Magnae clunes mihi placent, nec possum de hac re mentiri.

I studied Latin in my first year at University.

Well, perhaps “studied” is the wrong word. I was there for most of the classes, that I firmly remember, and I still see my 1st year Latin lecturer from time to time — he went on to be the head of classics at Sydney Grammar, and employs a very good friend of mine who was in the same Latin class. I was more or less just along for the ride.

Some (not much) of it rubbed off on me; enough to generate a pass in the subject at least. Which is why this particular translation amuses me quite a bit. I’m glad it’s got the translation within, though.

Ouch

This is not one of mine. I wish it was, though.

This bloke goes to the doctor and says, “Can you take a look at this little thing on my neck?”

So the doctor looks and there’s what looks like a small treeshaped thing.

He says to the man, “nothing to worry about, come back and see me in a month”

So a month later, the bloke comes back, and complains about his neck again. The doctor takes a close look and he can see there’s a small copse now and a babbling brook.

“Nothing to worry about. Come and see me in a month”

Another month later, the guy comes back and he’s really getting upset about his neck. The doctor takes a peek and he can see a waterfall, a little wooded glade and a crystal clear stream flowing through it.

“Absolutely nothing to worry about. Come back in a month and I’ll see how you’re getting on”

So a month later, the bloke comes back and he’s distraught. The doctor looks at his neck, and there’s a huge forest, with a clearing with picnic tables, sunglight pouring through the treetops, a blue river at the foot of the the waterfall, birds singing in the trees and a rainbow shimmering in the mist hovering over the falls.”

“Nothing to worry about.”

The bloke loses his rag at this point & demands a second opinion. So after badgering the doctor, he gets referred to a neck specialist.

When he gets to his appointment, the specialist welcomes him in and takes one look at his neck before telling him, “Sorry but you’ve wasted your time coming here. Your GP is absolutely right, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just a beauty spot.”

Charlie don’t Smurf…

I thought that the Hip-Hop Smurf that K-Mart sells was pretty poor, and an indication that perhaps things had gone too far.

I thought that the Pimp Smurf that my wife purchased for me was kind of funny, but still not in the spirit of the Smurfs.

Even I would never have advocated bombing the poor little beggars , though.

That’s just… disturbing. On all sorts of levels. And this is from someone who gleefully used to play Smurf Hunt, an Amiga game that put you in the role of a shotgun-equipped wolf loose in the Smurf village.