Dear Lardsnorts,

It has been reported to me that some of you have been been accused of pickling corduroy. Well I’m here to tell you, that if you don’t begin doing something else soon, you won’t be able to do anything very soon. Soon you will know that something else was done long before The Egg Sniffing hour.  By that time, will you even be aware that those things you ate last night contained absolutely nothing nutritionally resembling turtle snouts??

I should hope not!!

You better know something!! I’ll let you know when to know it. Do you know what I mean? You had BETTER know!! Don’t look at ME in that tone of voice!! You often remind me of when all those lentils were floating from the out  house behind the garage. What the HECK have you been slurping during nap time??

Anyhow??

The weather was completely perfectly indecent during these past 42 yodelwhompers. That’s because I forgot to throw coat hangers at the sun all last week. I threatened the sun within an inch of its life, and as you can see it paid off backwards. Now we can all cry and roll on the floor because we are very aware that the sun won’t listen to me when I shout. This of course increases the likelihood of macaroni storms.

Cheese is applied during the evening hours.

On a personal note:  My beautiful girlfriend, Zonikula, and I went walking the other day with our legs and feet. During our walk, we decided to crawl on our bellies for 13 miles to see if rain deer really know how to fly. Rain deer are absolutely nothing like Santa’s reindeer. No. Rain deer are made of water and they sing greeble songs when the geese run backwards through the tomato forest. This gives them magical flavor crystals that can only glow in their earlobes during The Great Nickel Tossing Festival.

Last time we were never there, the noises of our crawlings were completely different than the normal klick, klick, clomp as we sniggled down along the Mosquito Ribber near the old Cobb plant (where Cornn is Kingg). Suckers were busy catching humans that were running up the river. Very remarkable. Garter snakes tried to trim our fingernails as we invaded “their space;” and as they wriggled gently over our eyebrows all 13 of them kept whining about how they were missing their favorite Applesauce Program. Why They Capitalized These Strange TV Program Words With Their Nostrils Remains A Mystery To All Of Us Who Enjoy A Complete Breakfast Of Oats Coated With Bullet Proof Mustard.

Please, don’t ever describe this to me again.

There was probably a time when we could have stood up and used our foot things to walk like regular snork monsters, but that never occurred to us until we got back in our car and noticed that our belly mud had hardened into very attractive pajama sandwiches that looked and tasted very much like those old fashioned salami burgers we never had when we was kids.

Ah yes, those were the good old moldy days.  When we was kids, we were required to drool into 3 gallon containers until the Body Odor Horns blasted all of our Stink Juice into the rafters.  Drool collections were repeated incessantly until each container was full of enough crayon dust to power a small rhinoceros wagon.   This of course required us kids to stand on our stomp ladders with rafter rakes in hand, to collect as much Stink Juice as we could to moisten the clanger modules.

My fellow Corporate Citizens, please to not regard the aforementioned statements as instructions for personal fungus removal.  Simply incorporate all what was stated here into your dreams until the rinse cycle is complete.

OK.

Now you have been klempered.

Please resume your taddle-brickling.

My chair eats frogs,

Hyram C. Pooflestench

A.K.A. Peeper Fling Muskellunge

Here now are some video analyses of the effects of sauerkraut saturation on blind ants.

Dear ScreenStarers,

I was watching a story on the radio today while listening to the interwebs about internet addiction behavior that is characterized by people tilting their heads to gawk at their smartphones when they really should be interacting with their friends or family; especially during dinner or perhaps in the middle of a friendly outing that implies personal contact but instead of talking and giving loved ones eyeball contact, these smartphone addicts are constantly checking BookFace or Twizzler or perhaps Funny Macaroni and Cheese videos while being stuck in a run-on sentence that really needs to end now.

A real physical ailment has arisen from smartphone addiction: text neck (<–there’s a link for you if you’re curious). It’s just another one of those whoopee, hibbledyboo happy times from too much technology in your soup toaster. If any of you have read my silly bagga-maroo on this crazy blog thing for more than two seebits, you are probably aware that although I have (thankfully) retired from the IT universe; I pride myself in being something of a technical dinosaur… at least at home. That’s right kids, I still have a record player, VCR, CD / DVD player, I listen to AM radio (on a real radio…).  We do have the internet, and it’s only $30 a month with free air to breath and free dirt outside we can walk upon. And yes, boys and girls, we still get most of our television worm sauce from a weird fixture perched upon our roof, and it’s called an antenna. In our professional opinions, cable has always simply cost too much; which of course prevents me from having enough extra cash for important staples like strawberry flavored pork rinds and Cabbage Cola.

So for this Happy Friday!!!, I decided to give some of my best bread particles a chance to sing louder than most jelly beans are able. In other words, if you invite me for ketchup and lavender; I will keep my phone’s ringer off and leave it in my pocket. Not just the ringer, but the whole stinking phone! Yes, and instead of staring at a screen while we are together, I will stare at those moles you keep hiding in your eyebrows. But don’t worry, I will smile politely while I seize opportunities to wince at your ickymoles when you turn your head to sneeze on the person next to you.

My truly indispensable moose hammer won’t not never need to be cleaned while we are talking neither, no. After all, once you’ve used your own mouse hammer to open a can of Jack Fluffington’s Floor Syrup; you’ll spend much more time cleaning your walls than clearing your mice nostrils. Upon opening the can, everyone within range will cringe and snort loudly as the syrup droplets coat their eyelids with a nice shiny imitation glucose surprise.

I’m sure we can all find something better to do than check how many “likes” we have on the BookFace or the InstaTwit. Ha, ha ha… I’m having a fond memory of the time we all threw raisins on the floor at the mall, and Snippy and his girlfriend Euglena started walking on tiptoes and shouting, “arrggghhhh!!! Rabbits have been here!!!” Yes, that was just before we filled all those water balloons with tomato juice and… oh my never mind about that time. When I do think about it, all I can shout is “GACK!!”  Perhaps you could help me finish my 17 year old project: the Lego garage!! It’s getting expensive, but once we finish it we’ll never need to paint the walls. Who knew it took so many Legos to make a building??

OK. In closing, I’m hoping some of you could maybe stop with the techno-obsession and put the phartsmones away and just tawk ta people awreddy. Ya know what I’m sayin’? There are people very near you who deserve your undivided attention.  Oh and here’s a weird eye-deer for ALL OF US… if we are watching something other than a small screen, we might see stuff like birds and a very nice sunset or something!! Would that be cool or what?

I go now.

Peace, Love, and Straighter Necks,

Hyram C. Gilmore

a.k.a. MooseHammer McFluffington

Oh… speaking of obsession…we LOVE OK GO.  Following their song, “Obsession” are a couple technology songs.  The last video is just plain fun.

Hello Dearest Staplegun Sniffers,

You may be wondering why I would write a story on the interwebs with a title like “Milktoast Dandruffbaskets.” Well, let me assure you that it is NOT Spam. Spam is a mookey, galumpish but nutritious… well edible… I think… meat thing that comes in a can and is revered by Monty Python.  If you’ve never heard of Ponty Mython, please wiggle wildly with weird wobbly whatchamadingers so I can learn how to write in cursive once again without using Filbert, my pet Crayon, to enlarge the tiger glasses that magnify all but the largest of shampoo bottles.

I would have written sooner, but probably not, because I am righting write now and it’s Friday night and my wife’s eyebrows are brand new but we ate all the chips that came with the delicious sammiches we bought from the Walker Roadhouse and they were pretty good;  but sometimes I am trying to remember other things which are ancient history in my brain because I mean hey, I’ve written many more than 17 stories over the years and I have difficulty remembering what I had for Taco Salad With Onions And Ketchup Hold The Mayo On A Whole Wheat Cabbage Bowl That Never Existed So Why Oh Why Must I Continue With This Poorly Punctuated, Unnecessarily Capitalized Last Section Of The Run-On Sentence Thing?? Anyway????

Why??

Oh… I can stop that now? OK, thank you.

Yes friends, I’ve been rapidly slowing down during the whole week of this past week of my retired week time; and now it’s time for the week to end (hence the name, “weekend”) (am I smart or what?) (I don’t think I’m any smarter than YOU are.) (oh so now we have the superfluous parentheses??) so I can take some time and like, you know, stop worrying about time for at least the present time; but to be honest I’ve rarely worried about time during my retired time. Speaking of the present time, have you ever given someone time for a present? All you have to do is spend some with them. You’ll never get the time back but that’s the whole point you see. You are being. With them. Both (or all) of you being at the same time; with each other, existing together in unison while enjoying companionship and perhaps also partying with some nice fluffy marshmallow muffins made with new and improved moisture molecules.

This, I think, is the true meaning of fluffy friendship.

Well as some and /or none of you are aware, my hair is vanishing pretty much every day I think. Some of it’s turning grey and some of it is turning loose. I still plan to grow it longly and donate it until my hair no longer grows out of the little tiny hair volcano that sticks out of the back of my ears. Every 27 milliseconds, the hair lava flows out of my elbows and migrates to the hair brush with soft music playing very loudly at a very high speed. Once the television is planted in the potato bed, be sure to mulch your fingernails with only the highest quality Play Doh. This will ensure that your belt stays fastened securely to the garden tractor for a much more enjoyable paddle boat explosion.

Very well. Did I mention that my gratitude is really big this week?  It’s true you know.  My Lovely Bride and I have been blessed beyond measure so even though I complain sometimes, I really have nothing to complain about.  Therefore I will do everything I can to enjoy each day as it comes, knowing that I can learn from yesterday but I cannot change it; and I hope there is a tomorrow but I just don’t know.  Therefore I am doing my very best to enjoy each day as it is given to me; and I will pretend that when Ogbert Noztillocken throws her delicious Clicking Pot Pies at my hubcaps, I will simply resign to the likelihood of the appearance of newly discarded soda cans and simply guess that it’s how ladies wear their chainsaws these days.

Please remember to eat lots of string for more fiber.

Happy Friday,

Hyram C. Gilmore
a.k.a. “Monkey Head Jones”

How’s about some videos from the time of before today’s time??

Dear Tinker Toy Handlers,

This is to inform you that our house is exploding and the bottle rockets have prevented me from listening to the stereo for 13 weeks. I know that you are the ones who forced me into this situation, and I demand immediate constipation. If you do not comply with this request, I shall be coagulated instantly while I sail off to Bermuda with a large tube of toothpaste. No one has the right to tell ME what to wear to the Chicken Festival! So please, before our relationship has been too greatly damaged, change that stinky underwear you have on! You should know by now that the brown and yellow crusties are a clue that wash day is past!

And another thing: every time I sit down, my butt makes contact with another thing! I wonder: how many times has my butt touched another thing without my asking the thing if it wanted to be touched? I’ve also learned that my butt and my brain appear to be  connected. I know this to be true because a) I’ve made some really embarrassing mistakes during my stay on this planet we call Rhubarb, and 19) every time I forget something, I sit down and instantaneous remembering occurs within 7 or 8 millirockens.

Now don’t correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m sure you cannot be allowed to stay in the country after those things you did with that flyswatter in the restaurant. I mean, people who try to eat soup with a used flyswatter are probably not going to be invited to my burping contest anytime soon. Unruly behavior will be rewarded with gentle slappings about the eyes and shoulders with the standard issue licorice flavored water balloons.

Please remember that the child within you needs to be nurtured,

and only YOU (and your Maker) can do it.

If you ever feel sad or lonely, you can take action on this by paying me some big bucks. I will gladly use the money for disturbance mechanisms which will not allow you to get proper rest. A few weeks of this and you will forget all about that whiny inner child; and you will sport a pleasant, robotic appearance. Another tried and true method of healing the inner self is to shame the heels that find you. In other words, whenever some schmuck tries to mess you up, grin politely and suggest that they eat bark and poop at the moon. They will usually be glad you were honest, and will mumble unintelligible affirmations as they briskly walk away.

Well, as you can see, there is no reason to panic. Nothing is all right here, and the world is coming to an end. Please understand that I have found some very effective ways to deal with the stress that Armageddon brings. Firstly, give yourself the treat of some good all around attention: walk through the mall without clothing on, and smile to all you meet. Second: stop in the restaurant and briskly apply jelly to your ears. Your eyes will get squinty, and you will laugh loudly at the lack of pockets for hankies to wipe it off. Next will come the overpowering urge to charge people extra for car repairs.

Nevermind. That may have been a dumb idea. Just try something else, ok?

If you question my sanity or the validity of any of the aforementioned delinquent parboiled Parthenons, I say to you, “tough beans, Mr. or Ms. Smartenheimer!!” Sheesh!! Being absolutely correct is one of my hobbies, and unless I am mistaken, I have never been totally accurate on any doggoned thing in my whole life!! Fortunately for me, however, I know now that the more I learn the less I know. I learned that… I think. Ya know??

So in silence, I grant you three wishes, none of which will ever come true so forget about it. Don’t push me into something I don’t understand. I have low self-esteem and you know it. I have been taking classes for this, and they told me the best way to talk to people about your problems is to lie about the weather and run away laughing.

Be friendly to all you meet, as you may wish to borrow their used cereal someday. Have a conversation with a foreign car. Sing loudly with a mouthful of spaghetti; you’ll quickly learn who your real friends are. Feed your fish some dust and see how they like it. Try drinking from the toilet, cats do it all the time. Carry fried food in your pocket and offer it to strangers. Lick a telephone pole for fun.

Above all else, please remember: GOD MAKES NO JUNK, SO LOVE THYSELF!! OK?

Thank you for being, it gives me great comfort to know that you are.

Also, thanks in advance for not eating the crayons.

Peace, Love, and AM Radio,

Forvis “Green Tongue” Marbleswapper

a.k.a. “Runs With A Flashlight”

Well, OK, that was weird.  But hey, anyone remember Gumby?  Gumby was also pretty weird!!

Dear Pasta Snarfers,

Some or none of you may enjoy pasta snarfing, but regardless, I felt it was time to inject some laugh time into my (and hopefully your) day due to the crazy goings-on we are seeing on the radio and hearing on TV; and although you may not be aware of it, all that gives me the ability to insert a time-honored run-on sentence-with hypens-that don’t-really belong-where I’m-putting them-but I-really-don’t-care because hey, it’s just-for-the-fun of it, ya know??

Please be advised that I will rent you some chocolate ear mite remover if you vow to stop wearing
socks for 134 days. Nobody says any other removal tool will have any effect on plant life in
Nairobi. Nobody can convince me of any other software in these times of uncertainty
and battered hamster hocks. I don’t know who Nobody is, but I hope they’re happy!!

If you don’t want to focus on all the yuckity-poo news screamings, please remain calm and toast your noodles for an inexpensive treat, gently throw spoons to the dog, and use a dustmop for cleaning those hard-to-reach nasal passages. Personally, I really need to quit stuffing donuts in my ears. But they are so soft!!

At least 47 times I wanted to make music, but all I had was a bent kazoo and a drum made of an oatmeal container. The only song I could play was “Doot Doot Bonk.” However, during my years of practicing that broken oboe I was never able to find, I envisioned a small pepper clown foraging in the wilderness. Not sure what the pepper clown was seeking but I know from a complete lack of experience that hidden in the leaf piles there may be invisible ink with which to write secret recipes. I hope there are also returnable bottles available for spare change!! This would give a happy pepper clown great enjoyments of candy and other immune system sanitizers.

Looks like I’ll need to stop eating drywall chips. I thought they would help my tummy’s rancid reflux, but now my hiney seems to think it wants to be a building contractor. After the disintegrating drywall diarrhea disturbance, please come over to our house and enjoy some dust muffins we made several weeks ago. We’ll wash them down with a nice hot cup of Crampers Cream of Toenail Soup, giggle heartily, and run wildly to the nearest receptacle. We’ll have fun!!

Some of the finest cheeses are kept in my sock drawer. This serves two purposes: A) they are aging nicely and 12) they are giving my socks that “nicely worn” fragrance. Some of the best cheese I’ve ever eaten was not found between my toes. However, if I could learn to play guitar with my feet I could invite my musician friends to a Toe Jam.

Perhaps a poem should be inserted at this point…

Gravy

by Me

Gravy in my armpits, syrup on my knees.

Buckets full of macaroni hanging from the trees.

Images of all these things will stick inside my head.

Hope I have a different dream when I go back to bed.

Please remember: You’ll never get anywhere in this life if you don’t go where you are trying to go. If you are already on your way, please stop at the nearest Caffeine Kaboom and tell everyone I said howdy. Also, please get me one of those fizzy cookies.

Thank you.

As you all know, this Sunday is Mothers Day. To all of you Moms out there, Thank You and God Bless You.

Hello My Fellow Pastrami Crinklers,

This is to inform none of you that all new banana recipes should be turned in to the Front Sniffing Room before 12:47 p.m. on Tuesday, August 72, 19127. This is to ensure the cranial vibration machines will be well coagulated prior to sailing off to Monster Island.

None of you may remember “The Hatchling Song;” the words of which were “stolen” by Gus Parbnackle during the Second Coat Hanger Revolt of 1924.

This enjoyable malady has been renewed during the last 28 microseconds and is now sung to the tune of “Inna Gadda Da Vida”:

Guess who barfed on my shoes today
Do dah, do dah
Hatchlings shouldn’t act this way
Oh do dah day…

Some may proclaim, “hey, that looks like it should be sung to the tune of ‘Camptown Races!!’ ” Well of course those who find that line of dingle berries fuzzy and warm will never be successful at launching pickles with catapults. No, rather they will wander aimlessly over hill and dale; squandering what was left of my 2^nd grade lunch money.

I’d like a refund yesterday or the year before if you please.

If you find it necessary to rekindle the spirit which is found to be both blue and wormy; please run directly to your neighbors and ask them to return the crescent wrench your uncle borrowed shortly before dinner last Wednesday morning. Perhaps they are unaware that even inanimate objects yearn for their homeland; which is exactly why we intend to bury all wrenches back into the iron mines from whence they originated.

In summary, I must remind you not to rub sandpaper inside your mucous membranes. Fortunately, that practice has been abandoned long ago due to the over abundance of spaghetti in water fountains made by Mattel. Additionally, please stop putting duct tape sticky side up on my favorite Loaf Toasting Chair. I’ve been mocked numerous times during my grocery store excursions that followed some nice Loaf Toasting Sessions. If you Are Willing to comply with My Duct Tape Restraint Request (DTRR); I’ll also Be Willing to Cease the Use of Grammatically incorrect CapiTalization (UGIC).

MayBe. If I fEel liKe it. OK MaybE noT.

(FOOP).

Thank you for being who you are. After all, if you weren’t you, you wouldn’t be. That would be very confusing to you now wouldn’t it??

My toes look like morel mushrooms again!!

Happy Bozo Express,

Zibnick G. Amplegrane
a.k.a. “Monty the Moth Rancher”

Without any further ado, here be this week’s cartoon.  Gotta love Betty!!  This one’s from The Internet Archive, so the player’s a bit weird.  After opening, click on the arrows in the bottom right corner to view it full screen.   Below the cartoon is a link to a rather silly song sent to me by a friend… never heard this one before and it shows that Bob Dylan has a sense of humor.