C IS FOR CHALK — AND OTHER THOUGHTS ABOUT COMMUNICATING

Chalk on the sidewalk
writin' on the wall
everybody knows it
I love Paul.  ~ Annette With The Afterbeats, "Tall Paul" 

Communicating

First, there were words. Then, there was language.  

Then clay, and papyrus, and paper for recording ideas. Then Johnnes Gutenberg's movable type, and finally the computer. Communication comes in many forms.

Despite using a computer for much of my communication, I still have this fondness for fountain pen, and ink, and paper. It's almost antique, but it is what I like.

And I recall even more simple communication form — chalk on sidewalks.  "Johnny Loves Sue." Or  Hopscotch Designs — the perennial children's game. An invitation to play, perhaps.

I recall a couple of other uses of chalk on sidewalks. 

One was during the rise of the "Occupy" movement a year ago. Chalk messages on sidewalks were easy ways to tell the world about why Occupations were taking place. Some were cryptic; some, more literary.

The other was with the death of Canadian politician Jack Layton.

Layton, the son of a Conservative cabinet minister, had become the leader of the New Democratic Party (NDP) — Canada's Social Democratic political party. A significant political leap.

The federal election of 2011 saw a political transformation. For generations the NDP has been the "Third Party" in Canada, always well behind the Conservatives and the Liberals (the so-called natural governing party).

But when the election was over, the NDP, led by Layton, was the second party, well ahead of the Liberals.

Layton, recently recovered from cancer, and a broken hip, had led his party into new political territory.

But almost immediately after the election, a new cancer invaded Layton's life. And it killed him, less the four months after the election.

When he died, the whole country seemed to go into mourning. The nation had lost a Great Canadian. Layton, despite his Ph.D. in politics, was very much an "ordinary Canadian." He had the "common touch." While people may not have agreed with him, many felt an attachment to Jack Layton.

The Prime Minister even allowed a full state funeral for this political foe.

But aside the formalities, there was an opportunity for Ordinary Canadians to share in the public grief. Sidewalk chalk. On the square before Toronto's city hall. The city hall in which Layton had served as a municipal politician years before. And so the place was slowly covered with heart-felt messages from people, many strangers, who felt a heart-to-heart connection with the amazing politician.

More than Mechanics

The late Roy Currie, veteran broadcaster and teacher of broadcasters put it this way, "First you make sense, then you make sounds." Meaning, have something to say before you say something (or anything). 

At it's heart, communication is the sharing of ideas, a "meeting of meanings" (to quote Reuel Howe, in his book The Miracle of Dialogue). Indeed, the Latin word communicare means "to share."

While we might be caught up in the technology of communication — particularly of television advertising — there is an underlying story that is being told, being shared. 

Blogging the Story

Bloggers are communicators. Pure and simple. But instead of chalk on sidewalks, we use pixels on screens. Pixels on screens tell our stories.

But we still face the question: What are we saying when we blog? What are we sharing? Is it what way we want to share, what we intend to share? Or something else?

Conclusion

What am I communicating with my blog?  Ultimately, that is the question we need to ask ourselves.

The A - Z Challenge offers us a chance to do some analysis of our work, in comparison to the writing of others. Don't ask the question "Am I as good as other writers"? Ask the question "How are other writers telling their stories"? "What can I learn from them"?

A IS FOR AARDVARK — AN EXCUSE TO BE CURIOUS

A is for Aardvark
an interesting creature
at the top of the list,
this critter's the feature.

Introducing the Aardvark

The aardvark is a medium-sized animal that lives in sub-Saharan Africa. It eats ants and termites, lives in burrows, and is active at night. It looks a bit like a pig, but isn't closely related to pigs. (Which is why it's important to check on appearances.)

Picture from Google images

The name aardvark is an Afrikaans word, meaning "ground pig" or "earth pig" — from the fact that it burrows.

The aardvark is sharp claws, which enable it to dig through termite or ant hills. It's long tongue helps the aardvark to quickly devour its prey. 

This Is Important, Because . . . ?

The only thing I knew about aardvarks, before I started this post, is that the name begins with two letter "A"s.

But I'm curious enough to want to find what's behind the name.

Curiosity is probably one of the most important attributes of ay blogger. From my days as a journalist I recall the easiest ways to find a story is to ask:

• Why is something not where it should be, or

• Why is something where it shouldn't be. 

That's an appeal to curiosity.

So, be curious about the world.


Similarly, a bloggy friend, Lydia, lists three "Instructions for Living Life":

• Pay attention
• Be astonished
• Tell about it

(The three principles are from Mary Oliver. Lydia found them courtesy of another bloggy friend of ours, kj.)

In Conclusion

If you're stuck for something to say, just look around for a while.

And after you've paid attention to what's out there, and been surprised, astonished, intrigued or puzzled, you've got something to write about.

That's what will happen here during the A to Z (as in Eh to Zed) Challenge.

Blessings and Bear hugs.

IN WHICH BEAR STOPS TO RECONSIDER

Bear has, for a very long time, been a writer, a broadcaster, a journalist. An award winning journalist, even.

So, from that perspective, Bear tends to treat his blogs as if they are journals of sorts.

Just the facts, ma'am, and stuff like that.

Solid, well-thought-out, well-expressed. Even the spelling is (usually) good.

Yada, yada, yada.

And kind readers leave the odd, thoughtful comment. Not that their comments are odd; they're not. They are delightful! (Then, there's the Blog Fodder, but that's another story entirely.*)

Anyhow, I did something different.

I published a light, fluffy piece, including a picture of Bear with a baby. (While I did that, I sat quaking, fearing my Writer's Licence would be revoked for doing such stuff and nonsense).

And what happened?

I've received more comments to that than to anything else that I've written. And, I've still got my Writer's Licence!

Well, then.

I understand that each literary type has it's own style, it's own conventions. Poetry and newspapers have very different styles. You know that.

Has journalist Bear not really understood the conventions of blogging? Has Bear be writing a blog like a journalist, instead of like a blogger? Should Bear be making changes? Should Bear work in multiple styles, on different blogs? Hmmmm.

I'm not sure where this will go, but it seems this is time to reconsider.

Footnote

The story is told of a career sailor, who eventually retired from the Navy.
At the time of his retirement he thought back on his time as a painter.
On board, he had worked in the aft section of the ships on which he had served.
So he said he had left no stern untoned.

__________________
*The Blog Fodder is the only blogger who has met Bear in person. And that was decades (yes, decades) before there were such things as blogs, or Facebook, or Twitter. Meaning that BF knows way too much about Bear. Though, to tell the truth, he has been very gracious.

STRANGE THINGS DONE BY THE MIDNIGHT SUN*

As some of you may be aware, Bear has a total of five blogs. Yes, five of 'em. Most of you are accustomed to being part of Chrome on the Range and Bears Noting.

But there are three others. One deals with things spiritual and religious. One deals with ethics, particularly medical ethics. And one is written in French. Entirely in French. Yes, I admit to being a bit of a peculiar Bear.

There is an explanation. Bear, being in better fame of mind these days, is starting to use all five blogs. I don't want my mind to rot — totally. The creative juices are starting to flow again. I would not want you to be bored by reading just one or two blogs. So, the ethics blog and the French blog are coming back "on line" this week. I don't use them as much as my main two, so I'll warn you when I'm posting there. Maybe I should say "advise you" when I have something thereabouts.

Happy reading!

* With apologies to Robert Service, Canadian poet.

LIFE and BLOGGING

There are times when life seems to get in the way of blogging.

That happened yesterday. Nothing in particular. I just, well, got busy. Like a dog heading out with his nose to the ground, and not particularly noticing where I was going.

That, I think, happens to all of us, sometimes.

Anyhow, Thursday's thoughts didn't materialize until this morning, because, um, other things were materializing yesterday.

The story is told of an old pastor. He was reflecting back on his ministry.

"I used to be bothered, when I was following our plans, about the interruptions getting in the way of my ministry. Then, one day, I discovered the interruptions were the ministry."

And that's the way it is.

TELLING IT LIKE IT IS

My blogging Aussie friend, Natalie, raised a good question with me about the "Craziness in Church" post on my Desert Epiphanies blog: "Why can't you post this stuff on your other blog? Was there a reason in particular?" (This, Chrome on the Range, is the "other blog" to which Natalie is referring.)

A good question. As a curious human being, and die-hard journalist, I like good questions.

The short answer is that, if I posted everything here, it would be a real "mish-mash" of stuff. Health and ethics issues. Religious/faith issues. Journalistic/historical/philosophical issues. And the "ordinary stuff of life" issues, which is what I focus on here. People would never know what they're getting when they come on to this blog. Better to give people options of what they want to follow, and considering this my "home base," from which they can move, if they want.

That's my inclination. Do others among you have any observations? I would very much like to know. That would be helpful. Really.

HIROSHIMA REMEMBERED

Friend and fellow journalist Jim Taylor has an interesting and challenging piece on remembering of the use of the first thermonuclear weapon. That, of course, was at Hiroshima, Japan, on August 6, 1945. His comments can be found on his blog, amongst other places.

For me, two points were of particular interest.

1. Once you let the genie — any genie — out of the bottle, it's very tough to get it back in.

2. Hiroshima legitimizes international terrorism, by primarily targeting civilians.

It is not a horrific read, but neither is it comfortable.

I encourage you to take some time to consider it.

ASBO-BEAR? (Oh, No; I Hope NOT!)

This could be subtitled "Things I Learned from British Bloggers." This is a bit old, and a bit odd, but I wanted to publish it anyhow. Peculiar creatures, these Bears.

While I'm of British stock, our family is multi-generational Canadian. I know lots of British history (like the fact that the Tudors were Welsh, and that 1066 was the last successful invasion of Britain). I know something about British politics (oh dear, poor Mr. Brown — no, we're NOT related!). I know what people mean when they talk about articulated lorries, lifts, spanners, the loo, and office buildings were the main floor isn't the first floor.

I've also learned about lots of people who have sheep, and utterly amazing gardens, and that courgettes are really zucchinis.

And on your blogs, I've met all kinds of non-human characters. Charlie, Cheyenne, Little Chip, Loyal Hound, Poppy & Misty, and Sparky. And then there's ASBO Jack. Interesting name, I thought. All in capitals. The polar opposite of the non-capitalizing e.e. cummings. Must be a "Wonder Dog," I concluded. Jack as in Jack Russell Terrier (I think).

And at Purple Coo, they even had an ASBO hour (or day), in honour of said Terrier, I'm told. "Wow," I thought, "impressive dog."

Then Zoe, bless her heart, had to straighten me out.

"Here on this side the pond, it is a method to impose curfew, or restrict the activities and places an individual may go when they have been found guilty of anti-social behaviour within their community. The restriction is called an Anti-Social Behaviour Order, hence ASBO."

Well that brings a new meaning to Wonder Dog. More like Anti-Social Wonder Dog. And here I had all these expectations!

As long as I don't get the designation "ASBO Bear," I think I'll be OK. But knowing me, I'm never sure. I have these "defects of character," you see. Or, more appropriately, have seen.

Oh well, a non-musical ditty for the dog days of summer.

TAKING RISKS — HOPEFULLY SURVIVING

Sonia (over at Gutsy Writer) got me thinking about this topic a few days ago. I had some questions for myself. 
  
What does it mean do take risks?
Why should I take risks?
What kinds of risks could/should/would I take?

I've taken a lot of risks in my life. Changing jobs; changing careers; moving across a country for work; walking into burning buildings with nothing more than an inch and a half (diameter) fire hose; getting married; having children; writing, broadcasting and blogging; upholding unpopular beliefs and ideas. In each case, these were things I did because I thought they were the right thing to do. A couple of those proved to be really bad (two were health destroying); the vast majority were good, and I'd do them again.

Even though I'm hitting retirement, I don't expect my attitude will change much. I'm probably a bit old for walking into burning buildings and having more children. I'll probably spend more time upholding unpopular ideas, in a time when democracy, human rights, co-operation, citizen action, and faith are all under attack, particularly in North America.
   
I'd love to have you come along. And if you're coming along, I really hope you will chat with me about what you and I are thinking.

Do we have a deal?

RACHEL'S BEAR POETRY CONTEST

In response to questions about finding the various poems in the Bear poetry contest, you need to go to Rachel Westfall's blog, The Waxing Moon. The contributions are spread over several postings; check the attached comments to the posts. I've put in the links for all four of the key posts on Rachel's blog

 
Happy reading! There's great stuff for those who like poetry.
 
http://thewaxingmoon.blogspot.com/2010/06/bear-haiku-challenge-prizes.html

http://thewaxingmoon.blogspot.com/2010/06/one-more-week-bear-haiku-challenge.html 
 
http://thewaxingmoon.blogspot.com/2010/07/bear-poetry.html
  
http://thewaxingmoon.blogspot.com/2010/07/beautiful-bear-poetry-and-announcing.html

PECULIAR HAPPENINGS

Subtitle: “In which Bear Survives a Storm, Celebrates Canada Day, and Does Well in a Poetry Contest.”  

As famed Canadian poet Robert Service put it, "There are strange things done in the midnight sun." (That's the opening line from "The Cremation of Sam McGee.") 

There are, of course, strange things done at other times, too.

1. As many of you have already noted, there is a lot of "peculiar" weather this year. Normal patters appear to be skewed, for some reason. Global warming; a disruption in the "collective unconscious" —  who knows. 

We had a fairly brutal storm a couple of nights ago. We received about four inches of rain over three hours in our city. The hail at the Bears' house ranged in size between marbles and golf balls. Residents' basements, whole neighbourhoods, and even civic buildings, were flooded — and not just in our community. 

At one point, a few blocks from our home, the water flow and pressure in the storm sewer was so strong, the water blew the man hole cover off the service access. That sent water charging into the street, and cascading though a park directly to our river. The result was a huge washout, as you can see, on the path beside the roadway.

That cut is about 30 feet wide, and about 20 feet deep,

and runs all the way down the hill, through the park, to the river, which you can see in the distance.

We had another storm tonight, but it wasn't nearly as bad.

The washout, btw, is about two blocks from our son's house. He and his family were fine, as were we, and our daughter (who lives a bit further away, and on higher ground).


2. Canada Day is our national holiday. On July 1, 1867, the British North America Act came into force, and Canada became a Dominion within the British Empire (on which the sun never sets, I'm told). 

Yesterday, all kinds of things happening around us, from pancake breakfast first think in the morning, to fireworks at night. Our grandchildren came for a sleepover, and stayed up until the fireworks started (which we didn't think they would). But after a few, they had seen enough, so off to bed and sleep. 

In the process, they cut a few Canadian flags out of papers, and put them on a door and a windows. My flag continues to fly atop my flagpole; I think I'm the only one around here who actually flies a flag. (The bad news is that my flag is getting a bit tatty, and needs to be repaired or replaced.)


3. As at least some of you know, Bear has been a writer and broadcaster for quite a few years. And Bear loves telling stories. 

But Bear is NOT a poet. I thoroughly enjoy poetry, but I'm not a poetic writer.

Well, at least not until now.

Rachel Westfall, a good poet, writes poetry on her blog. To encourage others to write or try poetry, she decided to hold a competition on her blog. 

But not just ordinary poetry. It had to be about Bears, and it had to be Haiku (that particular form of Japanese poetry, consisting of 17 moras, in three phrases of 5, 7, and 5 moras respectively). 

Since it was about Bears, this Bear thought, "Oh well, I'll give it a try,  just for fun, and see what happens."

So what happened? Rachel explained it this way:

"When I read the poems over and over, one author moved me in the way of the bear-spirit more than any other: Rob-Bear! Congratulations, dear Rob-Bear! Your bear in shining fur poem truly gave me goose-bumps (bear-bumps)?"

This is a bit strange, because I thought there were much better contributions than mine. But, hey; it's her blog, so we'll abide by her decision.

What did I write?

Bear in shining fur,
glowing with bright moonlight,
sniffs distant food, wonders.

I'm to get a prize, and it will be a Bear sort of thing, which I'll add to my collection of Bears. Quite Bearable, all in all. Thank you, Rachel!

But Bear still sits and shakes his head. Me? A poet? 

"And that," said Bear, "is that."

§   §   §

One other matter. This is my 200th post since I started blogging (in 2006). Bear figures if he works at it long enough, he may actually catch on to what blogging is. (There are so many really talented bloggers out there; some are included in my sidebar! And, yes;  there's one very prosaic, pedestrian Bear.)

LIFE . . .

. . . is boring if you don't blog once in a while. So, here I am.

Lately, I've been distracted by a number of other things. Like retirement planning, fixing the house and yard, "training" Her Ladyship, Miss Sadie, and work on a number of ethics committees.  I've also been writing for money (and getting paid) and writing for fun and experience (elsewhere). 

So now I'm coming back here for a bit.

Actually, the next piece will be on my Bears Noting blog, in about a week. I'll give you the heads-up here when it's published there. (I don't mean to confuse you; this blog is for fun; that blog is for "more serious stuff" [said in the tone of Winnie the Pooh!].)

BEARS NOTING

Some time ago, I wrote/threatened/promised I would start publishing some of my "Moral Economy" Op-Ed columns on my Bears Noting blog. Next week, I am going to start doing that.

Chrome on the Range is my everyday, "fun, friends, and family" (and sometimes serious) blog. Bears Noting on the other hand, is deliberately set for "more serious stuff." While that may sound ominous, it will be OK; as long as I don't take myself too seriously. (When was the last time Bear did that?)

But I'll give you a "heads up" here when I'm adding to Bears Noting.

Next weeks piece will deal with political disenchantment in Canada, and some related thoughts.
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AN EYE FOR AN EYE

Today we'll do the medical; next time we'll do the Biblical. (The Biblical is quite fascinating, because it doesn't mean what most people think today.)

Catracts are patches on the lens of the eye through which one cannot see. The standard treatment is to remove the lens using a technique called phacoemulsification. A surgeon uses an ultrasonic beam to break up the hardened lens, and then vacuums up the pieces from the eye with a suction device. An artificial lens, called an intraocular lens or IOL, is inserted to replace the cataract lens.

That's what happened today — right after lunch. (No breakfast this morning; tea and a tiny bread roll post surgery.) All kinds of drops put into my eye, to fight any potential infection or inflammation, and then to "freeze" the eye. They to the surgery. Then Home. (NO I didn't drive mysef — Momma Bear did that — thankfully!!)

Over the next week my vision is supposed to get better. Right now, it's worse — which is why I'm writing in such large type -- so I can "sort of" see what I'm saying. I have to keep putting drops in my eye for the next four or five weeks, to prevent infection.

The really fun part is that the surgeon will check my eye again tomorrow. At 7:00 a.m. In his office downtown. (Is there really a 7:00 in the morning? I thought they got rid of that a few years ago.)

And bye and bye the surgeon will do the other eye, which is almost as bad.

Other than that, the day was fairly boring. Sadie and Nuala hardly notice anything. I slept when I got home, sitting up. My eye is starting to hurt so I'll take something for that. And I'll probably go to bed fairly early. For not having done much today, I'm feeling awfully tired.

I trust you've found this "insightful."


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STRANGE THINGS HAPPENNG

OK -- let's get this straight right from square one. The header of this blog specifically indicates that we're "Exploring the anomalies and curiosities of Life. And things that are just plain Weird. Or Funny." Everybody clear on that? Good; we'll move on.

I received this award, from Joanne at "Reasons to be Cheerful, 1, 2, 3." Which was very kind of her. (Thank you, Joanne.)



The note with this says; "This award is an acknowledgement of womanhood and sisterhood." Kind of a "solidarity" and "compassion" kind of think, I guess.

Uhhhh . . . Now this is exceedingly peculiar, because the Bear is not a she, but a he.

How to get around the problem? Joanne has declared the Bear an "honourary sister."

Hmmmm . . . Did somebody say, "anomalies," "curiosities," or "weird"? Granted, Bear may be a creative thinker, but not even I could make this one up! "Honourary Sister!?" Ahhhh, . . . well, . . . "interesting."

This started (I think) with Rosaia at "sixtyfivewhatnow" -- though she would be an obvious candidate for the award, so I should send one back anyhow. So pay attention: Natalie; Renee; Camilla: Frances; Sonia; Wendy; Dana; Julie; Janine -- and a whole bunch of others with whom I correspond semi-regularly and have forgotten to mention -- this is for you! (Bear's mind is getting mushy at this hour; I'm forgetting details.) So help yourself. There's a copy on my sidebar -- it's for YOU, all of you -- loving, caring, thoughtful sisters [l.e., human beings]. There's even one for the Blog Fodder, who we'll also classify as an "honourary sister." (No offense, big guy.)

Now, back to our regularly-scheduled programming.

THE BEAR IS HERE . . .

. . . well, more or less. After much fixing of house and visiting with family, the Bear is trying to recuperate.

You'll find me popping up here and there -- either at your blog, or, more frequently, at Purple Coo. I expect to be blogging more frequently in the fall.

BEAR ON THE BRIDGE

This story came to me from "dragonesque" Wendy of Curiouser and Curiouser. She says it came from a friend. I asked her about posting this e-mail to my blog, and she replied that she thought " it is just perfect for your page!" So, Thanks to Wendy, and her friend. . . .


This bridge is on the Old Donner Pass Highway in California, USA.
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A bear was walking across Rainbow Bridge ( Old Hwy 40 at Donner Summit) on Saturday when two cars also crossing the bridge scared the bear into jumping over the edge of the bridge.
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Somehow the bear caught the ledge and pulled itself to safety.
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Authorities decided that nothing could be done to help Saturday night so they returned Sunday morning to find the bear sound asleep on the ledge.
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√After securing a net under the bridge the bear was tranquilized, fell into the net, lowered, then woke up and walked out of the net.
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There is, said the original writer, a moral to this story you know:

This old bear made a wrong move and found he was hanging by his nails.
Somehow he was able to pull himself up onto the ledge where he saw he was in a very bad, impossible situation and what did he do? Yep, he took a nap and sure enough the situation took care of itself while he was asleep.

The moral ? ....when confronted with a bad situation sometimes the best solution is to take a nap!

That's a moral with which this ol' Rob-bear certainly agrees!

MATERNITY WARD UPDATE

A really quick note.

1. The Nuthatches are carrying food to their "hole in the tree" -- which means they're feeding babies. I haven't looked in -- don't want to scare them.

2. Mr. Robin has been holding on to "his" property all summer, and there is a new Mrs. Robin. I can tell from their activities that she's building a nest -- though I don't know where.

The sadder report was that the original Mrs. Robin died of septicemia. The pathologist found two small holes on her flank, where blood had dried over. That's consistent with being hit by a cat, but not killed outright. (There might be other causes.) But that's where the infection started, and then spread through her whole body. Anyhow, she was apparently flying to get some food, her heart stopped, and she fell from the sky. They also found a crushed egg inside of her, indicative of a fall; an egg which she would probably have laid later that day.

Footnote: living in our back yard can be dangerous. I went out to change the water sprinkler, and almost got hammered in the head by two Pine Siskins (finches related to the common American Goldfinch). One was chasing the other. I had to duck really fast; otherwise, I'd have had a bird in the head (which is entirely different from a bird in the hand). About a minute later they came back, and I had to duck again. If they're in a territorial fight over a portion of our "outback," that's their business. Just leave me out of it! Please!

WE'LL MEET AGAIN . . .

"We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when,
But I know we'll meet again, some sunny day." -- Very Lynn (1939)

For the second time this year, I spent a large part of last evening in the Emergency Department of one of our local hospitals. The problem: serious chest pain. And again, it was not my heart. (So now you have the bad news and the good news.)

The rest of the news it that:
1. I will be seeing my own family doctor as soon as possible,
2. I probably won't be in the blogsphere, at least for a while, because I'll need to rest more, and,
3. I have to seriously re-consider how much I can do with my blogs, especially with the change in the seasons, and the responsibilities for keeping up the house and garden, and playing with the grandkids..

When life serves me lemons, I've got at least four choices: make lemonade, ask for tequila and salt, put it on fish and chips, or put in in my rum and coke (rum's too sweet without some lemon or lime). The first consideration -- what do I want today (or at least this morning). Sigh; too many choices for this old bear. I'll have to sleep on it.
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SWINE 'FLU -- MISCELLANEOUS DATA

The following came from a mate of mine in Brisvegas (i.e., Brisbane), Australia. He claims they came from someone else. He's a good bloke, but sometimes I wonder about him. Anyhow, here's the information, thought I can't promise it's the truth.

How did the pig go on holiday?
The swine flu.

Swine flu isn't a problem for pigs, because they're all going to be cured anyway.

The first sign of pig flu is that you come out in nasty rashers.

Swine flu is getting serious, it has been reported to be a hamdemic, which may lead to an aporkolypse. But we'll get through. Where there's a swill there's a way.

This little piggy went to market,
This little piggy stayed at home,
This little piggy had roast beef,
This little piggy had none,
And this little piggy had influenza A virus subtype hemagglutinin protein 1 neuraminidase protein 1.

The only known cure for Swine Flu has been found to be the liberal application of oinkment.

I was so concerned, I rang the information help line, but all I got was crackling,

I have to say, I'm finding all these jokes about swine flu pretty boaring.