December 2007


Like, O.M.G., you’ll never guess what? I’m at the big Shell in Sydney, Australia to celebrate NYE.!!!!! Oh, and you know how I was supposed to be in Paris before right, because Daddy said he was sending me there for my Christmas present, but really – are you ready – really he sent me to Montreal!!!! How crazy is that? I guess I must have not heard him right or something or maybe he was playing a trick on me – as usual!! Oh well, anyway, I had suuuuchhhh a good time, wherever I was and everyone talked French, so what’s the difference, right? Thanks Daddy. And ha ha ha!!!!!!!!!!!!! Everyone here is talking Australian, so this time I’m pretty sure I’m in the right spot ’cause they don’t talk Australian anywhere else, right?

So, anyway, I’m supposed to tell stuff about my life and everything. So, okay, I live with Daddy. He’s really nice and calls me his princess and spends just oodles of money on me and sometimes likes to play jokes on me to make me laugh. We have sooooo much fun together. Mummy died when I was just really little and Daddy’s like, “whatever”, if I ask anything about her. He says she was an old witch and I’m better off without her anyway. I don’t know. Some people’s mummy’s are really super nice. My friend Gina’s mummy cooks, like, the most amazing stuff for us all the time and knits things and stuff. She’s kinda fat, but always hugs me and makes me feel super warm and fuzzy. Her hugs are really soft and cuddly –not like Daddy’s hugs…but don’t tell him because I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

Okay, so, I’m blond and have the cutest blue eyes and dimples and all the boys say I’m drop dead gorgeous. And lots of girls tell me that, too, so it must be true. I don’t know. I’m just me and I try to be nice to everyone and stuff and I give things to poor people all the time and once, I told an old lady how to get to the American Embassy. I knew because I used to date a guy who worked there!!! How cool was that?!!! It felt super good to be helpful. I like being helpful. So that’s me — ES. I love you all. xxxoooxx!!!!!!!!!!!

An internet poem
by Fox

The arctic fox is adapted to survive in the far north.
“Kumiho” is the word for the fox spirits of Korean mythology;
a fox is hunted on the ice.
The fox is out of the bag.


Foxes are clever mammals with large ears
and a long, bushy tail.
This is an educational site
dedicated to the often misunderstood red fox. 

This brave fox wandered up on our porch.
The fox is now in the shops.
The Fox is a lovely big Edwardian-style pub,
fairly reminiscent of the Hare.

Studies have shown that fox numbers drop
as coyote numbers increase.
Coyotes have taken over the rural habitats
so that the fox are forced into more urbanized places. 

The fox knows many things,
but the hedgehog knows one big thing.
In this game you’re a cute fox, of course.
Fire up the Fox!

Foxes hunt game by stalking and pouncing,
just like a cat. They wait until the mouse or vole
comes above ground, then the fox jumps
high in the air and pounces on its prey.  

There is much written
about the history of the Fox.
Man do I love that Fox robot!
Fox better get ready for an email blitz.

The Fox school is the largest, most comprehensive
business school in the region.
Spot the fox, video, view, video, view,
upload and share, spot the fox.

To kill its prey, the fox
severs the spinal cord with its teeth.
Foxes, like other wild animals,
do NOT make good pets.

The Fox rocks.
May the Fox be with you!


barrymores2.jpgThis elf has a bone to pick with Barrymore’s Music Hall. The music venue, which is very close to my alley home, has repeatedly won the title of “biggest eyesore” in various local polls. And it deserves the medals.

Peeling paint. Rotting old curtains. A general look of nastiness that completely contradicts the beauty inside. For an area of Bank Street that often gets a bad rap, this isn’t helping. I refuse to believe the owners of the club can’t apply for a city grant if they don’t want to pay for repairs out of their own pockets.

Not only that, but back when I was I was adopting my first stray kitties (over ten years now), Barrymore’s actually used to book great bands.  I remember, because I was sneaking into the club to “borrow” items from the bar (hey! even an elf needs refreshment). Instead of hightailing it out of there, I would stay to listen.

Now? Most nights, I sneak in to find yet another cover band on the stage, and frankly, I would rather clean my kitties’ litter boxes than stick around for that. Sure, sometimes you get the odd great show, but it seems to me that Ottawa folk will be stuck with 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, and Nights For Music They Play On The Radio These Days… Forever.

The meeting was scheduled to commence at 12:00 sharp at the Usual Spot, but Shagatha and her personal assistant were fashionably late, due to some problem with the limousine driver’s attire.

The first item on the agenda was a discussion of the menu and why it had so many organs on it: kidneys, pork bellies, liver, etc. Everybody ordered beer and breakfast except Fox, who ordered beer and brunch.  Everybody carefully avoided the organs.

While waiting for breakfast (and brunch), we consumed beer, admired Third Elf’s curly feet and tackled one of the more existential questions on the agenda: What is our purpose?

We noted that Aggie got shagged this week, and we are pleased to think we played some part in this. Shagatha moved that we send an approving nod in Aggie’s general direction. Motion carried. Everybody nodded approvingly in an easterly direction.

Next item on the agenda: What are they thinking? After much speculation, we are forced to concede we don’t know what they are thinking, only that they are thinking, which is a favourable development. High fives all round.

We look forward with great anticipation to the upcoming post by Conch Shell, whom we previously believed to be imaginary.

La Chaise paused briefly from taking minutes to show off her outer space pen. Foxy suggested that she take the minutes upside down from now on.

The Autonomous Eye reported on his progress in seeking out the true identity of the Fourth Dwarf.  Things are looking  promising, very promising indeed. It’s only a matter of time.

After eating breakfast (and brunch), we discussed in great detail the formal challenge issued to us by the ESIs. The concept of a showdown at midnight on New Years Eve on Somerset Street between Elgin and Bank does hold a certain appeal. (“Showdown?” asked Empty Shell, “I thought they said ho-down!”)

As much as we are intrigued by this challenge, the timing simply does not work for the BSIs. It’s very late notice for a New Years Eve challenge. Plans have been made for months now, and deposits have been paid.

  •  Shagatha has a tryst planned with Count Vlad at the Romanian castle. 
  • Third Elf plans to spend New Year’s Eve trolling the bars for some female companionship with whom to ring in the New Year in a meaningful sort of way.
  • Empty Shell  has booked her flight to Sydney already, where she will ring in the New Year at some place called the Gimcrack with some guy she just met on the Internet.
  • The Eye has been short-listed for the job of Falling Ball in Times Square. We’re all very excited for him.
  • La Chaise has a date with a lounge lizard.
  • Foxy is keeping his options open, but thinks he might do a little philosophical reflection on the past year while eating pigeons.

Given our current social commitments, we must reluctantly decline the ESI’s New Year’s Eve challenge, but encourage them to try again when we’re not so busy.

We also considered the other challenge put to us by the ESIs: to see which group blog could write profiles of all their members first. Given that it has taken the ESIs one year to write one profile, and it has taken the BSIs one week to write two profiles, we unanimously and enthusiastically agreed to accept this challenge.

The meeting was adjourned promptly at 2:00. 


Posted by Shagatha’s Personal Assistant

I risk Shagatha’s ire in doing this, but I want the public to understand the real Shagatha – to know her and love her the way I do. You see, deep, deep,deep down beneath the harsh, woman of iron, Shagatha is a scared,vulnerable child.

Shagatha was born into abject poverty, the 13th child of alcoholic parents who earned a living as thieves and professional shaggers. Tawny and Lance may not even have been her biological parents, but she grew up in their tiny, fetid shack surrounded by a gaggle of unkempt and unruly “family” members and a never-ending procession of horny strangers. Her siblings quickly went into the family business of thieving, drinking and shagging for money. Shagatha always felt she was destined for better things and ran away on her 12th birthday – the day she was expected to start contributing to the family coffers.

How this painfully small, thin child, with no formal education, survived on the streets is something that may remain locked in Shagatha’s mind forever. All I know is that at 17 she married one of the nation’s wealthiest restauranteurs. He was 82 and alas, died after only 8 years, leaving Shagatha very well off indeed. She never married again. The public saw her as a gold-digger who helped old Ted to the grave. But, one evening when Shagatha and I were relaxing in front of the fire, sipping some wine, she confessed to me that Ted had been the sweetest, kindest person she had ever known and that she had loved him with all her heart and had been completely shattered when he had died. If you could have seen her face…. It made me weep.

Since her widowhood, as we all know, Shagatha has shagged her way around the world both figuratively and literally, amassed untold wealth and become the hard woman we all love to hate. To me, though, she will always be my Shaggie – though of course, I’d never dare call her that to her face.

I have been inundated with requests to reveal the location of the Usual Spot ever since I first mentioned it.

According to the BSI Bylaws, I can’t tell you where it is. But I didn’t see anything in there prohibiting me from showing you what it looks like.

Don’t even think about trying to infiltrate, by the way. If you don’t have the Official Club Button and know the Secret Word and the Secret Handshake and the Secret Backwards Language, sorry, but you ain’t getting in. ecnahc taf.

The Usual Spot

Shagatha is supposed to write profiles for all of us, but she doesn’t seem all that motivated. I’ve written my own, and suggest the rest of you do likewise.

People think it’s easy being furniture, but it’s  not. They think a chaise just lounges around all day, with not a care in the world.

I say try it for a day and see how you like it. After a few hours you’d make a deal with the devil just to get your freedom back.

GenieWhich is what I did, essentially. Only I wasn’t getting anything back because I was always a chaise, and it wasn’t the devil, it was a genie who escaped from a lamp and gave me three wishes.

My first wish was to be human. That’s when the genie said it’s a myth that genies have unlimited powers. Apparently they can only give you modified versions of your wishes. Who knew?

The genie gave me some human characteristics and powers: mobility, speech, vision, things like that. Yet I had to remain a chaise for all time. There was even a  clause that said if my owner ever found out about my human characteristics, I would lose all of them instantly.

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how disappointed I was when I learned all that.

After an initial period of despondency, I realized  I was better off than I had been before, so I vowed to make the most of it.

At first I just stayed home, reading my owner’s books, surfing the net, and gazing out the window at the world down below on Bank Street. I didn’t dare go outside, in case my owner came home while I was out. 

Then  one day I convinced myself it wouldn’t hurt if I stepped outside for just a minute, just to air myself out a bit and feel the breeze on my fabric. I knew my owner’s schedule like the back of my — well, like the back of my back —  and she wasn’t due home for two hours.

So out I went, clippity-clop down the stairs and out into the raw glory of Bank Street! Oh how I love Bank Street! The shops! The smells! The derelicts! The elves!

Now I go out  almost daily, as soon as my owner leaves for work. Sometimes I even go out  at night, when she’s at yoga.  

I made my very first friends on Bank Street. Life is so much better when you get to go outside and meet your friends at the Usual Spot for emergency meetings and beer.

I just have to be very careful that my owner doesn’t find out. I stay in when it’s raining, because she’d notice if I got wet. Sometimes I smell a bit funky when I get home because Third Elf had a nap on me or Foxy peed on my leg. When that happens I just give myself a little once-over with the Febreze, and then I smell like Citrus and Light again.

And that’s my story so far…

It has come to our attention that the members of that other blog post under assumed names!

No matter. No secret is safe from the piercing gaze of the Autonomous Eye.

The Eye will now disclose the true identity of the so-called Fourth Dwarf. Turning… turning… seeking… seeking…

I have it! Without a doubt the Fourth Dwarf is Munchkin Jerry Maren from The Wizard of Oz.


Fourth Dwarf, shown in the middle of this picture, lives in Omaha with his cat Rusty. He is 111 years old. 

But wait! We have been misled! That is not the real Fourth Dwarf! Jerry Maren does not know how to use a computer.

Turning… turning…

Seeking… seeking…

Elfie’s post got me thinking about the true meaning of Christmas, which in turn got me thinking about presents. So I started this Christmas list for Santa, to help him with gift ideas for some of my bloggy friends, even the naughty ones.

I could use some help. Please contribute gift suggestions in the comments.  If you can think of good presents for any other bloggers, throw them in there too.  

(I know Santa reads this blog: I saw his IP address in the stats. He’s probably just here on a witch hunt for Elfie, but if there’s one thing Santa can’t resist, it’s a list.)

Foxy: Four-and-twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie

Blackbird Pie

Empty Shell: Diapers


Shagatha: A hand-knit cozy for her icy heart

 A handknit heart cozy

Shagatha’s Personal Assistant: A new flask


Autonomous Eye: X-ray specs

 xray specs

La Chaise: A makeover

 A makeover

Third Elf: A book


Fourth Dwarf:  Collectible Long Dong’s Pirate Dwarf Slayers

Long Dong’s Pirate Dwarf Slayer

Aggie: A room of her own

A room of her own

Coyote: A big old slow-moving declawed pussycat

Fat Cat

Conch Shell: Sea monkeys

Sea Monkeys

Independent Observer: A gondola


The Chair: Casters

A set of castors

It’s tough for an elf during the holidays. Everyone is always pulling at your ears, or asking you about the North Pole, or glaring disapprovingly at your public drunkenness.

People of Bank Street: I no longer live up North! I am not working for that slave driver, Santa, who chained me to my workstation to improve his productivity. I am self employed now, thank you very much. If you would like to make a donation, just look in the other direction while I nab your wallet.

What?! Oh, don’t look at me all holier-than-thou, you hypocrite. I may not work for Santa anymore, but I still remember his naughty list like the back of my tiny hand. You should not be one to judge. You overfeed your already-obese cat, you hit on your boss to get extra vacation days, and you have some seriously questionable toys hidden under your bed. Thought Santa didn’t keep track of spiked paddles? Think again. I know you.

But don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you. I also know that you emptied your cupboards and gave everything to the Food Bank. You didn’t vote for Ottawa’s doofus of a mayor, and thank goodness, because that guy is crazier than a bag of hammers. And I notice that you are keeping your damaged wallet together with a binder clip. How clever! I’ll just take a twenty and give the rest back. You really shouldn’t keep your SIN card in there, you know. There are sketchy people around.

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