A Friendly Letter To A Friend Who’s Not Really A Friend

Hello Nice Friendly Peoples!

My brain fell out 3 times this past week, and each and every 139th time all the computerized floral arrangements could be seen waving their tusks at me with indecent cheese filled pasta pies.  Can you relate?  Do you find yourself blaming “The Amazing El-Farto” (or someone not even remotely similar) for all the troubles in your universe??

Well, if you do, you’ll probably never need or even want to send that person a letter expressing just how smelly the air molecules become when they are near you. But just in case, I’ve taken the liberty to compose an all purpose letter you can either send or deliver to someone who has gently taken your self esteem and crammed it into a hollow tree full of spiders and other (perhaps fire-breathing) ickety-boo monster animals. Please feel free not to use this ever at any time at all; but instead maybe read it sometime when the friend you thought was a friend simply turned out to be a very mean person who really doesn’t know how to be a friend so you really may want to just pray for them and ask the Creator Committee to help them be happy and healthy all the day long; even though you don’t like them, and of course please remember that all creatures great and small need and deserve love but that of course does not necessarily mean you will be inspired to make a new ice cream flavor in their name but maybe you could at least try to forgive them for being so nasty and I was wondering if I might please have that big piece of chocolate over there now?

Thank you! OK, here we go with the letter thing you probably should never send; but it might make you laugh away your crackling insoles:

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Dear Fossilbrain,

I’d like to apologize for allowing you to eat all those barnacles I accidentally put in the pasta salad. It’s just that I was very much enjoying the crunching noise and your interesting amazement at the happy culinary bewilderment. I would also like to apologize in advance for the discomfort you are sure to experience when these barnacles and their shells travel through your digestive tract; and the eye widening sensation they are certain to inflame just before they embark upon the journey to your septic tank.

You may soon discover that Tootsie Rolls do not write well on a chalkboard. If that should occur, please again accept my apology; this time for replacing all your writing implements with pretzels, licorice, and very skinny carrots. We all know that pointy things can make patterns in the sand, which is soon to be found in your pee nut butter and celery sandwiches. Drink 3 centiliters of popcorn oil while gargling with paprika and you’ll be treated to a very remarkable temperature tantrum.

I know you may not want to hear this, but right now I’m pretending to yell with a giant squid flavored amplifier that will cause even the most obstinate pair of moisture control pliers to wither and fly westward due to their foolish insistence upon trolling for sod without an adequate flashlight renewal calculator. Your pets and stain resistant dinnerware will one day thank me for all this.

In closing, I’d like to assure you that in spite of everything and in spit of everything else; I will do my very best to enhance the length of my string supply. After all, one can never have too much string. Thank you for your itchy sidewalls. Whenever I compare them to my inexplicable “potato dances,” life is clearly baffling; much in the same way a fluffy yet malodorous box of dandruff sneaks its way into a delicious rhubarb-liverwurst casserole.

Yours in Tender Shouting,

Breem Pifflewonk, Esq.

“Don’t try to sing while sneezing.  Your nostrils may create an unwelcome booger kaboom.” – Eugene T. Snackpincher

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OK!! Now on to da cartoon!!

Completely Untrue Yet Scientific Observations About Muskegon

Warning: This message contains nonsense and may destroy your porcupine salad.

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Hello My Dear Frame Handlers,

Although most crustaceans were not aware, I’ve lived in Muskegon for approximately 932. So I must say, thank you for visiting us while we were not at home. Perhaps you have never asked me, “how is Muskegon?? Anyhow??” So I’m probably not overdue for an answer.

So, just how IS Muskegon?? Well, here are some of my own scientifically based observations: Muskegon is like a chicken with no milk for cereal. All the trees are planted upside down and one has a difficult time finding shade under the roots that stick up in the air. The squirrels are very large and strong, which is partly due to their diet of car parts. Wild dogs run the streets in packs of 12 – 20 ounce containers. Cabbage hammers often get lost during their walk home from the movies.

Many small children grow their own toys.

You’d think that in a large town as small as Muskegon there would be a library and perhaps even a delicatessen. Well, unfortunately the only service provided here is curb dusting on Wednesdays between 12 a.m. and 12:03 a.m. So obviously there’s no delicatessen, but rather a small collection of street vendors who, for a small fee, will abstain from throwing food at you while you walk along the freshly dusted curb.

All the fire hydrants have been painted with invisible ink. Nobody knows why, and now of course they cannot find any of them; so the 1973 Dodge Ram 1/2 ton Firetruck and its 14 man crew must rely on many bottles of Dasani and / or Aquafina for fire sprinkling enjoyment.

Muskegon prides itself on the “high quality” paving jobs of the city streets. The primary paving material is zebra mussels. The shells are crunchy and fun to drive on; and the bodies of the mussels are soft and gooey. Once a big layer of mussels is applied to the avenue, a steam roller flattens them to make Instant Road. Nose clamps are freely available at major intersections during “The Great Paving Festival” in early August. While they enjoy the festival, residents wear their nose clamps while singing that old time favorite paving song, “Holy Moly Bad Stink Oh My Gosh Wow.”

Well, I could go on and on, but then I’d soon be forced to join that self-help group, “On And On And On-Anon.”

If you have any questions or concerns, please, by all means, abruptly give yourself a swirly; and then think carefully about what it is you expect to hear from the likes of me.

Got it? OK, that’s fine.

Yours in Two Trains,

Gigglefoot B. Floopenhosen
a.k.a. “The Great Wide Giblet Hunter”

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School’s almost out!!

An Important Letter To All Frames and Camelstands

Dear Frames and Camelstands,

I understand that none of you have been lifting corduroy. Well I’m here to tell you, that if you don’t begin doing something soon you won’t be able to do anything very soon. Soon you will know that something was done before egg time, and are you even are aware that the thing you ate last night had absolutely nothing nutritionally resembling paint chips??

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 lentils floating in a small garage. What the HECK have you been slurping during nap time??

The weather was completely perfectly wintry 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.

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 the earlobes during The Great Nickel Tossing Festival.

Last time we were never there, the noises of our crawlings were completely different than 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 were kids.

OK.

Now you have been klempered.

Please resume your taddle-brickling.

My chair eats frogs,

Hyram C. Pooflestench

A.K.A. Peeper Fling Muskellunge

Well, if you’ve read this far, you may have found all of that a bit weird. With that in mind, check this weirdness out:

An Unimportant Announcement

Please note: you are reading this message because you are on a secret list that only the Cheese Vendors can access with toaster friendly amplification.

Hello Habbniferns,

I’m sure none of you are wondering by now whether the sky has been removed from the Ionized Bugle Machines (IBM). There’s probably a good chance that someday I can divulge the particulars of that molecular substation, but this is no time for soaking baby toys in cups of sesame oil.

I ate a bug once during the Warmer Weather Times (WWT). It had very little flavor, and devouring its body really was not as pleasant as one might surmise. This required minimal effort, however: I opened my mouth, a small insect flew in, and I closed my mouth again. I tried to pitoo, then kerchack, but when I said “orgkkk” my swallowing mechanism switched on and down the hatch it went as I Bit My Tongue (IBMT). Possibly there was some struggle on the part of the poor bug, as I was somewhat sure I felt griggling actions as the very small Insect Bit The Dust On The Way Down My Esophagus (IBTDOTWDME).

Now of course we must discuss this business of intermediate tree watering schedules. Please do not go there with me ever again. Why would you insist on watering the trees with that Jell-O dispenser I shall never understand. Don’t you know that pressurized prune skins can injure cats and other flying rodents? We really need to talk about your compulsion to slide wildly through the Baked Apple Rhubarb Fritters (BARF).

OK. I really must go to the store now. They have metal objects on sale, and one can never have too many metal objects. I’m keeping mine in the washing machine; they help spoons and radio antennas stay fresh and crinkly.

Thank you for not licking my car. Last time my car was flattened, all the tire juice ran sideways through the maple syrup. So again, thank you VERY MUCH for not flattening my cat’s toy water fountain. Unless you did. In which case I will stop. Writing in incomplete sentences. Which cannot be sentences at all.  Since they are incomplete. So therefore they must. Be sentence fragments.

So there.

Yours with no hair,

Abnick G. Wiffleponk

a.k.a. “Sgt. Lumpy, Underwater Greenskeeper (SLUG)”

Now the cartoon is about to happen, and this one should cause none of you to long for Jellyfish Bay.

An Open Letter to Mr. or Ms. TextNeck

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 work with computers; 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…).  Although we do have an internet provider it’s pretty slow (but cheap).  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. Cable simply costs too much and prevents me from having enough extra cash for important staples like 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 wince occasionally.

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

An Open Letter To Friends Or Others

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.

Today I received reinforcement of my long standing belief that there is a neurological connection between my hiney and my head bone. This I have determined 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.

So 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 today and it hurts 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 what for I was going down the stairs to get something; I have 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 come back; I sit down, and VOILA!! My brain thing in my headbone was now retrieving memory information. I go for to put the aspirin into my mouth place and wash it down with some dihydrogen oxide. Therefore, the logical contusion is: my hiney and brain are connected somehow.

Please, no butt head jokes.

Unless you want to…

OK. So back to the original premise that all of you Wonderful Yankle Tramplers out there were so very helpful with drinking 72 gallons of crayfish squeezin’s during the Grape Custard Vestibule. 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 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” on the smellgrabber organ, 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 whose circular germinations you may or may not have ever endured:

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

By the way, I work in the IT Department. Can you tell my week has been very snarbifulous??

On the other hand, you have the smellgrabber song…

A Most Fribbular Movie Night

Thank you all for allowing this work week to be so condribular and racknerfloven. It was a Very BIG ONE; and well you all know what THAT means, right? OK, maybe you just don’t know. Therefore, I must tell you: THAT means that my Beautiful Girlfriend and I HAD to go see Spider-Man at the Movie House to force ourselves to enjoy a marvelously brain flushing evening; because all day long this week I was shrieking silently and hoping that now that Friday Eve had arrived perhaps some Big Screen Happy Time would allow the stress crinkles to drip out of my cerebral cortex while tiny aluminum duck sandals renewed their strong scents of delirium with liberty and justice for all.

In spite of that terrible and confusing run-on sentence, please remind me to never again drink soda just before going to the movies. I mean, the Spider-Man idea was one of those impromptu “hey, wanna go see Spider-Man?” things where we both were aware that it would soon leave the big screen in our neck of the woods; and even if our woods were neckless, we’d still miss seeing the movie in the theater and holy marzooka, we really love going to a flick because it’s such a wonderful way for us to escape for a couple hours with miniature Snickers bars that cost too much but who really cares because hey, we’re at the movies and they use such naughty enticements to remove our dollars in large tortellini battery powered radish flossings.

So there I was, pretending to be in control of all my faculties and functions, when after about 4/12ths of the movie had played I learned that my bladder would not listen to my inaudible screams of “NO!! I DO NOT WISH TO PEE!!” This forced me to politely leave the movie room place and run with great zoomophone to the nearest vestibule, deposit some used Cherry Pepsi into the appropriate flushmobile, then briskly (but thoroughly) wash my hand-hand-fingers-palms (I like to hold my Honey’s hand during the movie you see); then zoom back with great runophone to the movie door thing and quickly but quietly interrupt several people’s line of sight for approximately 12.47 milliseconds each while grabbing again my seat of movie viewing oh boy I’m glad I ran in the halls like a wild man but oh wow I didn’t miss much and that is so cool.

If you’ve ever been to a Marvel movie, you are likely aware that after the movie there are credits that roll past on the screen. What?? ALL movies do that?? Oh. Well Marvel movies are more differenter like, you know, because they like, you know, have these little… um… let’s call them “short scenes of actors and such” doing some sort of like, related or like, not related Movie Monkey Business that are strategically placed between some of the credits and like, if you fly out of the theater after the movie is “over” then you like, miss all these totally non-crapulous scenes (my goodest usaging of English and punctuation back there).

We saw the first short scene thingamabobber and that was nice… but hey guess what?? I HAD TO PEE AGAIN!! Both of us were guessing there was one more at the VERY END of the credits and whatnot, but just to be sure I asked the cleanup crew if there was another scene. They said, “yes, you’ll like it!!” And I said, “THEY NEED TO HURRY UP BECAUSE I GOTTA PEE!!!” Then they laughed and threw all their garbage in my general direction but no not really but holy flazzletran I was not comfortable.

After the last scene, I demonstrated to my Lovely Girlfriend Who Allowed Me To Marry Her that this old man can still sprint when personal safety or personal holy flazzletran is at stake.

The moral of the story: please threaten to bite my elbows if I think soda before a 2 hour, 13 minute movie is a good idea.

Thank You And Please Try To Be Happy Even When The Stress Wants To Harm You.

Oh, and tell the guy who wrote this to leave the stinkin’ shift key alone.

P.S.: We enjoyed the movie very much; and I no longer wish to cram large scraps of lumber into my nostrils.

For this week’s video, I found an old cartoon depicting movie stars who were around during the Great Depression.  Recognize any?

Milwort Dendersniffle

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 eat 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 writing now and it’s Friday night and our Grand Children Are Here and that of course means they keep us plenty busy and Ollie (the oldest) asked me to write a funny story and I told him “it’s Friday night, so I always write a funny story for my friends” and then he specifically requested I write a silly story for him also and started in trying to remind me of silly story things like “don’t you remember when you wrote about telling someone to eat the kitchen door?” and other things that are ancient history in my brain because I mean hey, I’ve written 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 had a very week work stressful all the whole week of this past week work time; and now it’s time for the week to end (hence the name, “weekend”) (am I smart or what?) (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. 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 job was rather ickety-boo this week? Oh yes, it harmed my brain with very bad clam stink. Now I will resume the rest period, which is entirely too short but I guess that’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”

Und now it’s thyme for da video thing… I’m thinking some They Might Be Giants…  and then a dose of some Eels. See for yourself by golly…

Ach Du Lieber!! Das Internet Ist Kaputt!!

Hello Snaybles and Bugtoss Muffins!!

Did you ever survive a day when the internet was broken?!?!? Oh My God!! How can this happen to gentle people like us?? I think there were corgle farbs stuck in the bizzmahooken… after I used 12 toads to reset the ply chowder, NetFlax and TooYube were chibbling along as if nobody ate used food in several decades.

Norgleson Anglefoot told me once that if you throw ethernet cables at a dead possum, not only will the road still stink but the flies will try to invent a new and exciting music streaming service that will prevent even the happiest Carrot Cakes from inducing Elementary Energized Electrolux Egg Flingers to use their newly formed Zinc Toasters for indivisible porpoises; not to mention that one time when all the zucchini fell off the roof (again) and the cat narrowly escaped with his brand new derby hat he never wears to concerts anymore.

I told you not to mention that!!

So this has been the distorted constipation at our house lately. Yes, that’s right friends, Das Internet War Kaputt. For those of you who don’t speak Clambolian, that means: “Jingle Fries!! The Internet Don’t Working!! We Must Use Very Badly The Grammar And Also Capitalize Unnecessarily To Illustrate Our Frustration With This Intolerable Ant Pile Of Dust Mites Who Don’t Even Know I’m Writing About Them And They Probably Don’t Even Care That I Make REALLY Silly Run-On Sentences Because Dust Mites Are So Doggoned Tiny That Even Though I’ve Never Seen One, I’m Probably Seeing Them All The Time!

Or so I’m told.

OK. So the moral of the story, of course, is multiple in nature. In other words, there are multiple morals to this story; which will result in Moral Multiplicity and also very possibly, Repetitious Repeating Of The Fact That There Is More Than One Moral Of The Story, Which Again Is Celebrated With Totally Unnecessary Capitalization.

OK. Here are the Multiple Morals:

A – You can lead a possum to the middle of the road, but it may steal your network cables.

12 – I absolutely refuse to tolerate Dust Mite Ant Piles.

Blue – Jingle Fries will be served cold during Unnecessarily Capitalized Thunderstorms; and of course

@! – You can type nonsense when you don’t know what else to write, and if it makes you laugh while you write it, maybe someone else will laugh also.

The End

“Bark, bark!” said the tree while his dog was sniffing his neighborfeet. Ha ha, it was not the end, but it is now.

I hope.

“And now,” as Mr. Cleese used to say, “for something completely different.”

Nonsensical Stress Filters

Dear Ninks and Semmerflubens,

I am writing to all of you from the back yard where no children are stuffing bread into the worm holes. This week has been especially stressful at work, and a lot has been going on in the news. Therefore, in the interest of clam flavored desserts, I feel the need to remove my corporate tortellini. Those of you who know me are aware that some stressfully sprinkled donuts prompt me to write letters to fire hydrants.

Let this past century of my work week be no Oldsmobile to that incubation.

I was walking through the factory the other day, scowling inside my rib cage and doing my darndest to ignore all the noisy dirt. Soon I found myself saying, “hey Self! For why you are so poofely?? Don’t you agree that your employment status brings gas to your table and puts food in your car? Are you not, indeed, a very fortunate person who no longer requires adult supervision at most Twinkie eating contests?? And c’mon man! Get with the gratitude awreddy.”

My Self agreed that grouch makes ouch. I decided I really ought not allow this job to remove my ventricles or extinguish my lapis lazuli.

The following morning, I smiled and decided not to be El Groucho inside my brain world any longer. At least not for 27 minutes, then I could reevaluate and perhaps even continue another 14 milliseconds. By golly, that may have actually worked. I tried hard to not take work too poisonously. Sure, since my friend Reebo has retired and I inherited an extra work load my job has become inflamed with large pickles that fly violently in all directions. And yes, there is really no way to keep up with the demand, unless I find a way to successfully clone my onion rings before Hubert The Closet Painter arrives from Denderflaven. If he gets here before the sauerkraut capsules are fully declawed, there is absolutely no guarantee of the existence of any newly sharpened Jell-O forks.

And we all know what that means!!

So, I’ve decided to just be happy until I feel grouchy again, which seems to come quickly when people at work allow their children to surf the web on their work computer, and then they come crying to me because they can’t get their computer to do anything except offer to fix horrible computer problems that don’t exist, and then I get to spend many minutes trying to kill the bugs when all they had to do was forget to allow their kids to surf the web with their work computer, and then I end up blasting the hard drive anyway so I can write run-on sentences with increased vigor and lengthy applesauce.

After all of that new grouchiness, I start my day over again with a new happy and grateful attitude. Then I get grouchy once more, but a little less, and keep practicing the gratitude thing. Then I go between buildings and sing happy songs like:

Leave me alone or I’ll bite you

Your ears are made of sticks

Why do you talk to ME like that

I’ll send you cat logs in the mail.

This of course is sung to the tune of “Leave Me Alone Or I’ll Bite You.”

Finally, and least palatable, is what seems to be an attitude of “Hooray for Me and to Hell with YOU” in our nation of freely expressive greedy stinkbottoms. I mean hey, I’m very grateful we live in a free country and hey, you know, when it comes right down to it, most of us are spoiled Americans compared to many folks on this planet. You know, hey? It’s just um… what troubles me, is um… you know, like um… wait a minute, let me hold my smellphone and text someone while you’re trying to talk to me and um… you know, this “America First” stuff seems to be causing a lot of resentment in the world and last time I checked, if a person is silly enough to proclaim himself King Of The Mountain then someone is gonna want to knock them down off the top of that mountain with a giant Tootsie Roll or something much more explosive.

Greed is harming all of us; and it ain’t no good for Mother Nature neither. We Americans don’t own this planet, although we seem to act like the whole thing is ours. These things make me become very figgy and bickety-boo! So then I start getting more with the Grouch Ouch, and I want to go bite a bark flavored tricycle!!

Then I laugh at my silliness and life is once again refreshing and full of new opportunities to enjoy fruit and perhaps even the occasional flying insect.

Sometimes I restart my day 479 times or more.

So, how was YOUR week?

Pray for our Planet. Think Globally, Act Locally. Please??