priestess_of_Delphi john collier

John Collier’s
“Priestess of Delphi”


What does someone do with the time someone intended to spend putting up decorations, cooking, etc., when one has a bum arm and is forbidden to do any of the above? (Put up a tree? I can’t open a f&cking tuna can! I can’t yank the Band-aids off my own ass, the ones covering my two-a-day injection sites!)


Someone finally joins Quora, and contemplates the secrets of the universe in question and answer form. (Someone also gets her husband to open the f&cking tuna. The tree? Ha ha ha ha ha… And the Band-aids will fall off eventually. Probably into the toilet. Clogging it up. You think Band-aids can’t clog up a toilet? We once had a plumber accuse us of flushing so much dental floss that it clogged the pipes. We did not flush dental floss. Not even a single strand. Someone did, though. But who? When? And did they cackle maniacally while they did so? Could they see the future, or know what damage that floss would wrought? We will never know.)

So, I probably won’t be asking or answering a lot of questions over at Quora, because this is the kind of question I want to ask:

“Who flushed all the f&cking dental floss, and why do I care that the plumber believes it was me?”

Mostly, I will be skulking around Quora like a one-armed, Band-aid-buttocked Bandit. It is my way. But I wonder how the inhabitants of planet Quora would answer Jimmie’s Secrets-of-the-universe questions, in Hyperlink from Hell. Remember this? It’s Jimmie’s lament that, given the opportunity to ask God anything he wanted, he’d wasted that golden moment:

I’d blown my chance to ask Al some gritty, secrets-of-the-universe type questions, like “Why do flies always buzz around the center of a room?” or “How can blind people tell when they’re done wiping?”

Well, You can’t just ask them, can You?

I’m deadly serious. Wipe that smile off your face. And while you’re at it, I could use some help in the bathroom.

No, no; not that.

It’s just…

I can’t floss my f&cking teeth.

11 responses

  1. I’ll never be able to floss again, and as for band aids…

    1. Sorry. I had a warning. It went like: “Warning: There’s a fine line between Tell Me More and Too Much Information. We are about to cross that line.” But I accidentally deleted it, and just said WTF?!

      1. Well, there’s a lot to be said for WTF

  2. Hey, I do the dental floss down the toilet (or as David calls it, the “bloody loo governor”). I don’t know what I’m going to do now 😦 Help me band-aid butt, you’re my only hope.

    1. Dear John (AKA “Facetious-Face”): trash can. (Roll up used floss and tie it up tight, first, so you won’t be tugging it out of feline orifices two days later.)

      And let this be a lesson to you. A pithy lesson. Like, from Pythia, the Oracle of Delphi. She, too, was under the influence of mind-altering substances, and probably spoke gibberish that people interpreted to be meaningful. Isn’t there a rule about not blogging under the influence? There should be.

      See the picture? Doesn’t it look like she’s taking a dump? Pythia: the patron saint of bloggers on the bog.

      1. Heh, she looks like she’s taking a dump while an old man watches, off camera, smoking a cigarette.

    2. John, please… ‘governor’! Have you been watching ‘Mary Poppins’ again?

      1. We have a television show (“tele show” to you), where a British Housekeeper takes care of a family who needs them, but without magic or dancing with cartoons or chim chim charoos. It’s called Mr. Belevedere, It’s awesome, but was canceled long ago. Kids grow up, it stops being cute after a while. Where am I going with this? That’s not a rhetorical question, I actually want to know…

  3. Frankly, you lost me at chim chim charoo (did I spell that correctly?) I think if you look at the Mr Belvedere re-runs a dark and dangerous message will soon become apparent – just don;t ask me what it is

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