A few years ago Kate and I went on a camping trip in Botswana to see the elephants and the hippos. Both kinds of animals, you may be surprised to learn, are big.

It was a group thing. We and ten-or-so other people, plus two guides, went 4x4ing through the swamps and the bushveld, taking many, many photos as we went. Here is one for you to enjoy:

There were two Australians in our party. Their names were Angela (she preferred to be called "Anj") and Susan ("Sue"). They were schoolteachers.

One day we were buying groceries in Maun, which is a lovely town except for its airport bar, which is called "The Tail Spin." Kate and I and Anj and Sue were hanging outside the grocery store afterward enjoying a Fanta when a little ratlike pug-dog came along and sniffed us. It was friendly and wagged its tail at us. Then it turned around and left, holding its tail high in the air. We all got a really clear bullseye view if you know what I mean.

"Hello," said Sue, "he's showing us his date."

"Yuck," said Kate, sensibly.

Afterward, we went for a drive to our next camping spot and built a fire. Then, as the sun set, we all tried hard to find excuses to say "date."

"That dog had the darkest date I've ever seen."

"Kiss my date."

"Boy, prices are high here. They've totally got you bending over and having it up the date."

Etc.

None of this is really worth being proud of but it was before the dotcom bust and there was a lot of silliness going around.

On the weekend, as you will remember, Kate and I watched a TV show about people who like to kiss each other and sometimes more on the bum, totally bullseye. Kate thought of a good name for that kind of unsavoury fun:

"Dating," she said.

Haw!

Now you know.

To Jeff Liu, who helpfully sent in a pamphlet about something called "rimming," I have two things to say:

1. Please do not send any more pamphlets.
2. Yuck.
Posted by Bret at 7:57 PM

Wednesday, March 05, 2003
Continuing a proud journalistic tradition

There is a fresh interview with Donald Rumsfeld at strongsmell.com.

You are welcome.

That is enough posting for today.
Posted by Bret at 4:54 PM

Attention lusty babes

You are in for a treat, lusty babes. For the man of your dreams is here, and he is available. His name is Gordon Fleming. You may have read about him in the newspaper. If you have not, you should go read about him now. His hobbies include music, fine dining, the outdoors, and playful hijinks with mannequins.

Apparently there is a web site where you can read all about him and send him a note. He is getting internet access on the weekend so he will write you back then.

If you are not a lusty babe, please disregard this message.
Posted by Bret at 2:26 PM

Such good news

Last night in the middle of the night, sometime around 1:30, there was a terrible pounding on our front door.

Knock knock knock knock.

(brief pause)

Knock knock knock KNOCK.

(brief pause)

Knock knock knock knock KNOCK KNOCK FRICKIN' KNOCK.

"It's a bit early for Safety Carrot's Cantonese students to be arriving, don't you think?" Kate asked.

I agreed. True, the Carrot's students are eager. True, the Carrot is a fine, fine instructor. But classes start at ten on the dot, and all the enrolled youngsters are bright and self-confident, and they understand that showing up early will curry no favours for anyone.

Still, I thought it best to ask the Carrot.

"Of course it's not one of my students," she said. "My students are one-and-a-half years old. When have you ever met a one-and-a-half-year-old who could make that much noise knocking on a solid oak door? What are you, stupid?"

"Uh..." I began.

"Look, either you can be a man and go see who's at the door, or I can do it and you can spend the next sixty years feeling sheepish every time you look me in the eye."

Knock knock knock KNOCK.

"You're the one with the black belt," I countered.

"Exactly. Go see who's at the door before I kick your ass."

So I did. As I went down the stairs, three possibilities crossed my mind:

1. It was a robber, making sure the place was empty before busting in.
2. It was the secret police, coming to haul one or more of us off to the gulag.
3. It was our drunken neighbour, not sure which house was his or where his keys were, looking for somebody to help.

Quelle surprise! It was none of the above. No, it was a pleasant, even-tempered man with a wiry frame.

"You Bret Dawson?"

"Yessssirree," I said.

Then he handed me my chequebook. And then a plastic bag containing my stylish eyeglasses, two of my notebooks, and my library book about Frisbees. It was the contents of my stolen man purse! I had written them off for dead and never dared hope to see them again, but here they were, knocking on the front door at 1:30 in the morning!

"Hello, boys," I said to them, fondly. Then I dug a little deeper in the bag but failed to find what I was looking for. "Hey. Where's my frickin' gum?"

The man at the door looked guilty. "I had a herring sandwich for dinner. What was I supposed to do?"

I gave him one of those looks that could cut glass.

"So," he said, changing the subject, "about the reward. What say we make it 6,000 bucks?"

"Up yours."

"600."

"Up yours."

"Ten."

"Nope."

"Eight."

"F off."

"Spare some change?"

I gave him a nickel. Then I shoved him down the front steps. But it was snowing out so he had a soft landing.
Posted by Bret at 2:17 PM

Monday, March 03, 2003
A useful public service

Like you, I am of course delighted that the forces of evil are in retreat and that the man who planned the Sept. 11 airplane crashes, Al-Qaeda mastermind Khalid Shaikh Mohammed, is in custody.

I do think, however, that it would be good to point something out. Specifically, the following uncanny resemblance:

Al-Qaeda mastermind Khalid Shaikh Mohammed		Erotic film star Ron Jeremy

Do you think they're brothers?

I do. Twin brothers separated at birth. Wicked, eh?

I bet Khalid is totally wishing he could trade places with his brother right now.
Posted by Bret at 9:51 PM

Not quite sure how to start this

The other night Kate and I were watching that TV show about women who live in New York and drink a lot of cocktails, over which they discuss, in clinical detail, the ups and downs of their intimate lives. It stars Cynthia Nixon and Kristin Davis and that woman Nicolas Cage gambled away in a card game in that movie Honeymoon in Vegas. Sometimes it has cussing and nudity in it, so they don't show it on TV until late at night.

The episode Kate and I were watching was full of embarrassing conversations about people who like to do embarrassing things in their intimate lives. For example:

1. Baby-talking to an intimate partner.
2. Kissing an intimate partner on the bum.
3. Not just on the cheek either but totally bullseye if you know what I mean.
4. And sometimes not only kissing.

Ew.

So anyway, there were some funny scenes when Cynthia Nixon was having intimate time with a friend and he kept hopefully raising his nude man-bum up in the air.

And when the single women on the TV show recounted this over cocktails, they all had a good laugh calling the intimate bum-activity "tucchus lingus." But I didn't get it because I'm from Saskatchewan and am not fluent in Yiddish.

"Tucchus" is Yiddish for bum, see. Apparently they're big on Yiddish in New York. So once Kate explained that it all made sense for the TV show.

Then I asked Kate if she had heard of a more universal euphemism for the intimate bullseye kissing.

"Dating?" she suggested, helpfully.

Haw!

If you don't know why that was hilarious you have to wait for the next update.
Posted by Bret at 3:56 PM