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Sunday, January 02, 2005


I am considering finding a fellow blogger, race and church preference unimportant, with whom to feud. It will not be a real feud, though we will certainly hand down real prejudices to the young ones as we grow too old to handle our weapons.

Our blog feud will deal exclusively with the vagaries of observable weather. We will fight thusly:

EXAMPLE FIGHT – 3 exchanges

Me: “The weather here stinks, it just keeps snowing and it’s gloomy and I want to kill. If you were here, for example, I would fast-track you to the head of the Kill List.”

New Enemy: “Here we have non-stop oppressive sun, but the lack of cloud cover only makes it colder than a witch’s teat. It is 15 below with a 29-below-zero wind chill. Christ, if I had a plow I’d drive to your state and plow your house into rubble.”
Me: “Well, well. A bit of a thaw. Now I can smell you from here. You smell like a rotting whale.”

New Enemy: “Surely you are smelling your own feet. Freezing rain again. Driving, not so good - bad roads. I wish I had a cannon powerful enough to blow your thawed ass off the continent.”
Me: “Finally, signs of spring. Today I wore short pants and a sailor cap. You are the worst sort of blackguard.”

New Enemy: “Will winter never cease? I’ve worn the same boots for 2 years now, and they still give me blisters. I hope you get bitten by a lyme tick.”


Anonymous Anonymous said...

you should set up another blog and have a fued between your multiple personalities about your inner weather.
ie. "Its dirty today."..."Yesterday was dirty, today is PG-13 compared to yesterday." or "The blue twinge in the air is making me thirsty."..."That's more of a blue-green hue, get it right. Maybe if you hadn't been so thirsty LAST NIGHT you would be able to see straight."

1:10 PM  
Blogger Esther Wilberforce-Packard said...

Dear Anonymous,
Thank you for your kind words. No way am I doing this. Sounds like something a crazy person would do. Plus, and no offense to you, the phrase “inner weather” kills me. People who use phrases like “inner weather” tend to publish “chapbooks” full of “free verse.” And I must tell you, few things on this earth make me laugh harder than the thought of a chapbook. Except maybe the thought of a chapbook getting hit by a car.

4:02 PM  
Blogger noisy ghost said...

You are so funny, Ms. Wilberforce-Packard, or Esther. May I call you Esther?

If my grandparents had been half as funny, we wouldn't have put them in a home :(

I hope your kids never put you in a home. Or if they do, I hope that the home has good food, at least.

6:39 PM  
Blogger Esther Wilberforce-Packard said...

Dear Noisy,
I'm sorry your grandparents bored you. At least you have your memories. If I ever "have" kids and they "try" to "put" me in a "home," I will feed them poison brioche. Then I will explain to them that a newborn and a 2 year-old cannot legally put their mother in a home by themselves. Then I will tell them that I did not really put poison in the brioche this time, but that if they ever try that crap as adults, they might not be so lucky.

I know I'll be a very good mother.

7:43 PM  
Blogger Dan said...

Just make certain your enemy isn't a shut in. It's very hard to argue the weather with those people. They insist it's temperate. Temerate isn't weather, it's the lack of it.

1:23 AM  
Blogger Chris Cope said...

For the sake of helping to improve your reader numbers, and, more specifically my reader numbers because you have more readers, I would be happy to feud with you. Or Freud with you, which is how I originally read the subject. This is because you are shite at writing subject lines (see? I'm starting already).

11:18 AM  
Blogger noisy ghost said...

This Chris person does not seem worthy of you, Ms. Wilberforce-Packard. Perhaps I could battle him, in your stead.

Dear Chris person: Your use of the word “shite” implies that you are an Anglophile. When you next return to your beloved England, perhaps you will use this word “shite” in the company of others. Then, If God is good, you will be shredded by the wild flailing of the barbarous picts’ horribly deformed teeth as they laugh at your pretentiousness.

7:03 PM  
Blogger Chris Cope said...

Ouch, noisy ghost. You Freud with venom. Therefore, I have no recourse but to dispense you via a most brutal display of verbal prowess:

Your mom.

Some will say that I have been too harsh with you. Perhaps. But when I Freud, I Freud to win.

9:53 AM  

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