February 25, 2008

• And don't forget the giant bunnock of Macklin, Saskatchewan.
• Gotta put the cart *under* the horse in Macklin, I guess.
• So bunnocks aren't bunny nuttocks?
• Buttocks. Buttocks, buttocks, buttocks, buttocks, buttocks.
• TUM muffs bun bums. Say it five times fast.
• Aren't horse ankles called fetlocks?
• Nuttocks? Looks like I've got a new nickname for the boys. Be careful when shaving your nuttocks.
• DAMMMITT I MISSED BUNNOCK TOURNEYYYYY /tears at hair /bangs head on piano keyboard
• Wouldn't this game be a lot more fun if the bones had heavy metal spikes on the end so that they would stick into the lawn when thrown?
• And Cobras.
• Well, sure, cobras. Goes without saying.
• I come from an affluent family where everyone is highly educated and have good jobs. We never lacked love or good manners. Even though this support was all around me, it did not prevent me from falling a victim to a deadly disease, a horrible plague. The deadly disease of compulsive Bunnock. The older people in my family never dreamt that I was playing such games. When I joined college, sleazy Bunnock dens functioning round-the-clock in the city lured me. I was attracted by the free anklebones, endless consecutive games, huge breasted umpires, and the cobras. "Special class in college", "Educational tour" were the reasons I used to give for staying on at the Bunnock pits for days in a row. I extracted money from my parents for "special fees" and "important books". Apart from becoming a compulsive Bunnocker before the end of my college days, I also became an expert in cobra wrangling and extracting the ankles from horses whilst they were still standing. I was truly a pitiable man. But today, one day at a time, by Glub's grace I am free of Bunnock and have no desire to throw the bones. It is only thru the fellowship and support of other recovering Bunnockers that I have achieved this. Those people who are still suffering should be made to understand the facts of the disease of compulsive Bunnock. They should be advised to seek help. Only if they seek help can they be saved. Otherwise the quicksand called "compulsive Bunnock" will swallow them. SWALLOW THEM, I SAY.
• Admin, please give Hank the serenity to accept the ankle bones that he cannot hurl, the courage to avoid the cobras, and the pile of horse manure for quidnunc.
• That's an interesting story about the origins of the game, but I wonder why the Canadian Russian Germans (who?) settled on horse's ankle bones to relieve the tedium. Lots and lots of dead horses? Something wrong with all the other bones?
• The dried turds they were previously using kept disintegrating.
• I gather that the ankle bones were shaped such that they could stand up, unlike most other bones. It seems that Mongolians have been happily playing with sheep ankle bones for many centuries.
• GET YOUR NASTY HAND OFF MY ANKLE!
• One, two, three o'clock, four and bun-nock, Five, six, seven o'clock, eight and bun-nock, Nine, ten, eleven o'clock, twelve and bun-nock, We'll bun-nock around the clock tonight. Get your horse bones out and join me, hon, We'll have some fun when the clock strikes one, We'll bun-nock around the clock tonight, We'll bun-nock, nock, nock, 'til broad daylight. We'll bun-nock, bun-a-nock around the clock tonight. When the clock strikes two, we'll be annoyed, If we can't knock down that sesamoid, We'll bun-nock around the clock tonight, We'll bun-nock, nock, nock, 'til broad daylight. We'll bun-nock like Can-nocks around the clock tonight. When it's eight, nine, ten, eleven too, I'll be chuckin' bones and so will you. We'll bun-nock around the clock tonight, We'll bun-nock, nock, nock, 'til broad daylight. We'll bun-nock fet-locks around the clock tonight.