Some people need a word for the day to make the radio sauces slide briskly from under the toilet canopy. Well in my professional opinion, “bird” is not the word. No, rather the word for today (or any other day) is “bloop.” Sometimes it’s used as an exclamation, as in the case of dropping something in the water. An example: remember that one time I was with Uncle Bribblet on the dock at Zooper’s Pond? He handed me this awesome looking smellphone he just bought and went up to the house to get seconds on Aunt Meebee’s refried cabbage sticks. When he came back, I had some bad news for him: “Sorry… I had your new iPhone 27 held tightly in my grubby little mitts, but as I was leaning over the dock I was distracted by the freshwater hexagonal stickfish and BLOOP!! into the brackish water it went. I was able to get it out and I tried to dry it off in the fire, but it started to fizz and make weird popping noises.”

Uncle Bribblet was not amused.

Because I enjoy learning more about words and other household temperature measuring cups, I decided to scan the interwebs for any additional applications of the word “bloop.” Lo and behold, there was one I had never heard of before. According to Wikipedia, “Bloop was an ultra-low-frequency, high amplitude underwater sound detected by the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) in 1997.” Initially it was thought to have originated from a marine animal, but it was later determined to be sounds from glacial movement or by “seabed gouging by ice.” Well now that’s just plain fascinating!! If only I was there to enjoy the bloopening!! Perhaps I could have gotten an autograph from one of the underwater sound detection technician people persons!! Or not!!

Bloop also appears in baseball, when a batter smacks a ball just beyond the infield. And then there are bloopers in film or other video media in which mistakes are made and are presented to audiences for the humor of it all. And then there’s the use of bloop to describe a noise made by an electronic device. So yes, goys and birls, I’m stealing all these inflammable regressions from the webbernet dictionary website definition place things.

Being the drebnerflooted person I am, I have sometimes been known to utter a short, high-pitched, low volume “bloop!!” for no apparent reason. This serves no other purpose than sheer amusement for me and anyone nearby who happens to hear it. I’ve also been known to utter other inconomulous strebulations like “flarf!!” or “mozzbop!!” and perhaps even “hookonk!!” just to perplex my grandsons and any other young or otherwise height-challenged lifeforms that happen to be within earshot. Of course, few of the “words” you just read are real; but hey, if you can’t have fun langling manguage, I mean, why squish the Twinkies on the sidewalk? Right??

Of course it is!!

Lastly, but not in the least indivisible, is the (not very) famous poem that includes the bloop as a sound made from mergling.

Well there you go. These days, there are many things we could cry about, but sometimes it’s important to laugh with very big harroo while you have a big mouthful of macaroni and cheese. I hope you find a word for your day, whether it is “bird,” or “bloop,” or even something highly technical like “wozzpoffle.” In the meantime, may your nostrils be free of burrowing insects, and may your garments be forever stain resistant.

Peace, Love, and Blissful Antigens,

Hyram C. Gilmore

On the other hand, you have this…

Once upon a time, our grandsons were here for a visit, and because of what had become something of a tradition, I asked their assistance with some story ideas for “Happy Friday!!!” Previous renditions have revolved around strange titles, for which I was expected to come up with some sort of story line. Maybe I shot myself in the foot, but this particular night I asked for some random sentences that I would incorporate into the weekly blog post. I got a few ideas; although the first suggestion came in the form of an interesting glob of words. Upon requesting ideas, my job was to attempt to write something that utilized their thoughts. The unfolding of this process is described in the following paragraphs, after which you will know when it’s something they gave me because it will be in bold italics.

“OK guys,” I said, “tonight is Friday, so you know what that means? I write a story every week. I need your help with some ideas. This time, how about some weird sentences instead of just a title?”

After some hesitation, the first suggestion was “chicken nuggets Billy Bob Llama juice coffee.”

“Huh??” I asked quizzically. “Um… that’s not a sentence. Can you please think of some sentences? I don’t care whether they make sense; and they don’t even have to be related.” As these instructions flew out of my mouth I began to think maybe I was biting off more than I could chew. They did not disappoint, however, and here comes the result. Remember, their ideas are in bold italic.

Chicken Nuggets Billy Bob Llama Juice Coffee

by Ken Hansen (kind of)

Late one day in the middle of the night, I decided to go visit Billy Bob. On the way to his house, I stopped at the local McBarf and bought some of his favorite munching things: chicken nuggets. I phoned him right after I left McBarf, and he said, “Hey man!! Hope you didn’t get anything to drink!! I am making your favorite: llama juice coffee!! I’ll wait till you get here, because I know you love that stuff.”

Holy moly, when he told me about making the lama juice coffee I was totally geeked. I haven’t had that stuff in a very long time. It was really hard to find it during COVID you know. My mouth started to water so bad I had to get out my drool cup to catch all the slobber. Billy Bob is a good friend, but although he means well sometimes he gets a little greedy with treats. I was really hoping he wouldn’t dip into the delightful beverage before I got to his house. But of course, when I pull up to his house, knock on the door, and go inside, what do I see?? Billy Bob is drinking the llama juice coffee!!

“Couldn’t wait, could you??” I blurted out. “Well, hey, can’t say I blame you. That’s some pretty good stuff.” Billy Bob apparently felt a little guilty for starting without me, and tried to conceal his cup by sliding it behind his back. “No, man!! I didn’t start without you!!” It wasn’t any big deal to me really, but I knew he was fibbing. I mean, hey, Billy Bob and I are both very aware that every time he enjoys our special treat, the llama juice in the coffee makes his face shrivel up. “Hey dude, take it easy!! I’m OK!! You were kind enough to make the brew, but you should know by now that you can’t hide the fact that you drink it. I mean, your face is really shriveled up!!”

Billy Bob must have been having a bad day, because suddenly he became a bit defensive. “I’m really sorry, man,” he explained, “but please don’t pick on me right now. After all, my ears are on fire.” “Say what now??” I asked with amazement. “Ummm it sure doesn’t look like your ears are on fire,” I replied. “But now that you mention them, they do seem a bit hairier than normal.” I stepped in for a closer look, but Billy Bob stepped back abruptly and shouted, “Do not shave my ears, they smell like cat turds!!” Quickly he covered both ears with his hands as if to protect them (or maybe me… if they really did stink). Then he said something totally off the wall: “The fribbleknockers on Mars always give away free stones.”

I had to step away a bit, and then it dawned on me… llama juice coffee has always had a strange effect on my friend. So I flat out told him, “Billy Bob my friend, I think we need to find us a different treat. I mean, you’re having some very strange reactions to this delightful beverage. Let’s go downtown and see if we can get another one of those grapefruit milkshakes at the gas station.” Billy Bob was instantly relieved. He liked the grape gas milk fruit station shake idea very much. We hopped on our 5 wheel scootercycles, hoisted up the sails, and waited for a few days for a nice wind to power us downtown. We had a great time during our 6 hour ride from Billy Bob’s house to the grape milk station. Once we arrived, we ordered our shakes. As we slurped our new treats, we smiled and promised each other to leave the llama juice coffee alone for a few decades.

What can I say? We are best friends!!

The End

Hmmm… what to do about this week’s video? I try to avoid politics, but Betty Boop and Grampy put an interesting spin on things.

Hello Darling Friends and Zimplers,

Just a note to tell you that I’ve learned how to eat what snakes don’t like. Please, all of you, before it’s too late: change your weevils soon or your dentifrice will be subject to humiliation. You’ve always known what eggs are, so get with the program! OK, maybe you didn’t always know what eggplants are. But the second you found out, I’ll bet you enjoyed their rich, chewy centers.

Twelve times this year I’ve sanctioned your optic nerves. Now it’s time for YOU to do something for ME: bring “the stuff” to the next curbside travel aroma infestation. Do this for me in remembrance of the good old days, when men were mere clods of soil and women were tender, loving, delightful bags of chocolate crème oatmeal.

Clams have been telling me the best doggone stories I’ve ever ignored during the past few milliseconds. I often am astonished at their true talent and willingness to stack coloring books to the ceiling. If only they would cease applying the maraschino cherries to all those taffy-sucking, dust-gathering, elegant and kind bovine conversation artists. How pleasantly they yell to my cats while I’m sleeping: “HEY!!  GO USE YOUR CLAWS ON THE HUMANS! IT’S FUN WHEN THEY WAKE UP QUICKLY!!”

As I wake up each morning with cat ouch on my freckles, I’m beginning to understand why God made dump trucks.  It’s the noodle thing you know.  People fling noodles in the streets as a sign of protest during times of tardy laxative infusions.  When the doody is late, the people are… well… noodle flingers.  Some floodle ningers are just plain angry, and other fling noodlers are having the best time of their lives.  Why anyone would shake up a bottle of Pepsi and hand it to the “birthday boy” is beyond my wildest pile of tent caterpillars.  I’ve seen the look on “birthday boy’s” face as the brown foam covers his favorite television clicking carpet.  It’s just one of those moments when you just gotta have a pair of pineapples to stuff in the pencil sharpener.  So as you can see, the noodle trucks were made to pick up all the dump flingers.  Is that a remarkable paint remover or what??

PLEASE:  Step awaaay from the rhinestones.  We will glue them to your armpits later, after you’ve washed down those two bags of Camel Chow with radio juice.  Don’t worry about all the precipitation, Camel Chow is made to last even in the worst banana storms.  After all, Uncle Clogpipe will certainly let you know when it’s time to rotate the fossil camera.  Remember, always duck when the banana storm begins, or you’ll be the first one on your block to own a 12% rayon staple gun.  I’ve seen this happen at least – 0.5 times, maybe even less.  Don’t try to argue with me on this one, alright?

Wumba, wumba, wumba goes the tire with the small baseball bat inside for extra bad handling on those tight turns and special goat races.  Carefully pick your friends, for if you are picking your friends carefully, then you’ll never have to worry about picking your friend’s… um…. lint globs.  You thought I was gonna say nose, didn’t you?  Ha, ha ha…  it’s snot something I wood say hear.  I mean, you can pick your friends and you can pick your knows, but you can’t wipe your friend’s boogies off behind the sofa.  Sew there!  Eye didn’t say it!!  Ha ha on you!!!

All right then.  You better not read this anymore.  You may find yourself being lost within your shelf, and then there will be no finding of anything.  Who needs surround sound anyway??  I’ll tell you who:  ME.  I’m gonna tell someone to have it for me so I may enjoy it viscerally.  Or perhaps vivaciously.  Possibly even vertically.  My Belt is Yellow.

Horizontally Yours,

Krayben Fizztoggle

a.k.a. “Wally Wartwonder”

And now we must enjoy the delightful iridescent angle worm delight.

Dear Appletoes,

This letter is to remind you that both you and your dog owe me 16 gravy molecules from that bet we made last Hamperday. I’m not going to be lenient with you any longer; I am very soon going to splash Bloopen Sauce onto your Spoken Lint Collection. Do you really believe you can trust Stick Lizards to vonculate your patchnicorns? Well of course you can. That is why I love you and your pet sawhorse so doggoned much.

Oh my, can you remember when everyone in Pudding County could actually count to 14? That was the coolest time of my 3 week Toaster Party; especially when you shouted “Who dumped out the electric chicken hammers??!!” during the Roof Rodeo Rocket Ranchers celebration. Very surprised young children performed the amazing “Backward Conga Dance” shortly after the marbles were ejected from that lawn ornament dispenser we installed on Picklestick Boulevard.

Oh my GOD!! This chair is farting!! Oh wait… I had receipts for dinner again. They always make my socks explode. No rudeness intended, but when I write nonsense while sitting in a fart chair there can be one or two candles that disagree with my liverwurst. But really now, would you please stop biting that poor spidersquirrel’s flyswatter every time the batteries on the remote control say “Karflebock?”

As I write this letter to you I’m becoming increasingly aware of just how unaware your awareness has become without you even being aware of it. For example, you know full well that I have always enjoyed the rich, full tone quality of a telephone roasting in the oven. In fact, just the other day, Difnert, Mopenarch, and Joojoofloat were over to the house the day after yesterday and we had a great time dissecting all the training wheels. So obviously both boys and girls can enjoy something without knowing something unnecessary; like who a person changes into when they have the wrong kind of cereal for their 3:45 snack (sometimes I turn into a tuba).

So my dear friend, my eyes are in great moisture from laughing my elbows off as I compose this heartfelt, yet indignant letter to you and all your Monkey Headed Friends Who Have Absolutely No Idea How To Shave A Viking’s Volume Control while the band plays simply delicious renditions of “I Never Had A Salad,” and oh my gosh, how about that wonderful smash hit “You Shouldn’t Choke That Speaker Cabinet So Loudly” while the Eagles and the Buzzards and the Loons all marvel at their complete Lack Of Interest in writing; either in a normal way or by abusing their English with a terribly too long run-on sentence.

Thank you for sniffing only the red printer cartridges. I’m sure you’ll be proud of yourself someday; and until then you can just keep trying to play disc golf with oversized chocolate chip railroad ties.

Peace, Love, and Haberdashery,

Hyram

P.S.:  If nonsense never existed, these guys would never have become famous.

An Open Letter to Noodletoss Anklebracelet

All Others May Read But Do Not Sing The Chorus Out Loud.

(It frightens the radish grabbers.)

Dear Noodlestomp,

The Flooper Beetles keep eating the insides of my safety shoes. I’ll need at least 3 brand new, totally used hammers to eradicate them softly while donuts fly south for Spring. If no tapeworm dust is inhaled, apply bologna to both armpits before walking to the bathroom. When you’ve finally come to the conclusion that ice cream cannot be injected into the elbows to increase flexibility, you’ll find it completely obvious that not only does hair find its way into every part of your automatic transmission, it also can insulate the tree beepers; and this of course is only useful when the wind is multicolored with a pleasantly indignant odor that is often found to be not unlike cottage cheese that has been allowed to rest on the top of a night light during Barn Knocking Day in eastern Slooponia.

Perhaps you never heard that I’m collecting $$ for anyone who wants to attend The Great Flatulence Festival. Beans and boiled eggs are served round the clock to all participants; who of course wear the traditional festival garb of off-white Party See Pants. When the Festival commences, all the Party See Pants participants part ways in a most disorderly manner and select their favorite “brooping corner” so they can perform their musical Stink-O-Rama. Their amusing Farty Party ways will delight the crowds into extinction; and the Party See Pants of the participants will have the familiar tan but irregularly elliptical patterns where the noxious fumes exit the stinkulus holysmokeabus apertures. Additional medical terminology is often used to grade the performances; and of course the winner is permitted to leave before someone strikes a match to ignite the celebratory Kaka-Kaboom.

Tickets are $.27 each but nose plugs are $379.17 per unused pair. Used plugs are not for sale but may often be bartered for with enticements of extra Boiled Egg Bean Surprise available at the condescension stand.

In closing I’d like to demand that you remember about all that creamy slinky dust oozing from the back of my phone today. Not sure why today should be any different than the time none of us celebrated Webmiggle Day while wearing oversized raincoats.

Thank you again for not shrieking while I opened that 12 year old can of smoked caterpillar toes. You must admit they were delicious with those deep fried dust crackers!

Eat Well And Cause Mischief,

Milbert R. Wofflenock

Speaking of nonsense, these gentlemen were masters…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_Sy6oiJbEk

Dear Antenna Ranchers,

I found it necessary to let you all know that I am on vacation beginning Wednesday, and you are not. Unless you are, then you are also.

On vacation.

Have I mentioned I’m not working this week?? Oh wait… I’m retired!!! Ha ha on youse!! And I began writing this silly note to you on Thursday, So that means it’s today already!! So evan though I’m not going anywhere today, I can still be off work for as long as I like, and that of course means…

I‘m on vacation!! Like all the time!!!

And you are not,

Nyaa nyaa na boo boo.

Unless you are.

On vacation.

Deja Vu…

Ha ha on you who must work, I laugh to you. I bet your toenails are shivering at the thought of working for the next days of working. This is very amusing to me indeed.

I plan to spend the upcoming next week’s 4 away days doing things that I do not get paid to do. This is why it is called vacation. Of course, some of my favorite things to do are playing in the garden, sleeping longer than normal and maybe even forgetting how to shave my cat’s teddy bear baskets.  These have nothing to do with travel, but they flew out of my head and onto the keyboard for your eye things to disintegrate. When I return from this sojourn, the garden must be carefully tilled with explosives and high pressure syrup hoses. Following that, I methodically mix all my veggie seeds together in a large five gallon bucket and fling them into the syrup explosion zones. Pancakes will be sprouting before June 48, 2193 if we don’t get any rain…

My New Sweetheart and I are traveling to Branson, Missouri on roller skates. We really hope we can hook a tow strap up to a truck or something to speed up our travels. Do you need seat belts with high speed roller skating?? This I do not Know.

On the other hand, I just ate a grape from Meijer that tasted like fish. I never knew they had fish grapes. Now I must try my hand at making fish raisins or maybe one of YOU could send me the recipe for fish wine. If I recall correctly, there are stories of a very famous person who could convert bread into water and fish into wine. So as you can see, fish wine is not a new concept.

However, regardless of how much fish wine you may care to produce, I will not be having any with your breaded water meal. I am a recovering fishaholic, so it might not be a very good idea for me to start drinking fish again. I’ll just have to enjoy the fish raisins, or maybe peanut butter and jellyfish sandwiches with a glass of dehydrated coconut milk. A nice cup of flavored air to wash it down… mmmm life is good.

How many moles does it take to get a jar of molasses?? Those poor moles, running around with no hineys. They are brave to sacrifice their booty just so we can have our jars of molasses. Not sure why we civilized people even allow jars of molasses to be sold in stores. I mean, do you ever see jars of mouseknees, cricketlips, or even seagullstomachs?? Nope. Just molasses.

Dinner for every day during this vacation will be pizza and Snickers bars. Freshly squeezed fish grapes will be served up as a nice hot beverage with a dollop of whipped crab juice on the side. No farmers will be harmed in this extravaganza. It’s very possible I need a vacation.

Please have a safe and odiferous working time. Are you on vacation? No, you are not.

ME, not YOU.

My eyes have suddenly turned into olives!!!

Conko De Bonko,

Kenny Calibration
a.k.a. “Fossil Tongue Pete”

Someday maybe we will drive to Hawaii… but for now it’s just a dream.

For many weekends, I’ve been blessed with the presence of our grandsons; and as was often customary, they got to choose the “Happy Friday!!!” topic.

One special night, during an elegant dinner of frozen pizza (DiGiorno’s, of course) I posed the question, “What should I write about tonight?” Responses were pretty much instantaneous. “Fribble knockers from Neptune and their odyssey to France!” Ollie declared. Then Gabe chimed in with, “Random fruit!!” After Ollie whispered something into Gabe’s ear, Gabe exclaimed, “and wild businessmen!!” Pretty sure my face looked a bit puzzled as I acknowledged both with, “OK…”

So here goes…

Random Fruit, Wild Businessmen, Fribble Knockers, And Their Odyssey To France

by Ken Hansen (I think)

In the before times, businessmen ran wild in the jungles of Yooglania. They led a rather ordinary life, bonking out messages between 9 AM and 5 PM on hollow logs with their ceremonial message bonkers. Since there were no electronic communications in those days, all business had to be conducted either by long distance bonking or cave to cave visiting. In those days, there were known to be two types of businessmen: Tame Ones and Wild Ones. The Tame Ones were kind of boring really. They just walked around trying to sell stone tools and animal skins to people who already had all that stuff. They didn’t make much money but they were OK with just lying around and eating ants and beetles. It’s possible they watched a little too much TV, because they really loved to watch reruns of The Flintsones.

The Wild Ones were much more fun to watch. They would send out the message bonkings, then run to the nearest cave with a big bag of stuff to sell. When the homeowner would come to the opening of the cave, the Wild Ones would just start saying really weird things like:

“Hey!! Your toes are dirty!! Wouldn’t you like to buy a banana??” Or…

“Oh No!! That spider doesn’t know its name!! I bet you need to purchase some cherries!!” And…

“Holy Moly!! My cat can yodel!! Wanna by some grapes??”

These strange offerings of random fruit would often get the cave owner so confused, they would buy mangoes and kiwi fruits… just because!!

Ancient Yooglania was a small part of what is now called France. In those days, both The Tame Ones and The Wild Ones would have a business convention every year. This took place in a town they called “Cool Tower River Town;” which has since been renamed Paris. It was a rather unusual event, because The Wild Ones would have random fruit tossing parties while The Tame Ones just sat around and watched The Flintstones on TV.

During the year that Bliffy the Great T. Rex was in town, everything was very festive until something very unexpected happened. The sky became dark (because the sun went down), and out of the night sky came strange yellow orbs with really fancy flashing lights. As they drew near, it was obvious to everyone that these were some sort of space ships; so when one landed in the middle of Cool Tower River Town people gasped in fear and hid in the bushes.

As the door of the big yellow orb opened, a stairway was lowered to the ground. The businessmen could see the form of a strange being walking down the stairway. As its feet touched the earth, the being was surrounded with a foggy green haze that spread over the land and smelled like burnt pancakes. Very soon after the green haze floated away, the being spoke:

“Hello People Of What Will Soon Be France! Please excuse the green haze, I farted!!” The businessmen giggled and covered their mouths to hide the laughter. “We are Fribble Knockers from the planet Neptune. We have come in search of Fribbles so we may knock on them. Please direct us to your nearest Fribble Forest!!”

The Tame Ones were scared out of their minds, so they just pretended not to be afraid. They sat motionless in front of their TVs while yet another Flintstones rerun was on their screens. The Wild Ones looked at the Neptunian Fribble Knocker and then huddled to discuss how to respond. Then Chorp stepped away from the group and up to the Fribble Knocker. He seemed to know exactly what to say:

“Hey!! Your green fart fumes have really annoyed the T. Rex!! Wanna buy some apricots?? We have no idea what Fribbles are!! Wouldn’t you love to purchase some lingonberries?? Maybe you should try your luck on Mars… they might have some Fribbles you can knock. Here, try a free sample of grapefruit!! You’ll really need to buy some pineapples!!”

The Fribble Knocker looked rather confused. Not only was it annoyed that there were no Fribbles, but it was entirely confused at all these random fruit sales ideas. “No thank you, I guess we’ll be going. Please have a nice… um… whatever it is you’re having.” And with that, the Fribble Knocker got back into the yellow orb. It soon made what sounded like a thunderous sneeze, and with a great “AH-CHOO!!” it launched back into the sky and flew out of sight.

And that, my friends, is why you should never eat salami and pudding at the same time during a snow storm.

The End

(I think…)

Dear Underlings,

As I’m sure none of you are aware, the consensus reached during the recent Corporate Rally And Preparation meeting (CRAP) was that communication has been lacking.  It is in this spirit that we announce the following additions; designed to complement the guidelines of our Company Hospitality Enhancement Additions Policy (CHEAP).

All that being said, we’re excited to announce to all of you that new tasting tanks have been installed in Room 1023.  You can enjoy the flavor of any gravy or fruit salad by merely entering the tank and setting the knob to 2.3 while pointing your index fingers to Alpha Centauri and / or Cleveland.

Please be certain to wear protective clothing while tasting the new entries on the Flavor Dials.  Each dial has a luminous cramp lantern designed to strike fear in the hearts of any lingering mole wrench sleeveless hydrocarbons.The new entries, of course, include Swiss, Roquefort, and Toe cheeses.  Utmost caution is urged, however; as no one is completely certain as to the effect of cutting the cheese in the confines of the tank. Enjoy the scented antler handles in full view of the sinus chipper mechanism.

Many of you may also have noticed the velvet coating that has recently been applied to the walls and floors in the cafeteria.  This should allow grumpy employees to increase their fluffiness after the mandatory face rubbings.  Face Time will be scheduled during breaks and lunches to allow others to photograph the Softness Surprise Sessions that will be accompanied by a very large accordion with percussive inquisitions.  Be sure to wear your mask and rub your face only on designated, pre-sanitized areas.

Last but by no means least, Karl and Milly-Rae Snortwaffle have agreed to spearhead our saliva collections again this year.  As in previous years, it would be very much appreciated if all of you could please make sure your contribution lands in the Collection Vessel, rather than on Karl or Milly-Rae’s shoes.  Although both Mr. and Mrs. Snortwaffle enjoyed the shiny, yet ucky patina on their safety boots, they also reported sudden nausea and gagging when they tried to unlace before dinner time.  Thanks in advance to Karl and Milly-Rae for keeping the Spit Vats full so our machines are automagically lubricated during these challenging economic times.

If you have any questions about the use of the tasting tanks, velvet face rubs, or Spit Central, please call 800-555-1212 and ask for Mr. Crinkleberry.  He will never really help you, but he is an excellent listener and has been known to make really good dingleberry jam.

Thank you,

Francis “Golden Boy” Jinglepockets

President and CEO, StinkyInks, Inc.

And now for something completely different…

Dear Service Warmers,

Thank you for ingesting both pots of crayfish broth during the Great Mustard Festival. After all, one can never be certain how long a 6 inch, foot long Sumpway Sand Witch will turn out to be; especially when it has long been known that TV antennas never make good Snackwonder Surprise.

For several years now, I’ve received several reminders that reinforce my long standing belief that there is a neurological connection between my hiney and my head bone. For example, I have determined this by venturing from my typing chair, this one here that I’m sitting on, in my writing room, where I am writing to you while typing and wondering what it was I should actually be telling you.

Do remember what I was gonna say??

Ah yes, I remember one example so well that I can’t really remember because it was more than 14 liggamops ago; but there I was, approximately 676 feet above sea level (plus or minus 3 million miles), thinking that because I used my aging body in the garden that day and it hurt in various places, maybe I should go downstairs and get some aspirin; so I got out of my chair, started out the door of my typing room (which I use for writing) (in addition to sitting) (and now the excessive use of parentheses in an already clunky run-on sentence), and lo and behold I completely forgot for why I was going down the stairs to get something; and I had no idea what the heck it was. Shortly thereafter (well OK, my body didn’t get shortened because I was the same size, but it wasn’t very much time) I mumbled to myself out loud so my ear things could induce vomiting:

“What the…?”

“What was I gonna…??”

“Why was I going downstairs???”

I came back; I sat down, and VOILA!! My brain thing in my headbone was now retrieving memory information. Finally I went for to put the aspirin into my mouth place and wash it down with some dihydrogen oxide (a.k.a. H2O). You see how that worked? I forgot, I came back, I sat down, and I remembered. It was like magic!! Therefore, the logical contusion is: my hiney’s nerve endings and my brain are connected somehow.

Please, no butt head jokes.  Unless you want to.

OK. So back to the original premise of thanking all of you Wonderful Yankle Tramplers out there who were so very helpful with drinking 72 gallons of crayfish squeezin’s during the Grape Custard Vestibule. I’m so very glad it has all been consumed!! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to sell that stuff on the street corner?? After a few hours it begins to smell like someone was storing tuna fish salad in my sneakers. After only 47 minutes you can bet your sweet golf hammer that I’ve filled my nostrils with marbles to prevent the barfstinkens from floating into my smellgrabber organs. And if you’ve ever heard “Inna Gadda Da Vida” and the wonderful smellgrabber organ noises produced during the song, well you know you’ve been treated to some of the best doggone Snot Marble Surprise this side of Eastern New Sniffington.

Very well then. I must go find solace in my cat’s new molar polishing machine. In the meantime my friends, I leave you with the wisdom of that age-old someone named Hyram C. Gilmore (a.k.a.me) whose circular germinations you may or may not have ever endured. Way back on Jangulary 34th, 1897 he stated:

“It’s always better to be you than for you to be me; and although you can count to it, ‘eight’ is a word.“

Yes.

And now it’s time for a couple video things.  If you listen very closely to the words of the first song, you’ll notice that it makes at least as much sense as all the stuff you’ve read until now with your eyes that you used for reading on this page of story weirdness. The second song is, of course, “Inna Gadda Da Vida” in which the aforementioned smellgrabber organ (which may or may not be a real organ name thing), is featured.

Thank you.

And now for the smellgrabber song…

When grandsons came to visit, they got to choose what I wrote for “Happy Friday!!!” When I asked what the title for one week’s story should be, Ollie quickly said, “Fribbly’s Travels.” Then his younger brother Gabe mentioned, “You always get to choose!!” “Well Gabe,” I asked, “what would you like me to write about?” “Foogly’s travels!” he answered quickly. “Hmmm,” I replied. “How about Foogly’s Fribbly Travels??” They both chuckled their approval. So without further ado, here is:

Foogly’s Fribbly Travels

Late one morning, just before sunset during a thunderstorm which suddenly erupted into a very cold snow that seemed very crunchy and full of worms, Foogly was so bored he started drawing “Dream Maps” about really cool amusement parks made of sticks, rocks, crayons, and a sentence that was way too long. Foobly called them “Dream Maps” because these were places he had always dreamed of visiting, but for some strange reason they did not sell his favorite food: tomato ice cream soup with grilled coyote toenails.

Foogly’s friend Cheeba was watching intently as these maps were drawn with some of the most beautiful colors. After the 17^th map was made, Cheeba decided to offer her opinion about some really cool places to see. “Foogly, I really like your cool maps!” Cheeba declared. “But hey, I have some really fribbly places you might like to visit also!!” she continued. “Fribbly??” wondered Foogly. “What does ‘fribbly’ mean??” “It’s a combination of “wow” and “holy moly!!” Cheeba replied. “Oh… well not sure how you got that, but OK, if you say so,” Foogly said.

Cheeba offered to make her own maps, but with a twist. “Foogly, may I please borrow your cell phone?” she asked. Foogly answered, “I don’t have one, but here’s my Dad’s… he won’t mind… I don’t think.” “OK cool,” Cheeba said, and continued, “next I need a pot of water.” Foobly filled a 2 quart pot with some water. “Next,” Cheeba went on, “we’ll need 2 tablespoons of salt, 1 ½ teaspoons of cat litter (unused), 14 drops of red food coloring, and a small candle.” “What do we do with all that??” Foogly asked. “Just hand them all to me and I’ll show you,” Cheeba replied.

Foogly brought all the supplies to Cheeba and watched with wonder as she dumped them all into the pot of water and stirred everything up with a wooden spoon. “OK!” Cheeba said. “Now hand me those comics and a pair of scissors.” Foogly was a bit confused, but he went ahead and got the comics and the scissors and gave them to Cheeba. She giggled a little (I think she thought last week’s Garfield was pretty funny), then started cutting up the comics into little shreds and dumped them in the pot with all the rest of the stuff; and again she began to stir.

Cheeba smiled and stared into the pot, then she shouted, “OK!! LET’S TAKE THIS OUTSIDE!!” “Hey!!” said Foogly, “I’m right here!! You don’t need to shout!!” Cheeba apologized and grabbed the pot and quickly walked outside with it. “OK, ready??” she asked Foogly. “Um… I guess!!” Foogly answered. Suddenly there came a slushy !! SPLAT !! as Cheeba flung the contents of the pot onto the driveway.

“Wow!!” said Foogly, being awestruck by the mess. “Holy Moly!!” exclaimed Cheeba with a big grin. She was pretty happy with all the weird patterns everything made in the driveway. “OK,” she said, “you still have your Dad’s cell phone?” “Yep,” answered Foogly, and he handed it to her. Cheeba dialed a number and put the phone to her ear. “Hi Mom!! Yes, I’m still at Foogly’s house. Can you come and pick us up so we can go get some ice cream? Really?? Cool!!! Oh and can we go to that holy moly wow museum afterward? Yes?!?!? That would be really fribbly!! Thank you Mom!!” Cheeba hung up and handed the phone back to Foogly.

“Let’s go back inside and wait for my Mom,” Cheeba said. “But what about the mess in the driveway??” Foogly pleaded. “Don’t worry,” Cheeba reassured him. “All that stuff will combine and dissolve before you know it.” Foogly wasn’t so sure, but he was very happy that Cheeba’s Mom came to get them before his Dad got home from work. There was still a big mess in the driveway, but Foogly and Cheeba had a very fribbly afternoon. And they had ice cream!!

The End