Kollective Noun Korner, a new one-time-only ongoing feature +PLUS+ I haven’t figured out the contest winner yet, big surprise +AND+ Breaking News

Breaking news:

I haven’t got a new roommate for my place yet.  ln other news today, conditions in the local long-term psychiatric facility AND South Toronto Detention Centre indicate severe overflow.

I owe $98 on my last month’s rent and don’t have any of this month’s, mainly cause I’m too retarded to sell any of my beautiful art because I get complete body paralysis when I think of picking up the phone; and all I can pull myself together to do is write meaningless, yet admittedly still extremely gorgeous, mildly amusing, at least to me, and totally snarky blog posts that I read and re-read obsessively while chain smoking in an effort to believe that I’m not just an old useless wad of gum on the sandals of Father Time.

Yep, you got it  – it’s Sunday!

Kollective Noun Korner, a.k.a., a new way to pad things out while my brain remains devoid of anything like a pithy, relevant subject.  And it’s almost impossible to avoid quipping, “That wasn’t devoid, that was my life!”

Today’s post – because the option of saying nothing has apparently not yet occurred to me – is by way of rescuing the thousands of you who have been in an agony of writers’ block due to having only one collective noun relating to geese.

I know, petal, I know. But daddy’s here.

All of you have been using “gaggle”, which of course means a group of geese WHEN THEY ARE ON WATER.

“But how,” you gasp, “shall we characterize a group of geese IN FLIGHT?!”, before collapsing on your IKEA fainting mat (“Svöønenig”).

A group of geese, or in fact any type of wildfowl, in flight is a


You’re welcome!

BONUS IMAGE: I’ve included a pic of an aardvark just to be, like, totally?!?? random?!?!?. Collective noun: Aarmory.

The aardvark is a non-sociable animal, which nugget of scientific knowledge doesn’t exactly knock me sideways seeing as how “pink snout” and “long sticky tongue covered with termites” are the first ideas to spring to mind in any game of word association I might choose to play.

When he does bump into another aardvark, and after they both burst into tears and shriek, “Jesus, I thought I was the only one!”, the two creatures just sniff each other for a bit, give each other a wary look, then wander off.

Which is exactly what happened last time I bumped into Ann Coulter.