Porcupines for the Blind

Though woefully short on funds I have never the less decided to go a head with my foundation, Guide Porcupines for the Blind. This pet project is just my little way of giving back to a community that has given me so much kindness, and spare change now an then. Initial testing shows promise, however there are still issues to work out. On the up side, porcupines are rather easygoing by nature, but they tend to have a comfort zone which they don’t like to have violated by groping hands. As well the porcupines in my foundation have been violently and criminally abused, and there for tend to be a tad on the edgy side, this is not an obstacle though; it only means that their new blind masters will just have to love them that much more. Field tests are also showing promise as far as using the porcupines as guides on the street. None the less, here too there are one or two sticky points to work out. The main one is that porcupines are tree dwellers, and there for have a tendency to lead their blind masters into the tops of trees. This obviously is not ideal. The fire men have been awful patient in getting my test subjects down, and I am currently experimenting with electroshock therapy to try to motivate my porcupines to remain on the ground. Also porcupines are solitary creatchers, and tend to wig out now and then in public areas like a crowded shopping mall for example. The area which shows the most promise is in the around the house protection duties. Let us imagine that a blind person is about to grab a hot object like a curling iron, the porcupine will sense the danger, move the hot object out of the way, then curl up in its place, so in stead of getting burned, and having lasting scars, the blind simply grab a hand full of porcupine and get a sharp reminder to be more careful in the future. This also works for house pets that are in danger of being trod on by a blind bare foot. The porcupine will once again move the pet and dutifully take its place. By giving the blind these painful but important cues, they learn to think long and hard before they make a move, which is a good thing if you can’t see. I learned also that matching the right porcupine with the right owner is tantamount to ensuring a good relationship. This lesson was learned in the early days of my foundation when I matched little blind Billy with a rather frazzled old porker who had had a hard go of it in his life. I’m sure Billy meant him no harm, but I guess porcupines really hate having their ears pulled by a little blind kid. The doctors expect Billy to recover though, and he has undoubtedly learned a good life lesson about the feelings of woodland animals. It is stories like this and the magic of watching the exiting learning process that all new applicants undergo that makes it all worth the effort. The blind and the porcupine working towards a better tomorrow hand in hand.

A week in review

To all the readers of my blog, I Cad Grublygold must deeply apologize for the lack of posting lately. My internet connection has been on the fritz as of late. It seems that a rare Bear Creek beaver mistook my hundred foot receiving tower made from tinfoil and clothes hangers for a large tree, and gnawed it down. Upon realizing his mistake he attempted to fix it, but he couldn’t complete the wiring, but hey after all he is only a beaver, and he tried his best. But worry not about missing anything due to this problem, for I have prepared a week in review.

The rain has yet to let up, having run out of sand bags I’ve resorted to stacking all the drowned children that come floating by like cord wood to protect my seedy underworld from flood damage. The poor little children are just such suckers for a muddy creek bank.

My attempt to tunnel under Taco Bell has failed, I was not aware at the time that high tension wires can be buried. I thought they were always run above ground. My hair is growing back nicely however, and PG&E is certain that the power will be fully restored to most of the city by tomorrow.

Sponges are not effective for plugging leaks in a sand bag wall, if you had enough maybe, but you’d need more than a family pack from Costco, trust me on this one.

I was informed last Monday, that there is a city ordinance in Merced prohibiting someone from dressing up like a giant lobster and scuttling towards people aggressively out side the local Long John Silvers resurant. I was not aware of this, but a delegation from the mayor’s office visited me at the sheriff’s station and assured me that it is so.

I finally struck it rich while digging for gold in the local park, I found a gold nugget! It was roundish with a large hole in the middle. The local jewelry store owner however attempted to tell me it was most likely from a box of Cracker Jacks, not a nugget at all, but a cheap plastic ring!! He lies, I bet he could hardly contain his greed as he examined it; he even tossed it into the trash can beside the counter, no doubt hoping to fool me into giving it up HA!! Not likely shop keep, I have taken to walking backwards around town incase he tries to follow me to see where I dug it up. It’s kinda hard to follow someone who is walking backwards. You would have to stay in front of them, but then you wouldn’t know where they were going.

My non profit organization: Guide Porcupines For The Blind has hit a snag; I am having trouble collecting donations, no doubt due to all the publicity being given to the tsunami efforts. Hopefully once the situation in South Asia settles down abit, I can launch my program that partners criminally abused porcupines with loving blind owners who are in need of companionship. As this will no doubt be a howling success, I plan also to expand my foundation to include retarded children and sexually abused stingrays.

I shall continue my efforts towards reestablishing internet access, but in the meantime just be patient, and I will continue to post sporadically, when ever I can fool someone into leaving their computer by making crow caw noises in the next room, giving me time to publish my posts.

The G street Arc

I Cad Grublygold am sick an tired of rain, the water in Bear Creek has been rising daily. Only by mad sandbagging have I managed to save my seedy underworld deep under G street. The other day, I began construction on a great Arc, placing onto it every rodent and stray house pet I could find. ( Grass Weasels are not allowed on my Arc.) Noah however must have had divine help in keeping his animals at peace with one another, because my Arc is one of most heinous discord. I lost most of my animals to squabbling and preditation within the first day. The raccoons ate all the newts, the skunks ate anything resembling an egg, and my stray dingo ate most everything else, including my left shoe. So then it was pretty much just a great Arc with the skunks slouching against one side, eyeing the dingo with hungry eyes, and the dingo in turn was giving the beady eyes to the surviving raccoons who were pacing nervously clenching and un clenching their tinny fists in anticipation of trouble. Then of course there was the tough stray cat Muffin who leered at me through his one squinty eye, and toyed menacingly with the big knife he wore strapped between his shoulder blades. Things would no doubt have spiraled horribly out of control, but a local jogger noticed the unrest, and notified the local animal control. The round up went peaceful enough, until one of the poor fools reached out to grab Muffins by the scruff of the neck, I’ll spare you the gory details, so let’s just say that some were around here is a really tough cat wearing a necklace made from human ears. So with my Arc a total bust, I’m back to simply trying to stay ahead of the rising water.

The Raccoon Insanity Experiment.

While sitting beside the creek one night, my attention was drawn to a small raccoon. The creature wattled down to the water and began happily washing his nights scrounging with great relish. Ever curious, I had an idea. What would happen if a raccoon was unable to wash something? Would he starve? Would he go mad? I was determined to find out. Trapping a raccoon is easy if you’ve read Were The Red Fern Grows, if you haven’t, well you are out of luck. Once caught, I starved my little test subject for three days, all the wile teasing him by waving tasty treats under his nose. Then it was time for the experiment. I placed the raccoon in a large wooden box next to a recording of running water, just to irritate him. Then I placed into the box, the biggest juiciest apple you’ve ever seen. Now all that was left was to stand back and watch. The starving beast upon seeing the apple let out a squeak of pure joy. He snatched it in both hands, then made a dash for the sound of the water barreling head long into the side of the box. No doubt thinking he had made a misjudgment in the waters direction, he then spun about and repeated his head plant. This is when he first realized there may be a problem. Setting the apple warily down in the center of his enclosure he began to urgently run the perimeter of the box, all the wile casting longing glances back at his prize. Now fully aware of his predicament, he held the apple up to the sky as if begging the gods for rain. With no help forthcoming he began furiously rubbing the apple as if by will alone he could wash away its impurities. But after much rubbing along with frantic sniffing the thing was still sub par. 100,000,000 years of evolution proving too strong to over come. The rubbing was followed by other experiments, includeing urinating on it, and even attempting to wash it clean with his own anguished tears. Defeated at last the beast collapsed with a howl and lay shaking on the floor of his prison. It was now time for phase two. Upon awakening, the raccoon found that one side of his box was now open. A scream burst forth, and the maddened thing tore like a streak to the waters edge. But alas, I had removed the apple while he lay in his exhausted stupor. Finding his tinny fist empty at the waters edge he shrieked and beat the ground. Tearing back to the box, he found the apple waiting for him, as plump and juicy as ever. With his most precious cargo in hand he again launched like a streak for the stream, but oops the once open box side was now closed. The raccoon was aghast, stupefied, the sound that burst forth from deep down in his soul was that of a thousand demons from hell, the scream of ten thousand fathers viewing the butchered bodies of their ten thousand children. In one last ditch effort the raccoon smashed the apple into his face repeatedly until he had rendered himself senseless. Over come with pity I gently placed the poor wasted varmit at the waters edge, hoping he could recover from his torture with no lasting scars. The apple having been beaten into an inedible pulp I discarded into the creek were it soon sank below the water.

If I had had another apple I swear I’d have given it to him, I did feel bad….honest I did. But I was fresh out of apples, and this proved tragic. Finally as if from deep sleep the raccoon awoke. For a brief moment he seemed to be of sound mind. But sadly this was not so. He rose from the ground. and sauntered into the water, I could have sworn he was smiling. Slowly he washed himself, scrubbing all his hard to reach places. Then after a satisfactory sniff, he proceeded to eat himself, tail upwards until with the last of his strength he dislocated his jaws, and stuffed his head in.

This experiment has left me slightly unnerved. I wouldn’t recommend it for school age children.

THIS HISTORICAL COLLEGE WAS BURNED DOWN BY AN UNRULY MOB IN 1910: THE GUBLYGOLD HISTORICAL INSTITUTE. 

TOMB OF THE UNKNOWN JOGGERS 1908: GRUBLYGOLD HISTORICAL INSTITUTE 

A wary bridge dweller digs for newts 

Just one in a long line

Through many failures I have ended up destitute, most notable of my failures was signing all of my worldly assets over to my *@%*# ex wife Ophelia to avoid a tax mishap…….yeah……oops. But my character misjudgment far pales in comparison to those of my other relatives through out the ages. Dwelling under bridges you see, has been the fate of most Grublygolds since great great great great great great grate great great great grand pappy Akutanon Grublygold ended up living under the Great Nile reed bridge for laughing at the Pharaohs silly beard. So here is a brief list of others whose fame slipped just beyond their reach.

Lord Snootyfop Grublygold. Lord of the king’s guards, head butted King Henry the VIII in the crotch with his pointy helmet while attempting to retrieve Ann Bolin’s dropped glove.

Casius Grublygold. Insisted that the Trojan Horse would make a fine substitute for his broken lawn gnome.

Judas Grublygold. Ratted on Jesus.

Braithwaite Grublygold. Mistuned Mozart’s piano, causing him to write the entire 5^th symphony incorrectly.

Guido Grublygold. Emperors Adviser. Spitty sprayed a flagon of wine on Caesar’s new robes upon hearing of the capture of the city of Titicaca. ( Spffffffffffft.)

Zapata Grublygold. Sold water damage insurance on the island of Atlantis.

Bosco Grublygold. Made up the song, London Bridge is Falling Down. Then taught it to all the school children in England. ( actually upon hearing of this fiendish act, the King had him beheaded, disemboweled, burned at the stake, then sent to live under a bridge.)

Enrique Grublygold. Commodore of the Spanish Armada. Forgot to bring canon balls along for the big attack on England.

Rutigar Grublygold. Ran General Washington’s under garments up the flag pole at Valley Forge to lighten the mood during the winter of starvation.

So you see, there is no shame in falling off he horse as long as you get back on.

Random Questions For Grublygold

Random Questions for Grublygold.

Q: Where do you live ?

A: Under a @#*%* bridge

Q: You smell like a rotting Yak, don’t you wash off in the creek now and then ?

A: Yes, every day, but have you smelled the creek lately. Rotting Yak is an improvement.

Q: Do you have a girl friend ?

A: Just what do you think you stupid @#*&**^#*&@ son of a motherless #@*!!!

Q: So that’s a no ?

A: Yeah, that’s a big negitory.

Q: Don’t you look for work ?

A: Hah, you go bathe every day in a swamp filled with dog urine and cow crap then see if anyone wants to hire you.

Q: If all the monkeys in the world sat on each others shoulders, would they be taller than Everest ?

A: Is this what you academic types think about all day ? No wonder this world is so fucked. And yes, they most definitely would be.

Q: What do you have in your pockets ?

A: Errr……..an old gum wrapper, a doll leg, five cents and three newts…….no wait one newt, this big guy ate the other two.

Q: If I make this face..( bletharrrthrpt ) do I look like the clown from It ?

A: Christ asshole!! Would you please never do that again.

Q: Sorry, um… if it meant that you could sleep with Hillary Duff for a year, would you give up alcohol for Lent ?

A: Nope.

Q: Oh come on, are you serious?

A: Hey pal I’ll let you in on a little secret. Drink enough alcohol, and all girls will look like Hillary Duff.

Q: No kiddin, even my girlfriend over there?

A: Over wh…Yipe!! Sorry dude, drinking ain’t gonna cure that type of ugly, I’d kiss a baboon on the ass before I’d try drinking that one pretty……….umm she’s behind me isn’t she………

Due to injury the segment, Random questions for Grublygold was cut short.

Authors Note.

All pictures posted by Cad Grublygold are the genuine article, taken around the Bear Creek area by Cad himself, using a homemade pinhole box camera. Cad never uses cheap photo editing software to make enhancements……. snort….. All said photos are then hand processed in a fabricated dark room made from animal skins and laundry lint. After the pictures are developed, they are downloaded from the camera to this lap top by printing the coded pictures on gumwraper foil, then stuffing the foil into the import slot.

This super advanced technology was offered by this writer to the manager of the local Best Buy. But he was told that his technique was out dated by about ten gazillion years….his loss.

Yet another picnic outing ends in tragedy 

Bug off Cads Bridge 

The Girl Decoys.

The other day while dumpster diving, I came across an issue of Field and Stream. That I found an old magazine is unremarkable, but leafing through it gave me an idea. It seems that you can take a bunch of wooden ducks, paint them up, then toss them into a pond and they would attract the real thing. Huh…..how bout that….Wonder if it would work on women. I live under a bridge you see, and amazingly that is not considered sexy. Nor is the fact that I reek of alcohol…… so much for women wanting rugged out door bad boy types. But despite my obvious short falls, I was sure that if I could just get close enough to a woman, she would see me for the gentle soul that I am, and fall instantly under my spell. So it was that I decided to go hunting. Cashing in my aluminum cans, I took the money and headed down to Stan’s Love Boutique, and purchased a half dozen inflatable dolls. My plan was fool proof! I would take my ( girlfriends) to the local park, then arrange them in such a way as if to look like we were having a merry picnic, when a hottie babe came walking by, she upon seeing the gaiety would be compelled to join in, soon I would attract a flock and could simply take my pick. With my trap set beside a busy bike path, I began to talk in a loud boisterous tone, happily pretending to pass various nonexistent dishes back and forth between my gaily clad decoys, now and then using a high squeaky voice for my girls. And when ever someone came with in ear shot, I would loudly boast of my many exploits. “Why yes Janet, I have climbed Everest, twice actually. One time it got so cold I cut open my Sherpa and crawled inside him to stay alive. More crumpets Sally? “What’s that Suzie? Vegas, heck I own it, yup bought it off a crazy miner back in 82. Pass the yogurt Kate. “You’re damn right Becky, I forced that lion to regurgitate my leg, and I beat him to death with it before using his whiskers to sew it back on”. After an hour and a half of this and three location changes, (the local cops began to take an unhealthy interest in my proceedings) I was beginning to despair. And then I saw her. Like a ground squirrel caught in the gaze of a snake she drew closer, captured by her curiosity. Oh she was a lovely creature, willowy and shy, the very image of Venus her self. And just how close she might have come I’ll never know, for as she drifted ever closer, I became more animated in my story of how I killed those man eating baboons in the African jungle. And alas while executing a fierce saber thrust, Sally was poked in the eye with my fruit fork. The ruptured decoy let out a loud Thhhhppppthhh sound and shot up into the air, upon seeing this grizzly turn of events, the willowy girl came to her senses and bolted, I leapt up to give chase, but in my haste I stepped on Becky’s leg, causing her head to spring upright, her hard plastic sucking orifice connecting squarely with my genitals.

Under my dark musty bridge I lay in agony. Saddened by my lost love, dreaming as to what might have been. Becky however was apologetic for ruining my chances, and Sally having been re glued was on the road to a full recovery……… It was Becky who came to my bed that night, quietly slipping under the covers, talking to me in her high squeaky voice, in the dark; vinyl coating turned to warm skin, and our bodies became as one.

HOME SWEET HOME 

Here be weasels 

Home sweet home 

Things I found in Bear Creek

Things I found in Bear Creek. An alphabetical list.

An old tin of Ajax, works well as deodorant, if you don’t mind the burning.

A fishing Boot with the toe bitten off. ( we have big fish in Bear Creek.)

A large Cod fish, with the toe of a fishing boot clamped in its teeth. ( this must have been quite a fight)………yeah yeah, I know that Cod only live in the ocean. I can’t explain it either.

Dilbert underwear, preworn.

A Styrofoam bowl filled with old Egg salad. ( I think it was egg salad, it tasted like it )

A Flute, shoved up the rectal cavity of a skeleton…… I’m not even going to guess on this one.

A stale bag of Gorp.

An old well used issue of Hotties For Hobos. The magazine that depicts nasty crack whores in compromising positions.

An Indigo Girls CD case with the CD missing………..damit……..

A car Jack, with some poor bastard still pinned under the car it was holding up, until it slipped I guess.

A bag of Kittens, lying at the bottom of the creek with a brick tied to one end. ( And you believed mommy when she said she was giving them away to happy homes filled with kids who would love them forever. )

A smelly Lump, unidentifiable, it may once have been a rodent of some sort.

Mittens….. at least that’s what the collar around its neck said. ( Dear Johnny from # 12 Olive street……your cat was delicious thank you.

A battered copy of Ninjas are watching you! Written by Hinsatogiichkaaah Hiiiikeeeyado

A dirty Oaf, sleeping until I made the mistake of poking him with a stick.

A Pin, now lodged deeply in my right buttock.

Quinn the Eskimo, ( he got lost on his way back from the wale hunt I guess…..now was it a left or a right at that last walrus carcass…….damn this infernal arctic, it all looks the same. )

A big loud Rumpus, it sounded like a Monkey, and a Weasel fighting it out in a Mulberry bush.

A Strumpet. I chased said Strumpet down the street, until she lost me in the vastness of the local Wall Mart.

A healthy dose of Tetanus from the pin I sat on.

A Unicycle. I’ll never know if it was a product defect, or the fifty shots of Yeager I consumed that caused me to face plant 100 times in a row, but I tossed the blasted thing back in the creek.

A family sized case of Valium, mixes well with Yeager, and unicycle riding.

Wanda the Heroin crazed crack whore, aka, Ms. March in the new issue of Hotties For Hobos.

A battered paper back, titled No we’re Not, Please Go Back To Drinking Your Chi Tea And Quit Looking Up At The Roof Tops. Written by Xiangiiodagithciidi Yingalingeeyarg

Yogurt…….actually at this point it’s closer to cheese, but for the sake of my list I’ll call it yogurt.

A Zygote…….I forget what the hell a zygote is……but I found one, honest I did.

An interview with the Merced Sun Star

This interview was conducted by a reporter from the Merced Sun Star, the local paper in Merced, CA. Who came out to my bridge to lay this story to rest once and for all. And maybe stop the 100 frantic phone calls a day I have been making to there home office.

If you are a faithful reader of my blog, you have no doubt heard mention of this beast. The purpose of this post is to shed further light on this subject. Here is the interview, and the answers, as best I can give them.

Sun Star: So just what the hell is a Grass Weasel ?

Cad G: A Grass Weasel is a large rodent of the weasel family, but possessing many highly evolved traits.

Sun Star: Where do they live ?

Cad. G The historical extent of their range may never be known. As of this interview, they inhabit only a five mile 200 yard wide stretch of Bear Creek in Merced California.

Sun Star: Why have I never heard of them ?

Cad. G: Due to their astoundingly small range, Between G. and R. streets in Merced, and diminished numbers, there is little chance of ever seeing one. Until you are eye gouged and disemboweled by one of course.

Sun Star: How many are there ?

Cad. G Thousands.

Sun Star: How is this possible ?

Cad. G They can imitate mundane objects, like highway cones, and discarded shopping carts.

Sun Star: How big are they ?

Cad. G About 70 pounds of fang and muscle, and two and one half feet tall at the shoulder.

Sun Star: How can a two an a half foot tall rodent drag down and kill a healthy Adult ?

Cad. G: Don’t ask me, smart ass, why don’t you go tease one and find out.

Sun Star: Why are there no studies done on them.

Cad. G Studying this thing in the field would be ludicrously dangerous; I’d rather swim up an Alaskan stream and study Grizzly bears in a salmon costume. To my credit though, I did attempt to study them once.

Sun Star: What happened ?

Cad. G A Grass Weasel ate my pens paper and field glasses while my back was turned.

Sun Star. So have you ever seen one ?

Cad. G; A Grizzly Bear ?

Sun Star: No ( sigh ) a Grass Weasel, have you ever seen one of those.

Cad. G Yesss…….maybe….look I saw something ok, I’ll admit I may have been slightly drunk at the time, but it sure as hell looked like a Grass Weasel.

Sun Star: So Who died and made you the expert on something you claim to have only seen once in a drunken stupor ?

Cad. G Hey fuck you man! I saw it ok jackass, they are real. A secret society dressed as shrubs and rubbish bins drag off the bodies of weasel victims every night.

Sun Star: Soooo Mr. Grublygold, how many years did you spend locked up at Happy Valley ? Do you see anything else around here, Pink kangaroos, that sort of thing ?

Cad. G Fuck you asshole. Just go take a big flying porcupine fuck off this here bridge you dick head, this interview is over.

A Bear Creek conspiracy.

They came back last night. The ones who disguise them selves as shrubs and rubbish bins. Slinking from the shadows they make their stealthy way to the edge of the wooded path where the body is lying. Another late night jogger had been brutally struck down hours before. His frantic screams for help rending the twilight calm of Bear Creek. Sadly no one was around to hear them, except me. And I would not give my aid, for I knew from the first whimper of fear that he was beyond all help. “ Yes fool, cry out to your god if it gives you solace” It’s doubtful that even God could have saved him from the menace that stalks these creek banks. For dear jogger, you have been snagged by a Great Crested Grass Weasel. 70 pounds of bone crushing fangyness and rippling muscle. It is the great weasel whom the cammo shrubs protect. Driven by environmental protectiveness, it is they who remove the bodies night after night, wiping the weasel spittle from their faces, and dumping them far away as John Doe corpses. It is only I who seek to warn of these great beasts. Though more often than not the signs I nail to trees vanish in the dark of night. I would not be surprised to find that it is the weasels themselves who remove them to protect their own evil identities. So on it goes, the three shrubs and a waste bin have finished their work this night, dragging the body of the slain jogger behind them as they move silently around the bend. Peace returns to my little bridge world beneath G street. A wind springs up, and one brave cricket sings his troubles to the night in a monotonous soprano.

A day in the life under the bridge.

People tend to think that just because I live under a bridge, I must be lazy. but not so, this is my typical day.

6:00 Traffic noise on the bridge above becomes to loud to permit further sleep.

6:30 unable to fall back asleep after half an hour of sticking my fingers in my ears, and squeezing my eyes shut aginst the morning sun beam that stays directly in my face despite fierce thrashing, I roll from my ratty blanket and scrach flea bites for an hour.

7:30 Go in serch of a newt with wich to brush my teeth.

8:00 Make my morning bath in Bear Creek more interesting, by shouting " glub glub I'm drowning" to see how menny passing joggers I can fool into jumping in after me.

9:00 Go out in search of breakfast.

9:30 Cook and eat unidentifiable remains of some rodent to slow to make it safely across the highway.

10:30 Grab a hammer and nails, and post ( Beware of Great Crested Grass Weasel ) signs in the local park until noon.

12:00 Fish for lunch from the roof of Pablo's Out Door Buffet.

1:00 Stick leaves and twiggs in my hair, and loudly reenact my favorite senes from Shakespears Mid Summer Nights Dream, at the corner of G.st and Olive Ave.

3:00 Evade and escape from the bad men in the white uniforms who are trying to catch me with an oversized butterfly net.

Get roaring drunk on the bottle of Schnapps I found in the bushes wile hiding from the bad men.

5:00 Stagger down main street swatting girls on their bottoms with a Badminton racquet.

6:00 Evade and escape from the bad me who are trying to put me in handcuffs.

8:00 Crawl back under my bridge to sleep it off.

So there you have it, I cannot be called lazy. Highly unproductive mabey, but not lazy.

A gold mining poem........... sort of.

This day started out with so much promise, but ended in almost total disaster. Rehashing the days events would be to hard on my damaged psyche, so I have summed it up in a short poem.

Up in tree, mouth agape with wonder.
Hair on fire clothes asunder.
Moments before digging gold was he.
With hands and pick marrily.
Long buried pipe did crack
Due to over eager shovel wack.
Out flows gass with quiet hiss.
Gold fever struck miner thinks nought's amiss.
If left alone much gold he might get.
To bad he lit a cigarette.