Large Fierce Mammal

I enjoy dabbling in the creation of humourous poetry. Some day I will write a poem beginning with the line that is the title of this post.

Known only to my closest associates is that, when in my cups and sufficiently provoked, I’ve been known to throw one off the lip as it were, writing it down be damned. Alas, much has been lost because of this. I deal in limericks mostly, but I let the subject matter determine what format I use.

This comes up because Mrs. LFM and I have a friend named Stu Dunn who lives in a recycled church in Saskatchewan. Well, sort of part friend and part pet, and the percentages of which to which vary depending on mood, phase of the moon, blood alcohol content, time of day, and which way the salmon are swimming. I don’t think I do him disservice though by asserting without reservation that if he put his mind to it, Stu could make a half-assed living as a professional shit disturber. In his own words, “I don’t give a shit. Other priorities.” This doesn’t trouble us because those other priorities are parental – he’s father to two of the cutest kids either of us has ever laid eyes on.

Well, it came to pass that Stu’s dog Dakota developed a Stu problem. Dogs can’t make telephone calls, so at Dakota’s urging, Stu recently called us himself looking for assistance. As it so happens, Mrs. LFM and I are professional fixers of the people problems dogs sometimes have. We also love outdoor activities and cooking and therefore have a deep appreciation for well crafted cutlery. You can never have too much of that. As it turns out, among his other talents, Stu hand forges knives, and from all appearances he brings the same skills to that as he does to being a complete shit. Right away you can see that his blades must be pretty incredible.

So it also came to pass that Stu offered to show his appreciation for our help by making a knife for each of us. Mercenary bartering bastards that we are, we eagerly accepted and now await the results which will, naturally, be reviewed here in due course. As for Dakota, he doesn’t give a shit. Other priorities. Like surfing the garbage while Stu is busy forging.

Stu has read my blog and even commented on an article or two now and then. He has the kind of dark, irreverent, and terrier-like sense of humour that catches my interest and so, it appears, all accusations of man crushes aside no matter how justified they may be, he has feelings about mine as well. And so he hurled this challenge at my Facebook door:

“RanGody, put some of your massive intellect into an educational, humorous, striking, degrading, political, inspiring, motivational, confrontational, or just plain fun Facebook status.”

I should pause to explain the honorific Stu uses in place of my given name. All that needs be said is that the “God” part is the most important, and I would have been more than a little concerned if he had chosen “RanDaddy”.

I enjoy a challenge and so …

A steel forging bugger named Stu
Got to thinking one day in the loo.
So inspired by his woody
He banged out a goody
That earned him three bucks and a screw.

This earned me several “likes” and more than a few comments. Then, Stu recently had a conversation with Mrs. LFM that earned him a bit of her ire. This followed:

Bright red steel in the dark forgy murk,
For she t’whom he’d acted the jerk,
As blade grew from the melding
More and more Stu feared gelding
With a piece of his very own work.

The sparring continues, with a good time being had by all.

Oh Stuie yer me darlin’
I loves ya all ta bits ….

Ah, well, I’ll finish that later.