Germs of an Idea (Part 2)
The Fine Art of Punning

OK, that proposal for a new food series distracted this bloggist from demonstrating his patented punning process. Sorry for that.

Just FYI, this proposed series on food establishments could actually be the perfect opportunity to explore the meticulous approach that this respected blog employs in coming up with terrible puns. For such a direction, specifically, we need to come up with a sheep-related title, similar to the excellent examples Off-Bleat and On The Lamb, but referencing food. Thankfully, due to my years at pun university, I tend to be my own worst critic. Thus, the finely tuned procedure normally takes the form of an internal dialogue between myself and my own worst critic (also myself). It’s a subtle process of deliberation. Psychiatrists have several diagnoses for it, and they all start with ‘awesome as balls’.

What follows demonstrates how one inchoate concept is coaxed gradually into vitality. Incidentally, it may be about as much fun as watching a random stranger giving birth. Please watch your shoes…

“I like food,” I said.

“Food is good,” I replied.

“I like food because food is good,” I replied again.

“That’s a good title for our series, precious.”

“No, it’s not. There are no sheep references. We need something sheepy.”

“It’s easy. Start with what you know.”

What EWE know! That’s good.”

“Eh? That’s not even food-related.”

“How about Eat All EWE Can?”

“Hmm. It’s kind of obvious. And it sounds like you want to eat all the ewes that you can.”

“What’s so wrong about that? You Are What EWE Eat, maybe?”

“That’s awful, and the wrong kind of awful. It’s like you are going to be eaten by a giant ewe from outer space. You’re like sheep feeds or something.”

Sheep Feeds! I like that.”

“We’re not trying to be Gerry Geronimo here, you dolt. Saying ‘sheep feeds’ may attract the wrong people.”


This kind.

“You’re right. It needs to be… grander. Regal, even. ‘Feeds for a King’!”

“What? That’s not even sheep-related.”

Sheep Feeds for a King?”

“Oh, for crying out loud!”


Have you recently abused the illegal drugs?

Baanquet?”

“Promising but too short. What’s so wrong with ‘ewe’ anyway? You were on to something there.”

“Ewe. Like chew. Ewe and swallow?”

“OK, that sounds gross. Like eww and swallow. It’s like being made to ingest vomit or some other bodily byproduct.”

“Ewe. Like chew. Like mastication. Baastication!?”

“You know what needs baastication? Pubescent schoolboys. And your face. Your face needs baastication, you idiot.”

“Don’t be so harsh, yo. I’m trying here.”

“Sorry. I really hated that one. I almost wanted to shave your eyebrows.”

“Hey, they’re your eyebrows, too. We’re talking to ourselves, remember?”

“No need to remind me. But I’d shave my eyebrows for that out of contrition. Screw you and your baastication.”

“OK, OK… point taken. Geez. Something swanky, perhaps? Epicure? Gastronomy? Baastronomy!”

“Go to hell! Do you want to get punched in the mouth? I would’ve, too, only I didn’t want to get ball sweat on my knuckles.”


It leaves the worst stains.

Baa la Carte? No? What else would a stuck-up foodie say? Food hacking? Heehee! Hacking?! Degustation? Gah! Oh, I know! Artisanal!”

“That word doesn’t mean anything anymore. Seriously, the next person who says ‘artisanal’ should eat sheet ship and die.”

Baartisanal! You know like – eeeeeiiiaagh! Wha’d you do that for?”

“I warned you, you ass.”


Excuse me?

“I was on a roll there, yo. Hmm. How about fine dining? I don’t know… Ovine Dining?”

“Too scientific. It sounds like a book. Like you’re eating sheep specimens.”

“Gourmet, maybe? Gourneigh? Zinger! No, no, no! Don’t stab me.”

“Sheep don’t neigh.”

“I know. That’s why I said ‘Don’t stab me’. Ha! Horse d’oeuvres!”

“I hope your colon gets perforated by an engorged horse.”


Like this, but with a more excited silhouette.

“Oh yeah, I said ‘horse’. Not sheep. Maybe we should change the blog header graphic to show horses instead? I really liked that one.”

“…”

“No? Ok Baack to baa, then. See what I did there?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t.”

“I got it. Remember how our teacher used to have a food column called ‘In Good Taste’? Well, she’s respectable and we’re totally not, so… In Baa Taste!”

“That’s wrong. We can’t use that. We’ll get lynched. Food bloggers don’t even know how much they owe her. In Baa Taste communicates the opposite idea, besides. It’ll be as if all we ate were bad food.”

“You’re right. You’re really good at this, evil twin. Baa. Ewe. Ram? Resto-ram? Restoram-hopping? Baa-hopping? Please don’t kill me”

“You’re useless. You’re a waste of cell division. I can’t believe this. You were actually better with the horse puns.”

“I told you they were good. I wish sheep didn’t baa. They should neigh. Or bray. Oh, shit! You are not going to believe this!”

“What?”


Don’t even go there. [thanks, EPL]

“Eat. Bray. Lamb. Eat, Bray, Lamb! Oh no, he didn’t!”

“Fuck you.”

“What? I didn’t peg you as a Julia Roberts fan… what do you – ”

“I want to kick your ass so hard you’ll get sore throat from hemorrhoids.”

“Why do you hate me so much? Instead of all this self-abuse you should try giving us some constructive criticism.”

“Whatever. We shouldn’t do this food thing anymore. It’s all just indulgence and gluttony to me.”

“Like that, see. Thank you.”

“Eh?”

“Gluttony. It’s a good starting point. Ewe. Ram. Baa. Lamb. Ahh, Mutton! MuttonyMuttony on the Bounty! Call me Ishmael!”

“Are you really that stupid? Why are you quoting ‘Moby Dick’?”


I’m not going there, Moby or not.

“Help me? I’m running out of sheep ideas. Mutton. Lamb. Baa. Ewe. Maybe… Wool? Woolly. The Wool. The Wool at Large. No. The Wool Is Awesome. Shit balls. The wool is… eating… food, gluttony, sheep. I give up!”

“Good. All this thinking is making me hungry.”

“Hungry? Wool?”

“Oh, please don’t. Don’t even think – ”

Hungry Like the Wool!”

“Goddamnit! Are you A GAY?”

“What? Are you implying that I am sexually attracted to male genitals?”

“No, just that you like Duran Duran.”

“I don’t even like Duran Duran, dude. I just know that song from somewhere.”


Besides, everybody knows that “Hungry Like the Wolf” is the second single from Duran Duran’s multiplatinum breakthrough ‘Rio’, which was released in 1982. [thanks, Duran²]

“It’s hopeless. I hope you wrote all your ideas down. There could be one or two in there that you can take off with. Eat All Ewe Can seems much better now after all that.”

Bleat All You Can?”

“No, we already used ‘bleat’. There’s Off-Bleat and The Bleat Goes On. It also sounds like a rant column. And the world is tired enough of ranting minorities, please.”

“But it’s nice and simple. All you can! It sounds as if there’s a lot of food. Like it’s good for sharing. Or… shearing. Like wool. It’s Good for Shearing!”

“I hope you catch fire in your sleep. You know what’s good for shearing? Your girlfriend’s foreskin.”

“That’s uncalled for. She’s your girlfriend, too.”

“She likes me better.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Are you a good girl or a bad boy?”

“I’m a good… what? This is below the belt.”

“You know what’s below the belt? Your – ”

“I want to use You Are What Ewe Eat.”

“Fine. It won’t be good for recall, though.”

“Maybe capitalize the W, so it looks like You Are What eWe Eat. It implies ‘We’.”

“Bully for you. Is that commentary? Are you saying that readers are beholden to us because of our recommendations?”

“Of course not. Our readers are smarter than most. I’m confident about that.”


They know about our post-graduate qualifications, duh.

“They’re obviously not smart enough if they’ve actually read this thing all this way. Pfsh. So, You Are What eWe Eat, then? Final answer?”

“I think it’s only good as a byline though. We still need a snappy series name.”

“And thus, all of this has been for naught…”

“Seriously, I want a short and simple name. Something a bit… presumptuous, like how some establishments would say THE followed by a word, as if they’re THE definitive place: THE establishment. THE joint. THE discotheque. THE whorehouse. You know? THE restaurant. THE cafeteria. THE carinderia. Any eatery, really.”

“Well, they’re you go. Eatery. You can stop your bleating.”

“You don’t say? Bleatery?”

“It’s settled then? THE BleateryLe Bleaterie?”

The Bleatery. You Are What eWe Eat. I like.”

“Good enough. Nice ring to it. If we can look past the reuse. And the pretentious capitalization. And the inconsistency – how are you what you EAT in a BLEATery?”

“I don’t know, dude. I just needed to come up with an awful pun.”

“Mission accomplished, then. I fear for our readers. Congratulations, sheepwad.”


Excuse me?

Categories: [food], [language], [verb.anything]

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