Yesterday I had a medical meeting at O’Hare, but since I had lent my son Ned my car for the rest of the school year, I went to my father’s to borrow one of his. I was running late, and as I headed off to the airport I noticed the gas gauge was hovering near empty, but figured I could make it to the airport and gas up on the way home. So far so good. After 6 hours of discussing prostate cancer, I wearily headed to the parking lot, eager to get out of the blazing August heat. I noticed that the keys did not have the clicker on them and thus had to open the car door manually. As soon as I turned the key, the piercing car alarm went off. When I tried the key in the ignition the car was absolutely dead. I frantically looked for the airport parking customer service and eventually they sent their tow truck over. This nice man, my savior, my new BFF, tried everything to get the car to stop honking, including pulling out various fuses in the fuse box in the engine. He concluded that key clicker was the only way to stop the horn. At one point with some magic combination of fuses, he got the car running again, but the horn was still relentlessly blaring. The most feasible option appeared to be driving the car home with the honking horn, although I risked being arrested for stolen property (this being the purpose of the alarm). Since the car did not belong to me, I imagined a chain of falling dominos, with me saying at the end, “Call my lawyer,” which is something I have always wanted to say after watching umpteem episodes of Law and Order. However, off I went, but the nice man told me, “Whatever you do don’t stop the car, because you will not be able to start it again.” Remember that little detail about no gas?
I bravely set off gritting my teeth and watched as startled cars changed lanes in front of me. I thought I could probably make it home on gas fumes, but by this time I was in the thick of rush hour traffic and was annoying EVERYONE. I thought that someone might soon snap from road rage, including yours truly. Executive decision time – either stall out, or get off the highway and possibly have the car go dead in the relative comfort of the gas station – which is what happened. I told the cashier I had to leave the car there in front of the pump while I got a ride home. She said that I couldn’t do this, and that I had to push the car out of the way of the pump. I was trying to figure out how to simultaneously push and steer, when she generously offered to help. When I was talking to her, I thought that she was sitting on a short stool, but when she emerged from the booth, it was apparent that she was standing the whole time. This was one minute Indian women with no teeth, wearing some sort of turban. She started to push, but the car didn’t budge so we switched places and she sat in the car with her head just peaking over the steering wheel. I managed to get the thing rolling and she very expertly managed to make a quasi parallel park.
I needed to get a hold of Iga, my father’s caretaker, but since I didn’t have a cell phone, I had to beg another customer at the gas station to borrow one, which he reluctantly did, perhaps responding to the wild look in my eye. Iga said that she would come right down with the correct set of car keys and hopefully quell the braying car. Mercifully, the car had stopped honking but I had no place to sit, and thus risked getting back into the car to sit and wait. As I opened the door, off went the alarm again. However, I discovered if I sat extremely quietly the alarm went dead and wouldn’t go off unless the car was jostled.
Now, what to do for 20 minutes while I awaited my rescue. I fished through my bag and discovered between the agenda materials on prostate cancer, a slim volume entitled, “How Animals Have Sex.” I had bought it a while ago to inventory for a future Christmas grab bag gift, but I discovered it was full of fertile topics for fanagrams. Well, this was the perfect thing to pass the time away, and hence the following fanagrams wereborne.
The missing words in the following poem are anagrams (i.e. share the same letters like spot, post and stop) and the number of asterisks indicates the number of letters. One of the missing words will rhyme with the previous or following line. Your job is to solve the missing words based on the above rules and context of the poem. Scroll down for answers.
The Sex Lives of Animals, Part I
For centuries, ships have unwittingly served as the barnacles’ —-,
Firmly attached to the hull they sail from coast to coast.
But when they get the —- for romance and want to coo and woo
They’re absolutely stuck in place with permanent glue.
It’s still a long —- even with a penis that measures 50 feet in height,
In human terms, that’s the length of a football field, so imagine their plight!
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Answers: host, hots, shot
The Sex Lives of Animals, Part II
Amidst a forested —- perched atop a tangled jungle tree,
Sits the Bonobo monkey, who is a lot like you and me.
You see this monkey joins our exalted human —-,
As the only animals that mate face to face.
But unlike us, they don’t —- if everyone comes to watch,
In fact they prefer a perfectly public debauch.
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Answers: acre, race care
The Sex Lives of Animals, Part III
The lowly flatworm occasionally —– for an undulating mate
As he feels the biblical urge to go forth and procreate.
But flatworm sex is a decidedly bizarre affair,
In his mouth (!), is not one —– but two in there.
He unfurls them and each is like a razor sharp —–,
Then he brutally slashes his bride – isn’t slimy love divine?
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Answers: pines, penis, spine
The Sex Lives of Animals, Part IV
The following poem is about the bowerbird, a truly amazing bird of Australia and New Guinea who decorates the entrance of their elaborate nest with a carefully chosen array of color coordinated objects, ranging from petals, berries, bottle tops and other bits of colorful trash.
There is nothing —— about how a bowerbird pursues a spouse.
He first builds a roofed nest of twigs, an elaborate honeymoon house.
And he knows the missus likes birds with brains and a bit of muscle,
So his courtship is the picture of creative hustle and ——.
He collects the —— berries and feathers to create a welcome mat,
The lovestruck wife crosses the threshold and they begin to beget and begat.
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Answers: subtle, bustle, bluest,
Sex Lives of Animals, Part V
Consider the identify crisis of the hemaphroditic —–,
Some days they’re female, and other days male.
But if one —– the other by shooting a dart into the womb,
Then the victim is the wife, and the shooter is the groom.
But if their aim is poor and they get hit in the head,
They can just forget about sex, because they’re —– instead.
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Answers: snail, nails, slain
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