Animal Kruelty = Komedy

Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Granny vs. The Fighting Conch

A promising title, which shockingly doesn't contain a pun. I guess he couldn't think of a way to work "shell" or "crab" in.

Grandmothers toting tweezers probably ought not to be going after Florida’s Fighting Conches, which by the way is not the nickname of a high school football team but an actual sea creature.

"Toting tweezers" - Morsch has been particularly fond of "t" alliteration lately - see the "Teens Tackle Terror" title of his previous post.

My mom is in Florida for a month hanging with one of her pals and putting her toes in the sand. That’s one of the benefits that comes with retirement I guess, something I won’t likely realize for quite some time.

... Unfortunately for the literate world. Case in point: his clumsy use of the word "realize." He's trying to use it in the sense of achieving something. Instead it sounds like he's saying he doesn't realize what the benefits of retirement are (which he clearly does).

As native Midwesterners, we have some hillbillies in the family tree. Although we have traveled a bit over the years and are no strangers to warmer climates and sandy beaches, we don’t have an ocean in Illinois, which I realize may come as a surprise to some of you. As a result, our rural upbringing did not provide us much in the way of proper Fighting Conch (pronounced “konk”) etiquette. We are, however, very schooled in all things stinkbug.

Problems with this paragraph:

1.) What does the fact that they have hillbillies in their family tree have to do with anything else in the paragraph?
2.) He says that, although they are "no strangers" to beaches, his people don't know much about them since they didn't grow up right next to an ocean. What?
3.) The constant references to that stinkbug article he wrote way back when. The only thing that gets more shout-outs is the "Magic of Baseball Cards" column.

The Florida Fighting Conch — Strombus alatus — is essentially a sea snail in a decorative shell. The Illinois Vacationing Granny — Feistyius Oldladyius — likes to collect decorative shells. You may be able to see where this is going.

From Morsch's June 16 article on the wandering yaks: former Vice President Dick Cheney (Latin name: Grumpius oldguyus), not to mention Mr. Rogers (Latin name: Nottheguyus withthesweatersus). Nice to know he doesn't observe even a six month moratorium on recycling material.

He also screws up his own joke. By adding the "ius" to the end of "feisty" and "oldlady," he's telling us to pronounce them (phonetically) "feistee-eeus" and "oldladee-eeus."

So during a phone call this week, Granny was telling me of her recent shell-hunting expedition on the south Florida beach near her condo.
“I put all the shells in the sink to clean them and one of them was moving,” said Granny. “So I got out my tweezers and tried to pull the dadgummed thing outta there, and boy did it start hissing and squealing at me.”

I guess hokey old expressions like "dadgummed" run in the family.

Fighting Conches apparently do not like being yanked from their home with a pair of tweezers, and in addition, they likely will raise quite a ruckus when someone tries to do so.
By the way, that’s all new information for me, my mom and the rest of the Corncob Crowd from Calico County.

I had to Google the phrase "Corncob Crowd from Calico County," because I thought that it was a reference to some stupid old 1970's variety show. Nope. It's just some stupid thing he made up himself.

Granny decided it was best to let nature takes its course and placed the highly agitated conch on the back deck. Her thinking was that after a few days in the sunshine, the critter would buy the farm and could then be easily tweezed from the coveted shell.

Am I the only one who thinks that's rather cruel? Children and old people - the nastiest creatures on earth.

No such luck. After three days, the conch was still giving Granny seven kinds of heck for the armed and attempted home invasion, so she took it to the beach and tossed it in back the drink.

"Armed and attempted?" We all remember how walking on cement floors plays "seven kinds of hooey" with Morsch's knees. Then from last week's column: ...mostly because I didn’t want to catch seven kinds of heck. Apparently Morsch doesn't observe even a six day moratorium on his material.

Since she still has a few more weeks of vacation, further beach expeditions are pending. No doubt with tweezers at the ready. I anxiously await her next report.

Wow, what animals will she try to cruelly put to death next? Maybe she should give Mike Vick a call.

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield