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This entry was posted on Saturday, November 5th, 2022 at 1:06 pm and is filed under animal crackers. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.
Happy Guy Fawkes Day
bluebird of bitterness
The opinions expressed are those of the author. You go get your own opinions.
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Home sweet home
Bob's sister Hannah
Bob's sister Ada
Bob's brother Otto
Bob's sister Eve
Bob's sister Nan
A baby picture of Bob and his siblings (clockwise from upper left: Otto, Eve, Hannah, Ada, Bob, and Nan)
Bob's childhood home
Bob's mom and dad
Bob in his youth
Bob's cousin Alphonse
Bob's Uncle Ralph and Aunt Edna
Bob's cousin Archibald
Bob's stepbrother Herbie (who really needs to quit smoking)
Bob's cousin Chester
Bob's Great Uncle Norbert and Great Aunt Phyllis
Bob's cousin Saffron (who will do anything for a drink)
Bob's cousin Thorndike
Bob's brother-in-law Vinnie
Bob's cousin Orville, who loves the Green Bay Packers
Bob's nieces Lulu and Bitsy, the biker chicks
Bob's stepsister Eloise, with the twins, Rudy and Trudy
Bob's Uncle Henry and Aunt Rowena
Bob's niece Esmerelda (who likes to live dangerously)
Bob's Great Uncle Arthur up in Saskatchewan
Bob's cousin Louie, the grackle of grumpiness
Miss Screech, Bob's journalism teacher
Bob's nephew Winthrop, who loves sports
Bob's Uncle Seymour and Aunt Bernice
Bob's second cousin Schlomo in Brooklyn
Bob's nephew Baxter
Bob's cousin Darrell
Nigel, Bob's pen pal in New Zealand
Bob's sister-in-law Delphine, who volunteers at the animal shelter
Percy the Pickpocket, Bob's third cousin once removed (the relative no one likes to talk about... every family has one)
The Bluebird of Happiness™ (no relation to Bob)
A pair of boobies (also no relation to Bob, but included for readers who desire titillation)
A pair of tits (in case the boobies were insufficiently titillating)
Bluebird Bitter™, the beer they named for Bob
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bluebird of bitterness 
And Happy Guy Fawkes Night to you, too.
Fireworks going off round here.
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I envy you Brits having your fireworks night in November, when it gets dark early. We Yankees have ours in July, when it doesn’t get dark until 10pm. Fine for the young folks, but too late for us old geezers.
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If I lived in England I think I would celebrate Guy Fawkes Day. But I’d need to check if there is good food to go along with the celebration.
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Traditionally, we have baked potatoes, toffee apples, treacle toffee, home-made, of course, so it sticks your teeth together (the bane of dentists) and parkin.
Parkin is a kind of gingerbread made with oatmeal. It’s not hard, but more like a sticky cake. Delicious. I think parkin is more of a northern thing, though.
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For the woman who is always cold and craves sugar and carbs—a bonfire, potatoes etc. sound like a great way to kick off November. Not sure how to reconcile my very Protestant-but-also-pacifist self to the roots of the celebration though.
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I don’t think present day observances have much to do with the rather unfortunate roots. I think it’s just a fun day to shoot off fireworks and have a good time.
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I have never understood what the Fawkes that guy was thinking.
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Well, he hated the oppressors-in-charge, so he thought he’d blow ’em all up in Parliament. Unfortunately (for him), two people can keep a secret if one of them is dead. Thus, he got betrayed… and The Gunpowder Rebellion died out.
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Actually, Guy Fawkes, as I understand it, was a small cog in the rebellion.
It was really against the king, whom many people thought was too Catholic. (A Catholic can’t take the throne of the UK as the monarch is the head of the Anglican Church.) They thought he was trying to return England to the Catholic Church.
The idea was to blow him up, along with the MPs, of course, to prevent this. Guy Fawkes, I think, was the person designated to set off the gunpowder. He wasn’t burned, either, as many think, but hanged.
The bonfire comes from the pagan festival of Samhain, where bonfires played an important part, and possibly, the sacrifice of a human to ensure a good harvest next year.
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See here and here.
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I just read your November 5, 2019 Guy Fawkes post. I read all of it because, thanks to the time change, I had an extra hour to kill. That post killed my extra hour right between the eyes.
This sentence, near the bottom of your 2019 Fawkes post, seems uncannily prescient:
‘Masks themselves have an interesting history that I have no intention of exploring here because it no longer seems as interesting as when I first started this sentence.’
That sums up these past 3 years in a nutshell. Emphasis on the nut. 😀
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😆
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