ASK DR. BOLI.

Dear Dr. Boli: What do they mean when they say “Lunchmeat of the Gods”? Also, when you “cut a rug” should you cut on the bias? Sincerely, Confused in Carlisle.

Dear Sir or Madam: The Lunchmeat of the Gods, of course, is chipped ham, which in Greek mythology was stolen from Olympus by the semi-divine hero Epiglottis, whose mother was a Titan and whose father owned a little deli on Forbes just about half a block from the Diamond. Epiglottis spirited the Olympian feast away to the storied banks of the Monongahela, where an eager humanity first partook of the delights that had until then been reserved for citizens of Olympus and resident aliens of more than three aeons’ standing. In revenge, Zeus sentenced Epiglottis to work for eternity at a supermarket deli counter in Kansas City, where no one had ever heard of chipped ham.

In 1962, the Epiglottis myth was the subject of a Hollywood movie with stop-motion effects by the renowned Ray Harryhausen. The film was not a success, the image of a thirty-foot loaf of boiled ham being deemed too unsettling for the family audiences at which it was aimed.

As for your second question, Dr. Boli has always been opposed to bias in any form, as being pernicious to either a well-ordered state or a well-ordered sock hop.

Published in: on April 18, 2009 at 2:45 pm  Comments (2)  
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2 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. Wasn’t Epiglottis the first cousin of Isaly the First, one of the priests in the Sacred Temple of Coldcutossius?

  2. Dear Dr. Boli,

    Please advise. I interviewed at the Embassy of Purgatory six months ago. Unluckily my declaration of sins was without an official seal. But the immigration officer was kind to me and kept my passport anyway, providing I was to re-submit the declaration by mail. This I did, and the embassy received, and gave me a one month time frame. However it has now been three months. To try to discover the reason for the embassy’s tarrying, I spent $18 on a PIN number to get me telephone access to the embassy call center.

    This is staffed with polite customer service representatives, who always say “Is there anything else I can help you with, Sir?”, and who possess, heaven knows why, no actual information about cases. Most recently I did manage to pry from their summary knowledge of my case, that my passport had been approved at the immigrant section, and had been transfered to the non-immigrant section for visa printing.

    Then they told me that the embassy does not give time frames. I demanded now at the point of frustration whether the non-immigrant section has a phone number, and if so, if I may call to ask the whereabouts of my passport and what is presently being done with it: then they told me, with uncharacteristic frankness, that a phone number is available, however, the operator “would not be entertained” by my question. So I did not call for fear of digging my grave even deeper. Yet I am reminded not to count on making any travel plans until I have my passport in hand. Now the doctor gave me three days to live. What do I do?

    Very truly yours,
    Ill in Cleveland


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