The Return of Umberclout Digsby (and me)
Yep, I'm back. I wanted to come back with a bang after all that time away, but I have a headache, so you'll have to make do with a dull pop. Kind of like when you're popping bubblewrap and you squeeze a dud. Or, to put it more onomatopoeically, Pfffff. In other words, here's more stuff I wrote ages ago and have just now spent a few minutes knocking into some kind of marginally less rough shape. Well, I had to start the blogging habit again somehow. Anyway, a bang - who am I kidding?
Umberclout Digsby's very long legs are very useful for opening jars. In fact, his technique is a wonder to behold. While the left leg coils itself snakily around the jar, securing it in a vice-like grip, in one swift flowing motion the right leg simultaneously wraps around and twists off the stubborn lid. And off it flies. At some velocity. It is this latter part of the process that he has never quite managed to refine. The lid can end up pretty much anywhere, and usually does. And when I say anywhere, I mean anywhere. All those craters and pock marks on the moon - Umberclout Digsby’s earliest jar opening attempts. Table Mountain - the top sheared right off by an out of control marmalade lid, would you believe. And the Grand Canyon - well, best not to speculate, but methinks Umberclout Digsby may well have been involved.
Not only has Umberclout's unique jar-opening method shaped the very landscape of this planet, and unbeknownst to him that of many others, but it is also directly responsible for the fast growing obesity problem in the Western World. How? It can all be traced back to the day on which Umberclout first realised that his unique skill could be used to the benefit of others. Perhaps, even, all of mankind. I'm not sure what day that was, exactly, but rest assured, there was one. A Wednesday, probably. Anyway, he was very excited to think of all the good that he might do, even upon realising that his lofty ambitions would have to be slightly curtailed. Perhaps he could not help all of mankind. Having seen Godzilla and a number of other Japanese monster movie, Umberclout suspects the lair of the elusive, unseen monster that stalks his every step may well be found somewhere within Asia. Hence he mostly avoids the East (to the eternal gratitude of the many Japanese who appreciate Mount Fuji just the way it is). But I digress. For some years now, carried along by those extra long legs of his and a missionary zeal to alleviate stubborn-lid related suffering, Umberclout Digsby has been hightailing it around Europe and the Americas covering thousands of miles a day, crossing oceans in a single bound, each day opening many millions of jars for many millions of people. Often before they’ve even asked him to. Of course, once Umberclout has opened the jars that's the last anyone sees of the lids, unless you’re counting all those UFO sightings (yes, that’s his doing).
This leaves jar owners with a dilemma. With jars open, lids missing, presumed gone, recipients of Umberclout's kindness have a choice to make: consume the entire contents, or just let them go bad? Needless to say, when faced with such unconscionable waste, they eat the lot. Umberclout of course sees nothing of all this, no sooner has he opened one jar than he's on to the next. Scoffing jar after jar of junk, it’s all we Westerners can do to keep up with him. Sadly, we are only just beginning to notice the full and dreadful toll exacted by his tireless humanitarian work. Hopefully it will not be too late to save ourselves. But we shouldn’t blame Umberclout Digsby. No-one has ever told him to stop what he’s doing. Atop those legs, no-one can catch him.
Oh, that thing about the unfortunate name. The term doesn't exactly seem to be in common usage, and anyway, an unfortunate name for an unfortunate character seems kind of fitting.
Umberclout Digsby's very long legs are very useful for opening jars. In fact, his technique is a wonder to behold. While the left leg coils itself snakily around the jar, securing it in a vice-like grip, in one swift flowing motion the right leg simultaneously wraps around and twists off the stubborn lid. And off it flies. At some velocity. It is this latter part of the process that he has never quite managed to refine. The lid can end up pretty much anywhere, and usually does. And when I say anywhere, I mean anywhere. All those craters and pock marks on the moon - Umberclout Digsby’s earliest jar opening attempts. Table Mountain - the top sheared right off by an out of control marmalade lid, would you believe. And the Grand Canyon - well, best not to speculate, but methinks Umberclout Digsby may well have been involved.
Not only has Umberclout's unique jar-opening method shaped the very landscape of this planet, and unbeknownst to him that of many others, but it is also directly responsible for the fast growing obesity problem in the Western World. How? It can all be traced back to the day on which Umberclout first realised that his unique skill could be used to the benefit of others. Perhaps, even, all of mankind. I'm not sure what day that was, exactly, but rest assured, there was one. A Wednesday, probably. Anyway, he was very excited to think of all the good that he might do, even upon realising that his lofty ambitions would have to be slightly curtailed. Perhaps he could not help all of mankind. Having seen Godzilla and a number of other Japanese monster movie, Umberclout suspects the lair of the elusive, unseen monster that stalks his every step may well be found somewhere within Asia. Hence he mostly avoids the East (to the eternal gratitude of the many Japanese who appreciate Mount Fuji just the way it is). But I digress. For some years now, carried along by those extra long legs of his and a missionary zeal to alleviate stubborn-lid related suffering, Umberclout Digsby has been hightailing it around Europe and the Americas covering thousands of miles a day, crossing oceans in a single bound, each day opening many millions of jars for many millions of people. Often before they’ve even asked him to. Of course, once Umberclout has opened the jars that's the last anyone sees of the lids, unless you’re counting all those UFO sightings (yes, that’s his doing).
This leaves jar owners with a dilemma. With jars open, lids missing, presumed gone, recipients of Umberclout's kindness have a choice to make: consume the entire contents, or just let them go bad? Needless to say, when faced with such unconscionable waste, they eat the lot. Umberclout of course sees nothing of all this, no sooner has he opened one jar than he's on to the next. Scoffing jar after jar of junk, it’s all we Westerners can do to keep up with him. Sadly, we are only just beginning to notice the full and dreadful toll exacted by his tireless humanitarian work. Hopefully it will not be too late to save ourselves. But we shouldn’t blame Umberclout Digsby. No-one has ever told him to stop what he’s doing. Atop those legs, no-one can catch him.
Oh, that thing about the unfortunate name. The term doesn't exactly seem to be in common usage, and anyway, an unfortunate name for an unfortunate character seems kind of fitting.
posted by Occasional Poster of Comments at 8:22 pm
102 comments
