Sunday, November 14, 2010

They Call Bad Doctors "Quacks" Don't They?

I am always interested in the origin of words in the English Language. But it's Sunday morning, and I don't feel like doing any research. So, I'm going to make up my own story about how the word "Quack" came to describe lousy doctors.

In 1743, a German physician, Herr Docktor Adolph Hopsinger, paid a hut call to Peter Von Bunberger's residence because all of Peter's children were sick. Herr Docktor was somewhat of a tippler, and he arrived at 2 in the afternoon, somewhat drunk. Von Bunberger's children had tonsillitis, scurvy, ear aches and scabies. Herr Docktor thought he'd give them all a tonic he'd bought in Munich that promised to cure everything, because Herr Docktor was incapable, on his own, of curing anything. Beside that, he was drunk enough so that he just wanted a quick fix so he could go home and take a nap.....maybe have a nice piece of struedel his fat wife was baking.

Unfortunately, when Herr Docktor retrieved the tonic from his bag, he failed to notice it was the wrong bottle. He administered several tablespoons of horse liniment to the children, by mouth, who promptly died. Peter Von Bunberger was upset and refused to pay Herr Docktor, but Herr Docktor was bigger and roundly clocked him in the chin. Von Bunberger went out to get a shovel to bury his children, and returned with an eider down duck as payment. Herr Docktor promptly shoved the duck inside his capote, and left the house, but not before Von Bunberger smacked him on the back of his head with the shovel, causing him to fall forward, striking his head on a large rock. The eider down duck somewhat broke his fall, but Herr Docktor's head was pretty soft from all that imbibery, and he promptly died. When Herr Docktor landed on top of the duck on his way to his death, the duck let out a resounding and annoyed "Quack" at the top of his little duck lungs before running back to the safety of the barn. The name stuck and the rest is history. Well, fractured history, but I like it.

So why don't we have a name for bad politicians, like Scott Walker? I hereby institute one.

Let's see, animal sounds seems to be the flavor du jour. Pigs oink. Horses whinney. Mules bay. Bullfrogs croak. Fish flop. Elephants bellow. Lions Roar. Crickets scrape. Cat's meow. Dogs bark. Birds tweet and monkeys screech.

We have a donkey representing republicans and an elephant representing republicans. For political hacks, like Scott Walker, I hereby designate the goat as their symbol. Goats bleat, talking a lot and saying very little. They have those very strong horns to protect their soft little heads. They are followers, not leaders.

Anytime Scott Walker opens his mouth, it'll be a bleat, followed by a horned head butt, sort of like cats do when they want your attention. It fits. I like it. It is somewhat of a dishonor to goats, whom I like very much, but to actually pick an animal that fits how incompetent Scott Walker is, well, it would have to be an amoeba, and I don't know if they make a noise.

So please, bleat away Walker Baby. Then butt your head, and continue to follow the small misguided minority of rich folks who actually run this rapidly failing heap of a country. I'm anxiously waiting for all the fodder you will provide for this blog.

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