself elected pope.

(I know it all sounds really hard to believe in these modern times that the wastrel/mountebank son of a snooty nobleman could use shallow religious cover and his father's influence and reputation to get elected to the highest office in all Christendom, but I swear it really happened! People were so much more gullible back then.)

One day Pope Dubois-Aux heard a rumor that some Moslems (as they were called back then) in the Holy Land under a dude named Saladdin were trying to develop a powerful secret weapon called Greek Fire. Greek Fire was a very famous weapon during the medieval period and earlier, and was supposedly made of pitch and some secret ingredients, and when you ignited it and then poured water on it, the flames got much stronger and more intense. According to rumor, Saladdin had even sent emissaries to darkest Africa in hopes of purchasing pitch, but that rumor turned out to be...er...bushwa. Nevertheless, Pope Dubois-Aux feared that if Saladdin actually achieved Greek Fire, the Moslems would invade European Catholic Churches during High Mass and destroy all the psalmistries, catechism workbooks, bibles, songbooks, collection envelopes, and other highly flammable parchment documents. So Pope Dubois-Aux knew he had to prevent Saladdin from acquiring this weapon of Mass destruction. Accordingly Pope Dubois-Aux launched the Crusades, and claimed he was doing it for the good of the Moslem people, who needed to be taught the benefits of Feudalism and Serfdom, and the many superior aspects of medieval European culture, such as burning witches at the stake, demonic possession, purchasing tithes and favors from the Church, alchemy and astrology and other "hard" sciences, eating with both hands, not just the one, use of the Iron Maiden and the rack to insure equal justice under the law, and how to make beer.

Pope Dubois-Aux chose as his principle military advisor the Duke D'allon (a distant relative of modern French actor Alain Delon, as it happens; check with Loomis for chapter and verse on the genealogy) who happened to be Marchal of France, as well as a highly regarded part-time exorcist. His most famous case of exorcism occurred when he was brought in to cure the Doge of Venice of demonic possession. [Doge is pronounced dojzh.] It seems the Doge suffered under the delusion that the air temperature was always below freezing, even on the hottest summer days, and this delusion was caused by demonic possession. To remedy this perception, the Doge went about Venice with dozens of hot-water bottles (bouillette, en Francais) strapped to his body. This of course raised his internal body temperatures to the point where the Doge was constantly in a feverish state. The Duke D'Allon was brought in to conduct the exorcism, during which he spoke directly to the demons, and it was during this cure that Marchal D'Allon uttered those famous words, "Get the Hell out of Doge!" At first, this didn't seem to work, and the Doge's demons, enraged, forced the Doge to hurl the scalding hot-water bottles at the Marchal, which of course became known in Catholic Church exorcism vernacular as Doging a bouillette.

This was the high-water (and, one supposes, also the hot water) mark of the career of the Marchal of France, who failed to send enough troops to the Holy Land to capture Jerusalem(there were also complaints of insufficient armor). As a result, the Crusades, as we now know, didn't go at all as planned. Initially there was just supposed to be the one Crusade, a one-shot, one-time invasion of the Holy Land and its quick conversion of the Moslem people to the manifold joys of Feudalism, Serfdom and subjugation by a Vatican bishop named Allez-Bertone. A couple hundred thousand of the best knights, nobles, and squires in Christendom, a couple of weeks of shock and awe, and quick as you can say, "Playyyyyyy bocce balllllll!" it'd be all over.

And as we now also know, Saladdin had no Greek Fire. Oh sure, he talked about acquiring Greek Fire. He told people he had Greek Fire. He even used something rumored to be Greek Fire to torch some of his own people's villages from time to time, but that weapon was just ordinary Captain Morgan's rum laced with some sperm whale oil. In short, no weapon of Mass destruction.
.
If Saladdin lacked Greek Fire, Pope Dubois-Aux lacked an exit strategy. And what Saladdin lacked in Greek Fire he had something else in spades: Moslem warriors. After quickly capturing Jerusalem and finding no evidence of Greek Fire, Pope Dubois-Aux found his Crusaders were bogged down in a long quagmire of attrition. It was the bocce ball team fiasco all over again.Pope Dubois-Aux had made things worse in the Holy Land, not better, but he wouldn't admit it, having Papal Infallibility and whatnot. The so-called First Crusade led to the Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, etc., etc. Crusades. Toward the end, one of those Crusades actually involved the forced draft of children, beggars, societal dregs, etc., since Europe had pretty much run out of noble persons and other people of quality and stupitude.

Fast forward a couple of centuries, to when I was a struggling young reporter on the Moor Street Journal, a financial rag out of Alhambra, Spain. You can call me Ishmael. Whenever I found myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it was a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I found myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I met; and especially whenever my ill humors got such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off -- then, I account it high time to I got to sea as soon as I could. (Journalistic plagiarism not being such a big deal back then, like it is now. Picky, picky, picky.) At any rate, having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. So I found a ship and sailed for some years about the Mediterranean, seeing the sights, filing newspaper stories whenever we hit port, and generally doing the whole Jack London/Joe Conrad/Hermie Melville thing (though of course I did it first, and those guys copycatted me). During the long voyages I happened to write a couple of books, which you probably never heard of. First, before I had learned very much nautical terminology, there was "Two Years Before the Tall StickThing That Holds Up the Big Sheets." Not a bestseller, tis book was quickly remaindered, alas. Then there was a book about a couple of huge typhoons that slam together and drown the crew of a fishing boat. Unfortunately, the printer I hired had dyslexia, and when the book came out it was titled "The Prefect Strom." Also not a big seller, and I blame the printer entirely. I wrote an adventure story that I thought had promise, about pirates and a search for buried treasure, but I just couldn't come up with a catchy title. I tried every variation I could think of: "Treasure Peninsula." "Treasure Archipelego." "Treasure Isthmus." Nothing worked. Finally, I gave it up and put it in a desk drawer and forgot about it. When your Muse has a bad case of PMS, the best thing to do is just try to ride it out, I've found.

Hoping to change my luck, I switched ships, and this time embarked on a Allez-Bertone-owned whalerout of Rotterdam, called the Vondrehle.Europeans were still trying to find the secret to Greek Fire, and so whale oil was a prized (potential) ingredient, as I mentioned. The whaler I shipped out on had a pretty strange captain, a man who was obsessed by a rare gargantuan sea creature, a Leviathan of legend. Yes, I speak of the famous Hairy Whale. Now, as you may know, whales are mammals, and as such possess the same characteristics of all other species of mammals: warm blood, they produce milk to nurse their young, and so on. One trait of all mammals is that they have hair, and cetaceans are no different. For most whales, though, the hair is extremely short and almost non-existent, but in fact it is there, as any marine biologist will tell you. However, there is one species of whale that is a bit different: the Hairy Whale. This creature has long flowing hair that grows over most of its body, and trails behind it like seaweed.

(In fact, the sight of small adolescent Hairy Whales trailing their long tresses as they moved through the water gave rise to the legend of mermaids, sea creatures that were half woman and half fish, with long tresses. I've often wondered what would have happened if the creators of the mermaid myth had gotten the halves mixed up, with an upper body that looked like a giant grouper and a lower half that had a nice firm cheerleader's tuchis and a fine pair of gams. That Walt Disney movie would be a helluva lot different, that's for sure.)

(There's also some reason to believe it was a large Hairy Whale that gave rise to the Scottish legend of the famous Dreadlockness Monster, but that's a story for another day.)

At any rate, I digress. Our captain was obsessed with one particular Hairy Whale, a large brunette. By the time I came aboard, the captain and his crew had been chasing that whale all over the Mediterranean, the Atlantic, down the coast of Africa, and into the Indian Ocean, and back again. (Columbus had yet to cross the Atlantic, so we were a bit limited in where we chased the whale. And if you think chasing whales is a tough business, just imagine trying to do it without leaving the sight of land behind you, or sailing over the edge of the world. It really cramps your style.) Years became decades, and still we pursued the brunette hairy whale, and still he eluded us. Whenever we bespoke another ship, our captain would ask if they'd seen a giant hairy brunette whale. One evening we spoke a Dutch galleon off Madagascar, who replied that they'd seen a giant hairy whale in the Mozambique Channel a few months earlier, but its hair had been gray, not brunette. And the whale was not just big--it was fat. Really fat. Really, really fat. We're talking major obese. In fact, we'd spent so many years chasing this whale that it had aged considerably, and as happens with many other members of the animal kingdom, it had developed middle-aged spread, it its hair color lacked the luster it once had. If any creature lurking off L'Orient needed L'Oreal, it was that whale.

Of course, the major consequence of that whale getting so old and so fat was that it got slow,and tended to forget where it was going or what it was supposed to be doing. Instead of romping and sounding and rising and splashing its mighty flukes, it just wallowed along. It became so slow and so big that for a few years it had three palm trees growing on its back, and managed to escape detection on two occasions by looking like the isle of Capri. Eventually, though, even our rather incompetent captain managed to finds and catch the slow-moving behemoth of the deep a few miles off the Isle of Wight. It was a banyan day aboard ship, a make-and-mend day when normal duties were minimized so the crew could do laundry, mend clothes and make new ones, and so one. The big wash tubs were out on deck and laundry was everywhere. When the whale was spotted, everyone dropped what they were doing and ran to their whaling stations. We sent out our longboats with men who harpooned the great creature, which wasn't difficult since it wasn't even moving, nor even awake. It had been taking an afternoon nap, and our longboats managed to sneak up on it close enough to hear its pathetic snoring. The crews didn't harpoon the whale so much as they gently skewered it like a lamp kabob, and silently towed it back to the ship, thinking it was dead. The beast was so large it took several hours to tow the thing three hundred yards to the ship, but finally it was done, and the supposed corpse was lashed to the ship, so crews with long flensing knives could start dismembering all the blubber. Alas, they were mistaken. The giant creature was not dead, but still only napping. The men started cutting through the long strands of gray hair that covered the whale, though in patches, since the beast had several bald spots here and there, and a receding hairline at its noble brow, along with some pretty serious dandruff and a couple of square yards of eczema. As they began to cut through the outer layers of blubber, though, the Leviathan woke up and realized what was happening to it. It opened one of its giant blue eyes, looked up into the face of our gloating captain, and realized it was hopelessly tied to the ship. Unable to move or fight back in traditional ways, that wise old Leviathan chose the one and only method of escape that just might work. Yes, it chose the stratagem of crafty geriatrics everywhere, a cetaceous variation of that old game known among whales as (yes, you guessed it) "Pull My Fluke."

Let me tell you, that whale let out a mighty blast of flatulence from its nether quarters that was so strong and so lethal that half our crew were instantly killed. The intestinal disruption was so powerful that it shook our vessel, shredding oakum caulking and opening up seams from the stern to the main mast step in the deepest part of the bilge. As it happened, our two Chinese cooks, brothers named Wong, had the cooking vats on deck with the fires lit under them, ready to start receiving the blubber, and I don't need to tell you what happened when the cloud of deadly flatulence reached those open fires.

Fortune was smiling on me, for at the moment all this occurred I had gone to the head up in the bow of the ship, and was taking my leisure with a copy of Bocce Ball Digest (at that point in my naval career I had worked my way to to the position of laundry and morale officer) when I heard the blast of flatulence, heard the screams of dying men, and a split second later the "whoooooomppppppp" sound as the flatulence reached the flames and a giant fireball consumed the entire after portion of the vessel. O the horror! the horror!

E'en with my pantaloons about my ankles, the force of the blast threw me nearly fifty yards clear of the ship, thus saving my young life. When I came back up to the surface of the sea and pulled my britches up--I never saw that issue of Bocce Ball Digest ever again, and never finished reading the Spring Training Scouting Reports--I turned back to look at the nautical holocaust that had been my ship, my home upon the bounding waves. The giant whale was dead, smited by the concussive force of its own ignited inner turmoil, and my ship even more so nearly consumed in flames and with a vast hole rent in her starboard side. With the corpse of the whale still firmly lashed to her side, the ship and the whale together rolled over and slipped beneath the waves. As she sank there was a terrible hissing sound as the fires were suddenly extinguished, and the ship and whale disappeared forever.

Since we had been only a few miles off the Isle of Wight, I suspected we had been in fairly shallow water, and I was right. The shattered hull and the shattered Leviathan together settled on the sea bottom, leaving about 20 feet of the top of the main mast, and shorter sections of the foremast and mizzenmast above water. I began to swim toward them. The face of the sea was littered with the flotsam and jetsam of our wreckage, and I soon discovered that there were only three survivors of the disaster: myself, and our two Chinese cooks. Among the flotsam (or perhaps it was jetsam; I can never keep them straight) was a coffin. You may remember that in the paragraph where I introduced myself as Ishmael (a biblical reference; I'm clueless about what it means, though--some guy in Leviticum or Deuterectomy, I suppose) I coyly mentioned a coffin warehouse. Well, that was foreshadowing of the coffin floating in our wreckage--a technique I learned at the Iowa Writers Workshop, so you know it must be Fraught With Meaning and possibly Symbolism and Profunditude. We writers like to do that sort of thing.

So anyway, there was this floating coffin. This seemed to be our salvation, but there was a problem: it was only big enough to support two people. The Chinese cooks got to it first, flipped me the bird, and set off paddling for shore. But I didn't mind; I knew something they didn't know: two Wongs don't make it to Wight. They were never seen again. I am alone survived to tell the tale.

So there I was, clinging to a telephone pole sticking out of the ocean and surrounded by wreckage and litter. I hoped that someone on shore had seen the giant fireball and heard the explosion and would sail out to investigate, but after clinging to that mast for two days I began to despair. I began to realize that anyone on shore looking out to sea would just see (barely) a couple of masts sticking up, and would assume most of the ship was just below the horizon, so no big deal. I also realized Galileo hadn't even been born yet, and so there was no such thing as a telescope.

It dawned on me that I needed some way to attract the attention of those on shore. I looked about me, and espied atop the bounty the dregs and debris of our ship and my deceased shipmates. Among the flotsam was clothing of all sorts--the half-finished laundry and tailoring work that had been abandoned when we'd spotted the whale. I began to swim around collecting the garments and bringing them back to the mast.

Before long I had a collection of shirts and pants, to say nothing of an assortment of scandalous undergarments (whalers spend long periods of time at sea, and ... well...
there's nothing that says a man can't appreciate something sensuous against his skin when he's pumping the bilge, walking the capstan 'round, or flensing thick strips of blubber off mighty cetaceans). There were clothes of all different sizes and colors and patterns, many rough and homespun, but many a little more...frilly. Among all the clothes were a very large number of cummerbunds. Many were my own, as you might imagine, but many others belonged to other members of the crew, cummerbunds being a very popular clothing accessory in the 14th century. They were red, gray, white, black, Navy blue, and several shades of plaid, including a rather handsome Black Watch tartan that I'm quite fond of and that I sometimes wear with my orange sporange (take that, Weingarten!).

I'm sure by now you've guessed what my plan was--to hang bits of clothing from the rigging in order tom signal people ashore. The rope that runs from the top of the mainmast mto the top of the other two masts is called the triatic stay, and from this noble strand of twisted hemp I hung bits of clothes and my desperate hopes for rescue and survival. My first effort was to simply hang clothing in whatever pattern came to hand. When I was done, I looked toward the far distant shore, and lo and behold, I thought perhaps in the shrouded I mist I imagined I saw someone one strolling along the beach, but the distance was so great I couldn't be sure. But after several hours no rescue came, and I grew discouraged. I took down all the laundry, and put it back up again, this time in a pattern: I shaped them in the form of the letters "SOS" by cleverly using white cummerbunds as kind of invisible straps to help form the letters. I perceived that now there might be three or four people on the far distant beach and staring out to sea...but still no solace came my way. It then occurred to me that since the message SOS wasn't really invented until after the Titanic went down in 1912, it had been rather silly of me to use those letters in my code signal. This I attributed to still being in a state of shock.

When the sun rose the next morning, I had taken down the entire string of clothes and put up a new line, which said, "HELP." I looked shoreward, and in my fevered mind imagined that I saw a small crowd of several dozen people on the strand. Some were standing and looking out to sea in my direction, while others seemed to be reclining in beach chairs as their children played nearby in the surf. I imagined, too, that several food vendors were working the crowd, selling bangers and mashed and fish and chips. I was starting to get ticked off.

Still no rescue boat, and by mid-morning I'd had enough. I took down the "HELP" signal and put up a new string. This one spelled out, "Com & get me, you sily twits" (I lacked enough clothing and space to fully spell out everything, and I'd spent 20 minutes inventing the ampersand just to replace the word "and." For my troubles and creativity I got what looked like a standing round of applause from the onlookers on shore.

This clearly wasn't working out the way I'd imagined it should. I took down the message and pondered my next move. On shore there now appeared to be a large crowd of several hundred people. Tents and cabanas had been set up, and more food vendors worked the crowds as children ran along the waterline flying kits and skipping clamshells. Oh, it was a right jolly time they were having, the blighters. I was livid. Finally I put up my new message. I used nothing but red cummerbunds to spell it out, and when I was done this is what it said: "No More Areosmith, Please."

Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe it was the mooing of some forlorn seacows. Perhaps it was the mating call of a right whale. But whatever it was, it sounded to me like I was receiving a round of boo's and rude catcalls. So I put up "Bravo Zulu." On shore the crowd grew quiet, and several appeared to look at each other and shrug their shoulders, "What the Sam Hill's Bravo Zulu mean?" So I put up "Attaboy, Bubba." The response was more catcalls, and I thought the plaintive cry, "'ho's this Bubba when 'e's at 'ome, then?" came wafting over the water.

My next signal read, "Get out of my way, ferret face," but I confess I held very little hope for it before I'd gotten halfway through "ferret." There was now nearly a thousand people on shore, and from them came the unanimous response: puzzlement. Clearly there was some cognitive dissonance going on here.

I had despaired of ever communicating with these people, and so in one last and admittedly vainglorious attempt to wrest the coveted Dennis Miller Obscure Reference Gold Star away from a fellow boodler, I created athree-part homage to Barbara Tuchman's book "A Distant Mirror," to a fellow boodler's favorite Hispano-Cajun snack food*, and to Bob Marley. It took me a few minutes to work it all out, but I finally raised the message up: "Enguerrand expects that every mon will do his duty."**

*Tuchman's book discusses not only Enguerrand, but also the Hispano-Cajun snack food, which of course is the famed Bayou tapas tray.
** James Joyce considered using this obscure reference in "Finnegan's Wake," but then decided, "Feh." He did, however, produce his own homage to Brittney Molly Smith and Monica Lewinski in naming one of the major characters in "Ulysses."

My Dennis Milleresque homage was met on shore with complete, utter silence.

Right about this time, a wooden box floated by, and I recognized it as being the container the two Chinese cooks kept their supply of rockets and fireworks in. I swan out to it and brought it back to the mast, where I carefully opened it, making sure to keep the gently lapping waves out of it. Sure enough there were two or three dozen Roman candles in it, and a couple pieces of flint to use to create sparks. With shaking hands I picked up the flints to examine them. What happened next I ascribe to my weakened state. I inadvertently struck two flints together, and the resulting spark surprised me so much that I dropped the flints into the box. Big mistake. That lone rogue spark landed on a piece of fuse, and next thing I knew a Roman candle shot out of the box, followed by another and another. Before long everything in the box had launched itself and fired skyward. Most managed to miss all the clothes hanging from the triatic stay, but a few rockets surged right into them setting the whole string of garments ablaze. There were flaming cummerbunds raining down on me, burning shirts, torched undergarments, and at least two flaming bustieres, one of them a rather sheer little number I'd never seen before the disaster but which I suspected belonged to the bosun, who'd always been a rather saucy tart.

Disheartened to the core and with my face stained and smeared black with the powder residue of the rockets, I watched the last of the clothing burn and fall into the water when the triatic stay finally burned through and dropped. I looked shoreward, and saw what looked like thousands of people applauding. And after a while they began to drift away in the twilight. After a while there were only a few old beachcombers left, none of them looking my way anymore, when I spotted an old fisherman who'd launched a dory through the surf and was rowing out to sea.

With rapidly beating heart I watched the old salt approach. My savior! The old man rowed out to the masts and when he was but a few yards away he upped oars and drifted over to me.

"So," he says, calmly lighting a pipe.

"So," I said.

"That be the finale, then, wor' it?" he asked.

"Aye," I said. "Guess so."

The old salt looked seaward again for a moment and then said, "'Tweren't as good as Guy Fawks Night."

"No," says I. "I suppose not."

He took a long pull on his pipe and exhaled a blue cloud. "Nuffing more to see 'ere, then."

"No, nothing," I said.

"Right, then," he says. "Nuffing more ta see 'ere. Best be movin' along, then." He lowered the oars into the water, and then looked at me.

There was a long pause. "What?" I said.

"You comin', or you wanna spend another night out here?"

Â· * * *

I eventually wrote a book about my whaling cruise and the wreck of our ship, as well you might guess. I'd had such a poor experience with the typesetter who'd printed "The Prefect Strom" for me that I shopped around for a new printer. I eventually settled on this young whippersnapper from Germany, Johannes Guten-something. Seemed to know his business pretty well, and claimed to have invented some new way of making books. Claimed he had some sort of movable type thing and didn't need to copy books by hand. Even claimed he had a fellah working for him named Aldus Manutius, from Bassiano, Italy, who had even invented a new typeface called "italics," after his native Italy. [Memo to Joel to pass on to Hal the Schemer: Hey, Hal, think we could get some *%#@*&%$ italics around here? It's only been around FOR 500 FREAKIN' YEARS. Thank you for your prompt attention to this request]

[Mountebank.]

Sorry to have interrupted the flow of my narrative. I wrote my book in English, French and German, hoping for the widest possible audience. In Gutenwhatzzisname's print shop, though, a terrible accident occurred, and the title page of my book came out all garbled with a mixture of languages and some missing words (I KNEW I should have hired a proofreader!). This is how it read when Gutenwhattsitz and Manutius re-assembled it:

Moi bei dich

or,

Le surge fur le Grayed, Wide Whale

BeiMitzi Fleeberhoffen, Falleskirchen

I need hardly tell you what happened next. The book was remaindered late the next afternoon.

--Curmudgeon

By Joel Achenbach | April 20, 2006; 10:37 AM ET

Save & Share: Previous: Lessons of 4/18/1906 and 9/11/2001
Next: Gore in 2008?

Comments

I will consult with the lawyers about whether we will cut you in on the profits from this thing. But we own it now. And its application to future technologies not yet invented or envisioned. In perpetuity.

Posted by: Achenbach | April 20, 2006 10:46 AM | Report abuse

Yay! Good job, 'Mudge!

Now, if you could get started on interpreting the George Will quote I posted one Kit back...

Posted by: jw | April 20, 2006 10:49 AM | Report abuse

Sorry, see you already did. Well, that certainly clears things up.

Posted by: jw | April 20, 2006 10:51 AM | Report abuse

This explains the French Revolution reference, I guess. Apres Joel, le deluge.

I have taken the liberty of reviewing the contractual provisions forwarded to Curmudgeon on his behalf, and while most of it seems in order, I think we may take issue with the reference to "the boot smashing his face, forever", clause.

Posted by: SonofCarl | April 20, 2006 10:57 AM | Report abuse

Very clever Mudge, and worthy of multiple readings. Perhaps after a stout draught of grog. Or two.

Posted by: RD Padouk | April 20, 2006 11:07 AM | Report abuse

Congratulations, 'mudge -- you've transcended the 'boodle and are now a Kitter. This is a first. (Will you still visit us down below?)

Posted by: Achenfan | April 20, 2006 11:11 AM | Report abuse

A masterpiece.

My eyes are watering with tears of laughter. Now I need to find the annotated version that explains all the Dennis Miller league allusions that I didn't get.

Posted by: yellojkt | April 20, 2006 11:13 AM | Report abuse

Just a little nitpicky edit:
You left the "e" off of "diverse" in the title.

Posted by: pls | April 20, 2006 11:15 AM | Report abuse

Thank you for that, it made my day.

Posted by: dmd | April 20, 2006 11:15 AM | Report abuse

Congratulations, Cummberbuns!

Colloqually, I refer to the latter Giorgio as "Du-Deux".

I observed a misspelling in the Kit; if the spelling is intentional, please do not reconsider yor opinion of me as an idiot.

"Aerosmith".

Still laughing here.

Posted by: bc | April 20, 2006 11:17 AM | Report abuse

Will I still visit the boodle, Achenfan? Of course. I just want to thank all the little people who helped make this possible: Herve Villachaize, Mickey Rooney, Johnny Puleo and the Harmonicats, Verne Troyer.

(Hey, I'm allowed to make short jokes. You tall people can't, but I can.)

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 11:18 AM | Report abuse

I assumed that the word "Divers" was intentional in a nautical based Kit.

Posted by: bc | April 20, 2006 11:19 AM | Report abuse

bc -

Duh, I'm sure you're right. :-)

I'm still reading all of it...

Posted by: pls | April 20, 2006 11:22 AM | Report abuse

As it happens, "divers" was spelled that way once upon a time, so it is correct. But I did indeed mess up Aerosmith, and there are a couple of other typos in there, too. I abase myself and cast ashes upon my head (VERY biblical). (And I told you no one can successfully copy edit themselves.)

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 11:22 AM | Report abuse

Mudge, may I also offer my praises! That was brilliant, even tho' I too did not get all the references - being a relative newcomer here. You are a very talented man, but then we already knew that. Bravo!

Posted by: Bad Sneakers | April 20, 2006 11:23 AM | Report abuse

You are giving this blog a bad name. We already had bad names for it, so you are really wasting your time.

Posted by: WhatHaveYouDoneWithAchen | April 20, 2006 11:26 AM | Report abuse

Reminder:

"For any content that you post, you hereby grant to washingtonpost.com the royalty-free, irrevocable, perpetual, exclusive and fully sublicensable license to use, reproduce, modify, adapt, publish, translate, create derivative works from, distribute, perform and display such content in whole or in part, world-wide and to incorporate it in other works, in any form, media or technology now known or later developed."

This includes the movie rights.

Posted by: Achenbach | April 20, 2006 11:26 AM | Report abuse

Bravo Zulu, Curmudgeon! An instant classic.

Posted by: SonofCarl | April 20, 2006 11:28 AM | Report abuse

My father was a union organizer for awhile. He said that the standard management tactic to stop a labor insurrection was to find the ringleaders, and promote them to management positions.

Of course, if they turned down the promotion, then management thugs would beat them senseless in the parking lot.

Great story, though.

Posted by: Dooley | April 20, 2006 11:30 AM | Report abuse

Bravo!

Posted by: Bayou Self | April 20, 2006 11:30 AM | Report abuse

Okay, time to get your medications adjusted....

Posted by: Kate | April 20, 2006 11:31 AM | Report abuse

Just got a call from Cliff Notes...we were in negotiations, until the WaPo lawyers got into the act. They claim "Mitzi Fleeberhoffen" is a wholly-owned subsidiary of WaPo Corp, or some such, and that they own all subsidiary rights thereto and forthwithnotstandingapertaining thereto.

It's not looking good.

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 11:31 AM | Report abuse

Mudge, it you have not read Neal Stephenson's "Baroque Cycle", I heartily recommend it to you.

It's really right up your alley.

Posted by: bc | April 20, 2006 11:34 AM | Report abuse

But Joel, you posted it, not 'Mudge. It's a Kit not a Boodle. Mudge never hit submit or opened the shrinkwrap or whatever triggers consent to the Washingtonfaust.com terms of service.

I think we have a loophole here.

Posted by: yellojkt | April 20, 2006 11:35 AM | Report abuse

What I really want to know is does this qualify you for a parking spot?

Posted by: dr | April 20, 2006 11:35 AM | Report abuse

Wow. I came across a copy of "Baroque Cycle" today, never having heard of it before. And there it is.
Strange phenomena abound.

Posted by: Dreamer | April 20, 2006 11:40 AM | Report abuse

Actually, they told me I could have a parking spot, which was very generous of them. But I have no idea how I'm going to squeeze that big darn Metro bus into it.

Qu'elle dommage.

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 11:42 AM | Report abuse

We ought to at least send Mudge some kind of door prize. Like, you know, a bumper sticker or a Carbucks mug. Keychain. Paperweight. No, wait: A screen-scraper!!!!

Posted by: Achenbach | April 20, 2006 11:42 AM | Report abuse

...I was hoping for a "Girls Gone Wild" DVD...

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 11:46 AM | Report abuse

Hey, I don't have time to read this! Now I gotta wait until I get home and read it. Thanks a lot, Mudge! Looks very good, though. Congrats and Cheers.

Posted by: CowTown | April 20, 2006 11:48 AM | Report abuse

Other ideas: A date with the full rules committee (with an autographed copy of Clause 3) or maybe a lifetime supply of umbrage.

Posted by: SonofCarl | April 20, 2006 11:49 AM | Report abuse

joel, you have absolutely no shame - congratulations

Posted by: steve | April 20, 2006 11:50 AM | Report abuse

That was very perky!!!

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 20, 2006 11:51 AM | Report abuse

Oh wait, I know! Whoever makes it to 'kit status' gets mo's Frazetta statue as an immunity idol from having a post removed!

Posted by: SonofCarl | April 20, 2006 11:53 AM | Report abuse

Very well done, Mr. Curmudgeon.

Posted by: The Admiral | April 20, 2006 11:54 AM | Report abuse

Wait -- isn't getting his own Kit its own reward? He needs a door prize as well?
Oy.

[I do apologize. I accidentally got myself into what-are-the-rest-of-us-chopped-liver mode, and now I can't seem to stop.]

Posted by: Achenfan | April 20, 2006 11:55 AM | Report abuse

Oh, crap. I've just been sued by Dan Brown AND Michael Baigent and Richard Leigh.

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 11:56 AM | Report abuse

'Mudge;

Bravo freakin' Zulu, but you forgot one leeeetle detail:

There was also the matter of the little sea shanty the crew was singing before they spotted the beastie...

"Men, men, men
It's a ship all filled with Men
So batten down the Ladies' Room
There's no one here but Men"

Etc.

:-)

Posted by: Scottynuke | April 20, 2006 11:57 AM | Report abuse

A tiny little suggestion, Mudge. It could have use, somewhere in there, the phrase: "It was a colorful time ..."

Posted by: Bayou Self | April 20, 2006 12:04 PM | Report abuse

Cur, Please just work on publication, and tip us off. I think "A Curmudgeon" would make a good pen name.

IMO You're wasting your logorrheic talents by not even trying to keep copyrights on your work. That was practically a full novella that Joel posted for you.

A little editing, a couple aliens or fanasty creatures, and you have a perfect Avram Davidisonsque story for a sci-fanasty mag.

As it stands, it probably will earn a good place in "Knitted nets & Garters: Whaling for Men" magazine, which I plan to start up next week.

The only thing delaying publication is the need for authentic models for the cover. Let me find some fishermen who can model those garments for the cover that fits in the high heels and garters I have.
FYI, all applicants must bring their own slickers to the shoot, I don't do whale blubber stains in my closet.

Now quickly wrestle away that copyright, and I'll charge you 25 cents for accepting you pathetic parody and putting it right next to the centerfold of the Morton's Fisherman in the Victoria Secret's latest negilee... prime terriority, I tell you. For 25 cents more, I'll title the centerfold with your byline.

Of course, I won't judge why you continually distribute your talent for free on this blog.

I assume Joel must know the address of your e-mail and all 10 of your ex-mistresses, or something like that.

Ave, Mudge.

Posted by: Wilbrod | April 20, 2006 12:07 PM | Report abuse

Wasn't Giorgio Du-Deux also one of the few Persons of Considerable Familial Resources to lose money in olive oil?

Posted by: bc | April 20, 2006 12:09 PM | Report abuse

That was just swell!

Already, I can envision the title of Curmudgeon's forthcoming super-lengthy memoirs: "Millennium of Flatulence". Perhaps Weingarten could call up his connections and get Dr. Aas to write a jacket blurb. Or maybe the guy who figured out how to measure the composition of intestinal gases.

A few typos, here and there. I coped. I'm tough.

It took me a while to figure out Allez-Bertone. I feel so stoopid. Marchal D'Allon, too. The Italian italicist still has me puzzled.

Posted by: StorytellerTim | April 20, 2006 12:11 PM | Report abuse

Hey, Curmudgeon, that was great! (this is a comment)

I will be back later after I analyze, and even challenge, your work.

Posted by: nellie | April 20, 2006 12:12 PM | Report abuse

Mudge, just remember that this is coming from a female who is old enough to remember the concept.

What you need to fit a too large object into a small space such as the bus into a parking spot is a girdle circa 1955. Surely somewhere in the previously kitted historical recounting you came across one. Not the namby pamby 'bustier', or any such filmy garments which may or may not have been referred to above, usually noted as lingerie, but an honest to goodness, elastic encasing garment meant to squeeze the unsqueezable into any desired size.

Posted by: dr | April 20, 2006 12:16 PM | Report abuse

Thank you, thank you Mudge, for starting me off with a great laugh!

What happened to the Great, Old, Grey, Balding, Excema-Riddled, Bowel-Disordered, Hairy Whale?

Surely after suffering such indignity as being lashed to a ship by foolish men, and exacting a mighty revenge, he got to live the rest of his geriatric life in flatulent peace?

Whatever did happen to Pope Dubois-Aux? Was he de-poped by a righteous anger from the people -- I bet they allowed him to stay in the Pope-Bubble -- a prototype of the Pope-Mobile.

Posted by: nelson | April 20, 2006 12:20 PM | Report abuse

Does anyone know who met with Bush at the White House today?

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 20, 2006 12:20 PM | Report abuse

dr: ...and they were made out of whalebone!!! It's the whole "circle of life thing!!"

*Footnote. I may have seriously misled you all. Aldus Minutius was an early typographer who really did invent italics. There was no joke involved. It was actual history. Nothing more to see here. Let's move along, please.

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 12:21 PM | Report abuse

Truly one of the finest shaggy/Doge stories I have read.

You might just have joined Joel on my own personal authors list -- "World's Finest Bathroom reading for the Overeducated".

Posted by: fizz | April 20, 2006 12:23 PM | Report abuse

Hu?

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 12:24 PM | Report abuse

dr -- theeyy'rre back! Girdles, I mean.

Tight spandex ones with boning. Whole body slips boned to a fare-thee-well.

The amazing things humans can do with modern fabrics.

Posted by: nelson | April 20, 2006 12:24 PM | Report abuse

Mudge, what if the Post and Joel win "THE AWARD" for this???

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 20, 2006 12:27 PM | Report abuse

You Hu?

I always though you were 'Mudge...

Posted by: Scottynuke | April 20, 2006 12:27 PM | Report abuse

"An Essay Upon the Impact of World Events Upon Inner-City Nomenclature, Most Particularly The Effects of Bush Administration's Policies in Iraq..."

Not written by me, but I thought this was interesting.

http://www.deadbrain.com/news/article_2004_07_13_3131.php

"Gaza Louise Washington, _ma petit chou_, the world shall be your oyster!"

(Of course, it'll be polluted, grimy, nasty, and full of disease, but what the hey... it's yours.)

Posted by: Wilbrod | April 20, 2006 12:27 PM | Report abuse

Yeah, that's what I needed to know. Hu's on first.

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 20, 2006 12:28 PM | Report abuse

Dolphin Michael asked about Bush's appointment schedule today.

Hu met with Bush.

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 12:29 PM | Report abuse

I Booo'd. Sorry, DolphinMichael.

Posted by: Curmudegon | April 20, 2006 12:30 PM | Report abuse

ScottyNuke...

Hu's at the White House with Bush. Wot's on second, and I don't know is on third.

Or maybe the point is who's at the white house, and Hu's in China.

Posted by: Wilbrod | April 20, 2006 12:31 PM | Report abuse

Wilbrod,
I think Hu's in the kitchen with Dinah?

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 20, 2006 12:34 PM | Report abuse

Oh my god. I'm not making this up. The ads at the bottom of the page are for "Turkish Gulets (charter your own private crewed boat, fantastic food and sailing)," "Pirates Clothes," and (and this one is the killer killer killer): "Accountability speaker."

I'm ROTFLAMAO.

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 12:39 PM | Report abuse

You're right, Hu's Shore is.

Even though that makes no sense.

Is Greasy Joan kneeling the pot in the kitchen, too?

Posted by: Wilbrod | April 20, 2006 12:40 PM | Report abuse

Maybe John G. Miller, from the ad should drop by the White House. Hu knows?

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 20, 2006 12:43 PM | Report abuse

My ads are currently:

Maui Schooner and Hawaii Timeshare deals. Okay... but why the third one: Clerical Sexual Abuse?

Posted by: SonofCarl | April 20, 2006 12:44 PM | Report abuse

Ah, nelson, spandex cannot hold a candle to whatever the heck they used as a restraining fabric in 1955. No way are they equal. Spandex is the new and improved till its wussy version.

Or maybe its that in 1955 they were using whale bone from the recovered whale in the kit above, the grey hairy kind.

Posted by: dr | April 20, 2006 12:44 PM | Report abuse

Has the washington Post been sold to the onion?

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 20, 2006 12:47 PM | Report abuse

Its the papal reference giving rise to the Clerical add below.

Posted by: dr | April 20, 2006 12:48 PM | Report abuse

I just hope Joel doesn't think he can get Mudge to write his Kit every day from now on...You know how these writers get; give 'em an inch, take a mile. We're going to half to resort to drastic measures...

Consider this your official notice that Mudge won't write another word until all demands are met. We'll be sending proof of life at 3:00pm.

Posted by: amo | April 20, 2006 12:48 PM | Report abuse

I have learned a whole lot today.... about italics and spandex and the day is still young!!!

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 20, 2006 12:49 PM | Report abuse

Mmmmmphhh! MMMMphhhhhmmmmm!

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 12:51 PM | Report abuse

SCC: have not half, unless I'm doing a very, very poor German accent.

Guess you can figure out whether I use the preview function, huh?

Posted by: amo | April 20, 2006 12:51 PM | Report abuse

Amo, I though you were honoring the Mudge Meister!!!

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 20, 2006 12:54 PM | Report abuse

Ok, I've got the Turkish Gulets and Pirate Clothes but I also have Sailing Turkey. This must be a new genetically engineered breed of bird.

Posted by: Bad Sneakers | April 20, 2006 12:56 PM | Report abuse

I just have to say, after the ceremony this morning, that Hu ain't seen nothin' yet.

And 'Mudge, you really have to accent the M even more there... the H gets all filetered out by the silk. *nodding*

Posted by: Scottynuke | April 20, 2006 1:00 PM | Report abuse

I have good word that Dan Brown may mention this Kit of yours, Mudge, when he speaks at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, on Monday at the Music Hall.

I'm coming in from trimming hedges, my hubby is laying bricks, and I find a novella-length Kit that you wrote, Mudge, that I have barely skimmed. "Weapons of Mass destruction" had me practically doubled over with laughter.

We should talk about Pittsfield, Mass., and Melville, Mudge. Just pull that boat up to the front of the house, we'll head to an area lake, have a little sail and talk a little while about a big whale.

I shall try to carve some time out of my day, later this evening, to give your Kit the full attention it deserves.

Posted by: Linda Loomis | April 20, 2006 1:00 PM | Report abuse

Holy Smokes! I tried to post with just my last name and the new Rules-Thingymajiggy threw my first name into the name box? InconCEIVable! I'm trying this one more time...

Posted by: Loomis | April 20, 2006 1:03 PM | Report abuse

Sorry,
The error is mine. I can't see out of my left eye (yet) and we are so tired from working in the heat in the yard for the last five days...

Posted by: Loomis | April 20, 2006 1:04 PM | Report abuse

Linda, that would be "Hokey Smokes!!!!"

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 20, 2006 1:05 PM | Report abuse

dr -- maybe they used whalebone from the Old Gray Whale (that ain't what it used to be) and plaster.

I actually own one of the body slips -- had to get into a dress for a special occasion -- it hurts!! the boning stuck into my ribcage, it took nearly ten minutes of wriggling, tugging and hefting to actually get my body into the thing it's so tight.

But by god -- I had the figure of an anorexic angel that night!! Pushed what little I have that qualifies as a chest right up too!

Kudos to your generation for enduring this type of beauty enhancement everyday.

Very glad "foundational wear" is not required wearing anymore.

Posted by: nelson | April 20, 2006 1:07 PM | Report abuse

You talkin' ta me? You talking TA ME?!!!

Posted by: amo | April 20, 2006 1:08 PM | Report abuse

So, Mudge, you got to kit. Well worth the wait...excellent story!

Posted by: slyness | April 20, 2006 1:09 PM | Report abuse

dolphin michael,

Hu smokes the Hokeys?

Posted by: nelson | April 20, 2006 1:10 PM | Report abuse

What does Pottsylvania have more than any other country? Mean! We have more mean than any other country in Europe!

We must export mean.

=== Fearless Leader

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 20, 2006 1:10 PM | Report abuse

Now, the really funny thing is the "Pirates Clothes" link isn't for high-seas sailing garb, it's for Pittsburg Pirates merchandise. So, whoever is paying for that ad isn't even targeting it at the right audience!

Posted by: jw | April 20, 2006 1:12 PM | Report abuse

Hu smokes the Hokeys?

Yes, nelson, with moose and squirrel.

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 20, 2006 1:13 PM | Report abuse

Well, Hu are Yu? (Hu are Yu? Hu, Hu, Hu, Hu?)
I really wanna Ngo (Hu are Yu? Hu, Hu, Hu, Hu?)
Tell me, Hu are Yu? (Hu are Yu? Hu, Hu, Hu, Hu?)
'Cause I really wanna Ngo (Hu are Yu? Hu, Hu, Hu, Hu?)

All the best cowboys have Chinese eyes.

Posted by: yellojkt | April 20, 2006 1:14 PM | Report abuse

Bravo, bravo, Mudge. A great piece. You're good, but you already know that. And Joel, I'm sure you can find something at the richest newspaper in the world to give Mudge? I hope there are many more kits with your handle on them, Mudge. And Joel, you're a good person for allowing Mudge the opportunity. Bless you both.

Posted by: Cassandra S | April 20, 2006 1:17 PM | Report abuse

Sung by Bush & The Kingmakers

We are the champions, my friends,
And we'll keep on fighting til the end
We are the champions
We are the champions
No time for losers
Cos we are the champions...of the world.

Posted by: amo | April 20, 2006 1:19 PM | Report abuse

Best use of foreign language like words scince Art Buchwald's Thanksgiving Day stuff.

Posted by: Beth | April 20, 2006 1:26 PM | Report abuse

Hu is smoking the hokeys with Bullwinkle and Rocky?

Actually, the moose and the squirrel would be much more fun to smoke the hokey with than Dubois-Aux.

And probably lots more competent as well.

Posted by: nelson | April 20, 2006 1:33 PM | Report abuse

Well, reading Mudge's missive almost made sitting in this office worthwhile on this gorgeous day. I don't suppose the old salt's name was Edmund Fitzgerald, was it? Surely there is more in this tale to tell.

Posted by: ebtnut | April 20, 2006 1:35 PM | Report abuse

yellojkt --

so, Hu said Ngo to Yu? Bummer . . .

Posted by: nelson | April 20, 2006 1:37 PM | Report abuse

An amazing thing happened in Bethesda on Woodmont street right out in front of Cosi today. A raccoon jumped out of a trash can amidst people eating their snacks and sipping their coffee. A very upscale raccoon too: it had a Cosi bag in its mouth.

Posted by: omni | April 20, 2006 1:50 PM | Report abuse

Great kit 'Mudge, but watch what you wish for - you might get a "Girls of WaPo Gone Wild" DVD.

Posted by: Paul | April 20, 2006 2:00 PM | Report abuse

That was great!!

Too bad i have to "get out of Doge" now...

Posted by: a bea c | April 20, 2006 2:02 PM | Report abuse

Nelson, Wen Hu said Ngo to Yu, was he Mai-king it up?

Posted by: Kur Mu Jong | April 20, 2006 2:02 PM | Report abuse

Paul,

I wouldn't mind seeing The Reliable Source Babes earn a few beads, if you know what I mean.

Posted by: yellojkt | April 20, 2006 2:04 PM | Report abuse

I think Mudge is waiting for "Girls of the Boodle Gone Wild" but it's only available on Beta tape.

Posted by: TBG | April 20, 2006 2:16 PM | Report abuse

Macte Virtute

Posted by: out I-81 | April 20, 2006 2:18 PM | Report abuse

TBG, I suppose that video being availble on Beta is perhaps better than "The Mighty Cummerbuns" only being available on clay tablets.

Posted by: bc | April 20, 2006 2:27 PM | Report abuse

this is neither profanity nor a personal attack nor inappropriate:

i read w interest the piece on signal flags, then I took a snooze, and at the end of the REM phase, I was dreaming of urogenital waste--and then my cell mate awakened me with a kick to the head.

Posted by: omnigasm | April 20, 2006 2:31 PM | Report abuse

An ode to Mitzi Fleeberhoffen, to the tune of the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald:

The legend lives on from olde Portsmouthe on down
Of the big whale they call Big Olde Hairie
The Channel, it is said, never gives up her dead
And when a whale farts it just plain is scarie.

With whalers galore, too much poundage more
Than the ship the Von Drehle weighed empty
There was grog to go through and some bones to be chewed
And the cholesterol tests come too early

The ship's crew was a divers set of swabbies
They even took a young scribe named Mitzi
"Young" is the wrong word, for Mitzi was born, I have heard
When Big Olde Hairie was just Lil' Itsy-Bitsy

When supper time came the Wong twins came on deck
Saying fellows it's too rough to feed all you lime-ays
Later that day when they abandoned the Mudge
They said fella maybe we'll come visit on Fridays.

Big Olde Hairie's bowels made a tattletale sound
And all hell broke, the ship fro'ing and to'ing
And every man knew, as the Captain did, too,
T'was no ordinary flatulence brewing.

The Captain, the old salt, saw water coming in
Nothing got by that old deck hand you can see
He deduced from that sight that the ship was in peril that night
So he knew he'd be going down with the Von Dreh-lee.

Does anyone know where the cabin boy goes
When the Captain "does charts" and the sails lay flat
The sailors all say there are soundings to be made
Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I'm sorry for that, I couldn't resist
These nautical songs are a set up.
With seamen and poopdecks, my poor inner child
Can just never quite seem to just let up.

Anyhoo, our hero was saved on that bright sunny day
When he hung underwear from the rope thingie
An old salt rowed out and saved our scivvy-less lout
No word on how he covered his dinghy

So that is the tale of how signal flags began
T'was a colourful time in the navy
The only thing more that we just could ask for
Is some damned italics, please, just maybe

The legend lives on from olde Portsmouthe on down
Of the big whale they call Big Olde Hairie
The Channel, it is said, never gives up her dead
And when a whale farts it just plain is scarie.

Posted by: SonofCarl | April 20, 2006 2:31 PM | Report abuse

I find SonofCarl's 2:31 wholly objectionable--for many reason, including casting aspersions about our fighting men (but not the women) in the Navel Service.

Posted by: pudenda | April 20, 2006 2:36 PM | Report abuse

My navel could use some service.

Posted by: jw | April 20, 2006 2:42 PM | Report abuse

Did SonOfCarl clear the sea chanty adaptation rights from the WaPo Intellectual Property Division? I guess that by posting them here, he divests the rights anyways, so the point is moot.

Posted by: yellojkt | April 20, 2006 2:45 PM | Report abuse

Outstanding, SonofCarl! And at "Does anyone know where the cabin boy goes..." I believe I may have become incontinent. Really great.

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 2:48 PM | Report abuse

Midst laurels stood Mudge Man

Posted by: newkid | April 20, 2006 2:49 PM | Report abuse

This is truly a red letter day in Boodle levity. Or perhaps it's a plaid cumberbund signal flag day. Mudge and SonOfCarl are a song and dance team worthy of Broadway.

Posted by: yellojkt | April 20, 2006 2:52 PM | Report abuse

s m b d st l m v w ls

Ooh, wait, I found them:

o e o y o e y o e

Posted by: omni | April 20, 2006 2:52 PM | Report abuse

I can't believe I posted that expecting it to work. I'm a complete marooon. Walk time for sure.

Posted by: omni | April 20, 2006 2:54 PM | Report abuse

Mudge writes: "I believe I may have become incontinent."

Like, how could you not know?

Posted by: bc | April 20, 2006 3:03 PM | Report abuse

Son of Carl! Mudge! You guys rock! This is SO way better than the wapoblog! You guys deserve to be featured in Weingarten's chat.

Damn. I keep hitting prevew.

Posted by: CowTown | April 20, 2006 3:05 PM | Report abuse

bc, when you are laughing as hard as I was laughing it is difficult to keep track of all one's body functions.

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 3:11 PM | Report abuse

I wonder if anyone has told Von Drehle he's been immortalized.

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 3:13 PM | Report abuse

As much as I like SonofCarl's song, I'm not liking that Pee Wee Charles steel guitar sound rattling around my head. Dammed distracting, that.

Posted by: bc | April 20, 2006 3:13 PM | Report abuse

Mudge, buddy, give yourself some freedom to enjoy life. Get some Depends and laugh all you want.

Posted by: bc | April 20, 2006 3:21 PM | Report abuse

Leave you folks alone for a minute and LOOK what happened. Someone through a fizzy hit.

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 20, 2006 3:21 PM | Report abuse

Way to go 'MuJ. From humble beginings at the MoJo to your own kit at the WaPo. Gives hope to us urchins everywhere.

Posted by: grimmace | April 20, 2006 3:24 PM | Report abuse

I think I've persuaded Gugliotta to take a stab at writing a guest kit one of these days. At this rate I'll never have to write again!

Mudge, you know it takes 6 months for the royalty statement to be mailed to you. Your payment will naturally be dinged for "overhead expenses." I will take 15 percent as your "agent." The tax implications may require consultation with an attorney. I'd obtain counsel now if I were you.

Posted by: Achenbach | April 20, 2006 3:46 PM | Report abuse

If there is remuneration, I'm holding out for a Carbucks mug or a paperweight. I'm already on the parking spot waiting list starting yesterday, so that's a moot point.

It's all I can do to keep up, as the 11:26 states, with the team efforts to give the boodle a bad name. Hmmm. I think I've heard that before. Does Bon Jovi skim the boodle?

Posted by: SonofCarl | April 20, 2006 3:46 PM | Report abuse

Joel writes: "I think I've persuaded Gugliotta to take a stab at writing a guest kit one of these days."

Yay!

Posted by: bc | April 20, 2006 3:48 PM | Report abuse

Amazing, both the Mudge historical epic and SonofCarl channeling. You people are too clever and have waaaay too much time on your hands.

Since I'm working from home today, I can not only boodle but also put on Gordon Lightfoot to hear him sing oft "the big lake they call gitchigoomey."

Perhaps the Edmund Fitzgerald was also owned by Allez Bertone.

Posted by: silvertongue | April 20, 2006 3:53 PM | Report abuse

I wonder how long it will be before we start asking Joel to write a guest Kit on the Achenblog?

Posted by: bc | April 20, 2006 3:57 PM | Report abuse

Low blow. Low, low, low.

Posted by: Achenbach | April 20, 2006 4:02 PM | Report abuse

I'm going to file a Boodle Gone Bad report with the lawyers.

Posted by: Achenbach | April 20, 2006 4:03 PM | Report abuse

Joel,

When the name gets officially changed to Achenblog&Curmudgeonboodle, your days are numbered. But that just may be part of your masterplan.

Posted by: yellojkt | April 20, 2006 4:10 PM | Report abuse

SonofCarl writes:

Does anyone know where the cabin boy goes
When the Captain "does charts" and the sails lay flat
The sailors all say there are soundings to be made
Not that there's anything wrong with that.

and Joel says bc's comments are low.

That's why I love the boodle.

Posted by: TBG | April 20, 2006 4:21 PM | Report abuse

I think I know what happened to our lost Boodlers. They are in a Preview Loop.

C'mon.. remember? Just. Click. Post.

Posted by: TBG | April 20, 2006 4:23 PM | Report abuse

Or somebody's master plan. I can see the Big Shot at the WaPo staff meeting:

"Now that we've added the IP rules to the blogs, Joel, why don't you let some of these free content boodlers have a go?

In unrelated news, we need to add some storage cabinets to the area under the stairs."

Posted by: SonofCarl | April 20, 2006 4:25 PM | Report abuse

Oh also... I think it may have finally happened: looks like the Beltway is finally clogged up all the way around.

Posted by: TBG | April 20, 2006 4:25 PM | Report abuse

C'mon Joel, Giorgio didn't get to be Pope without learning how to delegate.

You're DELEGATING, my man. Josh Beckett ain't gonna pitch every inning of every game. You're just assembling your pitching staff.

File with your LegalEase-wielding joykillers (and be danged!) if you must, and I'll have take it up with the Shop Steward (who will likely have nothing to do with it).

Besides, if you tell Them on me, I'll tell Her on you.

Posted by: bc | April 20, 2006 4:26 PM | Report abuse

Atlas launch from Kennedy Space Center, on time at 4:27 looked good, although the air seems a bit hazy--probably (prescribed) flatwoods fires.

Posted by: Dave of the coonties | April 20, 2006 4:30 PM | Report abuse

jack?

Are you still around? I want to find out about colleges in your part of NC.

And slyness, how about you? What do you know?

Posted by: TBG | April 20, 2006 4:49 PM | Report abuse

Dave of the coonties, are you psychic?

We just had an almost fire here. Maintenance set a pot light light facing down, on top of the ceiling tile, and someone turned that series of lights on. It was smoking its way merrily thorugh the fibrous papery board of our ceiling.

Thankfully full panic mode was averted, but we better quit talking about that space under the stairs. Long may it be occupied by its present tenant!

Posted by: dr | April 20, 2006 5:03 PM | Report abuse

"Wall," said the lubber from the land that time forgot, fetching a long breath, "that's a purty long sarmon for a chap that rips a little now and then. Shiver me timbers and hoist me petard, that was one knotty yarn. Brings to me mind an old aleut saying: Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian. 'Tho nither beats a glim in a jiffy...."

Posted by: farnorth | April 20, 2006 5:14 PM | Report abuse

bravisimo 'mudge! what levity! (still trying to figure out why the whale was hairy)... SoC - i don't think mrs. 'mudge will let him bring said statue home even if it's only for immunity but if he wants it, it's HIS! small price to pay for such genius!

Posted by: mo | April 20, 2006 5:18 PM | Report abuse

To state what, to me at least, is obvious, this was a very generous thing for Joel to do. Sharing the spotlight is not something many people are willing to do.

Posted by: RD Padouk | April 20, 2006 5:28 PM | Report abuse

mo, I'll take the liberty of replying so that you can appreciate Mudge's story all the more. The whale was hairy to set up the pun in the title "Moi bei dich, or the surge fur the grayed, wide whale". Melville's book, of course, was Moby Dick, or the Search for the Great White Whale.

Posted by: SonofCarl | April 20, 2006 5:29 PM | Report abuse

I mean, can you imagine Oprah Winfrey letting anybody else be on the cover of her magazine?

Posted by: RD Padouk | April 20, 2006 5:31 PM | Report abuse

I occasionally tell a story about ducks and the night sky and Olbers' Paradox. Normal people don't seem to find it all that marvelous, but the astrophysically-inclined have been known to slap a thigh on occasion -- their own, that is.

Posted by: ScienceTim | April 20, 2006 5:37 PM | Report abuse

AHHH! thanks much SoC! i got the moby dick pun but didn't know/remember the rest of the title... clearly, i have not read moby dick...

Posted by: mo | April 20, 2006 5:42 PM | Report abuse

A piece of writing such as this should not be subjected to such intense scrutiny. It should be examined lovingly but with a degree of restraint, much like the dÃ©colletÃ© of a buxom lass.

Posted by: RD Padouk | April 20, 2006 5:51 PM | Report abuse

I knew I had a crush on mudge when I saw his picture from a BPH. Now I know I'm in love. great stuff, my crush. great stuff.

Posted by: randomlongtimelurker | April 20, 2006 5:58 PM | Report abuse

For the Achenrecord, I think it's great that Joel posted Curmudgeon's story as a kit.

RD, like the Seinfeldian "it's like the sun - take a glance, then look away"? BTW thanks for increasing my word power.

Sci/Sto/ConTim, do tell! *laying out the cushions*

Posted by: SonofCarl | April 20, 2006 6:04 PM | Report abuse

Back to the Pullet Surprises:

My 12-year-old daughter's favorite author is Meg Cabot (Princess Diaries, All-American Girl [NOT the dolls], various other books and series for teens and preteens and grownups). She reads Meg Cabot's blog faithfully and was excited to see this today:

"In other news, congrats to my mother's boyfriend's daughter's husband's brother's wife, Geraldine, who won the Pulitzer Prize for literature for her book MARCH this week."

You see, I had repeated kbertocci's fine remark about why Brooks' book had beat Doctorow's (because the title was more concise).

So Joel, you say that Geraldine Brooks is your friend. But she's MY daughter's favorite author's mother's boyfriend's daughter's husband's brother's wife.

I'm just saying.

Posted by: TBG | April 20, 2006 6:11 PM | Report abuse

SonofCarl - yes I forgot the Seinfeld reference. The point, of course, is that Mudge has, well, revealed himself a bit here. Although he is clearly somewhat of a literary exhibitionist (as are we all) I think we shouldn't pick at his work too much.
Besides, dÃ©colletÃ© is a fun word that doesn't get much exposure....

Posted by: RD Padouk | April 20, 2006 6:12 PM | Report abuse

Well, Mudgie, if I hadn't already fallen for you (or *over* you - damn knee!), I have done so now. Excellente! A true masterpiece - and I think even Art Buchwald would bow to you in profound appreciation and undying respect. Well, me, too, but my aging bones wouldn't let me get up again from the deep curtsey.

Superbbbbbbb!!!!

Posted by: firsttimeblogger | April 20, 2006 6:18 PM | Report abuse

TBG - did your daughter ever read "The Frog Princess" trilogy by E.D. Baker? My daughter really liked it when we read it together, and I thought it was a cut above most "tweeny" lit.

Posted by: RD Padouk | April 20, 2006 6:23 PM | Report abuse

Posted by: RD Padouk | April 20, 2006 6:29 PM | Report abuse

I am sorry, but I have to stop blogging for the day. All the laughing is making my cheeks hurt. All this mirth is good for the soul. Is there any better way to close out a long day at the office than this? Nope. None.

Joel this beat out the Cow Jokes kit and boodle in my list of my all time favourites, but only by the gray hair of a whale.

Posted by: dr | April 20, 2006 6:36 PM | Report abuse

I heart you' Mudge. Will you marry me?

Posted by: stalkergirl | April 20, 2006 8:14 PM | Report abuse

Mudge and Son of Carl you have turned the Land of Smiles to the land of uncontrollable laughter for today! Thank you.

Posted by: Boodling From Bangkok | April 20, 2006 8:22 PM | Report abuse

Curmudgeon, this is absolutely wonderful! I'm teaching naval history this semester, and I think your historical narrative will make a perfect end-of-the-semester reading assignment. And "Who is Allez Bertone and what's his significance" would make an excellent extra-credit question on the final! I owe you one, Mr. Mudge.

Posted by: Snarky Squirrel | April 20, 2006 8:24 PM | Report abuse

Thank goodness for this blog! Now I understand the Cursades. If only I knew French pronounciation, I'd be all set. Who knew flag signals were so rich in history.

A most amazing kit today. Thanks for the treat Joel! And to Mudge, now, can you tell me about how the name of boat parts came about (you know: jib, poopdeck, stern, bow, etc.)? I'm sure there's a great history in that!

Posted by: Aloha | April 20, 2006 8:40 PM | Report abuse

Mudge,
I made my teenage daughter print this kit out before I let her watchO.C. I'm demanding she slips it on her History teacher's desk with a sticky that reads:
Mr. History Teacher,
thought you might enjoy this.
signed,
[Student]
I know there's copyrights and lawyer stuff involved, but she could really use the grade.
thanks!

Posted by: Pat | April 20, 2006 9:51 PM | Report abuse

All kidding and teasing aside for a moment:

Joel, thank you for your generosity to all of us. We appreciate it.

Posted by: bc | April 20, 2006 10:38 PM | Report abuse

Pat, if your teenage daughter has a term paper due for English class, might I suggest as her topic "Meme and Methane: The Use of Flatulent Symbology in the Works of Mitzi Fleeberhoffen."

Posted by: Curmudgeon | April 20, 2006 10:40 PM | Report abuse

Mudge,
Congratulations! Midst laurels stood Curmudgeon, indeed!

Maybe someday you can tell us the backstory of how your Kitdom came about. Did you try to post it as a boodle comment but it got "held"? Or did Joel get curious and ask to see it before you boodled? In any case, it is a pun-filled delight!

Posted by: mostlylurking | April 21, 2006 12:10 AM | Report abuse

Ohhh. Wow 'Mudge that was one heckufa kit. I've spent the last 30 minutes since coming home from work giggling (quietly, so as not to wake my roommates.) Funny enough that I HAD to boodle. I'm rather glad my mother sent me here.

Posted by: Kerric | April 21, 2006 2:51 AM | Report abuse

The trouble with Boodlin' is you got to find other times to actually work... like in the middle of the freakin' night.

Well, sort of work.

BTW, I want to say that there is a whole lot more to Mudge than just his great smile and 24/7 perkiness. And the legs, you can't forget the legs.

... yes, the city sleeps tonite.

mudge reminds me that I should go up and see the Perkiness this year. I have never done that and it would be fun. Maybe Joel can borrow the WaPo bus and drive the porchers up?

Posted by: Dolphin Michael | April 21, 2006 5:51 AM | Report abuse

Howard Kurtz has a great but confusing story about a blogger named Michael Hiltzik that works for a newspaper and used pseudonyms to defend himself on other blogs.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/04/20/AR2006042002375.html

The guy that caught him, Patrick Frey, said that:

"the evidence is overwhelming that he has used more than one pseudonym. Hiltzik and his pseudonymous selves have echoed each other's arguments, praised one another, and mocked each other's enemies. All the while, Hiltzik's readers have been unaware that (at a minimum) the acid-tongued 'Mikekoshi' . . . is in fact Hiltzik himself."

This just makes me all the more paranoid that I have been spending months reading the deranged ramblings of a single person having multiple conversations with himself.

Wait, that's my blog.

Nevermind.

Posted by: yellojkt | April 21, 2006 8:24 AM | Report abuse

...and the trouble with working is that it interferes with the boodlin'--

But tuition must be paid.

======

We really would be justified in taking collective umbrage at these new "rules." Their questionable punctuation and the egregious typographical error in rule three would be enough of an insult, but on top of that, the tone is patronizing to an unacceptable degree.

And especially irksome to me is the taint of untruth that permeates the message: "unsigned entries will be removed." Oh, yeah? I'm waiting to see that happen. Did they just hire 20 new staffers to work full time evaluating every comment on every blog and chat, and deleting the ones that are deemed unacceptable?

And who really thinks that Post.com has the power to PREVENT an individual from posting a comment? They really think we're stupid, don't they?

=====

Kudos to Curmudgeon, and I second what bc said last night.

Posted by: kbertocci | April 21, 2006 8:24 AM | Report abuse

yellojkt, I think Kurtz has just outed LoneMule!!! :-)

Posted by: Scottynuke | April 21, 2006 8:30 AM | Report abuse

TBG, just saw your question. What do you need me (UNC-Charlotte, '75 and '79) to tell you about colleges in NC?

Posted by: slyness | April 21, 2006 8:37 AM | Report abuse

At least now we know what the 'Loper has been up to since he got banned from here.

I think the creative writing assignment for today is to come up with 'psuedo' posts that Joel would have planted on this or other blogs to make himself look better.

Posted by: yellojkt | April 21, 2006 8:42 AM | Report abuse

Ok, you got me. I'm actually Joel.

Posted by: jw | April 21, 2006 9:01 AM | Report abuse

Funny idea, yellojkt.

Except we wouldn't want an angry crowd of Big Name Bloggers with torches and pitchforks showing up at the WaPo offices, lookin' for Joel.

Signed,
Not Joel A

Posted by: bc | April 21, 2006 9:06 AM | Report abuse

Makes me wonder if he was Mike from last fall, to whom I raised my virtual voice.

And I third what bc said last night.

Posted by: dr | April 21, 2006 9:07 AM | Report abuse

kb,

I think we have been taking collective umbrage in a very mocking tone for days now. In reality, the owner of a blog can do what they want, whenever they want to the blog itself including acting arbitrarily, capriciously, frivolously, inconsistently, and/or irrationally.

Rule 6 is the real camel nose under the tent. Someday there will be a huge bestseller titled "Best of the Achenblog" and it will be made into a movie starring Bruce Willis and Julia Roberts, and none of us will get as much as a ticket to the screening.

Even worse, if and when 'Mudge publishes "Of Farthings and Flatulence", The WaPo lawyers will be scratching their heads on just how to squeeze their pound of whale blubber out of royalty statements without looking like greedy over-reaching twits.

There are a lot of classic cases of creators not owning their own creations. IIRC, Mike Judge doesn't own Beavis or Butthead. Matt Groening created the Simpsons to avoid having to share his "Life is Hell" characters with Fox.

I know a lawyer blogger that refuses to let Walmart check his bags at the exit because he knows, understands, and exercises his rights better than the employees at underlit union-busting discount stores.

http://www.trustygetto.com/2006/04/nother-pet-peeve.html

The internet still has a lot of Wild West to it in that nobody has definitively figured out how all the rules work. The WaPo legal department is just running around putting claim stakes on anything they can reach out of fear of being sued for corporate negligence if they don't.

I prefer to just shake my head bemusedly.

Posted by: yellojkt | April 21, 2006 9:08 AM | Report abuse

yellojkt, your points are well taken, and I think we all recognize the desire for the WaPo.com legal dept to cover their a$$es should someone attain Maximum Umbrage at something Joel or one of us wrote in here, and take legal action.

I'm not aware that many of these kinds of cases have made their way to courtrooms, but I do know that there have been some settlements in radio cases that resolved prominently (at least financialy) in favor of the plaintiffs.

If I were a lawyer working at WaPo, I'd have jammed rule 6 or something like it in there, and let the courts resolve any legal challenges (should it come to that). Hey, I'm not going to sue the WaPo over that Faux white house memo the other day, am I? (Besides, I only found it a 6 or so out of 10.)

Of course, since I'm on the other side of that legal fence, rule 6 is not in my favor. Going forward, I have to consider what I'm writing in here in that light.

I ain't skeered off by it, but I'm thinking about doing more offline editing, and considering where a given item I'm writing should be posted.

Fortunately, I have a blog site and can write whatever I darn well please and link it back to here, when warranted.

Those of you who don't, should consider it (as Joel's suggested many times).

Posted without preview, like a Flying Wallenda.

Posted by: bc | April 21, 2006 9:39 AM | Report abuse

Is it me, or is this entire mess totally unreadable? Has anyone thought about getting a little fresh air?

Posted by: himagain | April 21, 2006 4:35 PM | Report abuse

Rugby players spend a lot of time physical training Compared to other form of sports.I have read the
Rugby laws mentioned on this site. It's a gripping sport which targets the grip strength and the active mindedness of a player. American football and rugby league are also primarily collision sports, but their tackles tend to terminate much more quickly. For professional rugby, players are often chosen on the basis of their size and apparent strength and they develop the skill and power over the passage of time. In modern rugby considerable attention is given to fitness and aerobic conditioning as well as basic weight training.

Posted by: Rugby Fan Steve | August 24, 2006 12:23 PM | Report abuse

Posted by: Rugby Fan Steve | August 25, 2006 5:19 AM | Report abuse

Posted by: Rugby Fan Steve | August 25, 2006 9:11 AM | Report abuse

The comments to this entry are closed.

Network News

Curmudgeon on Naval Signal Flags