Zagnut Explosions

There are times when I want to roll on the floor with my tongue flapping in the breeze, all the while flailing my arms and legs about as if I my pants were on fire; but if you heard me say this you would probably know that I may be fooling and then you could chant “liar liar pants on fire nose as long as a telephone wire” with that silly singing voice you have and then of course I’d confess that you’re correct and my pants might actually catch fire because I was fooling the whole time.

Breathe… breathe…

OK, it’s like this, awright?? I just had to pay for car insurance. I would really rather buy candy or maybe a doughnut or something. Do you think you can use doughnuts to pay for car insurance? Or can candy be converted into fuel for small jet packs that do little more than disrupt public speakers and / or eggplant processing machines?

I’d really like to know where my flashlight is.

How much more work stuff do I really need to endure, I ask you? Don’t they know that I’d rather have them just hand me the money and say “thank you for being” and just let me be?? NOOoooo… they actually expect me to perform tasks like remove cheese particles from USB ports and, please excuse my use of rough language, but at times I’m actually expected to work for my money!!! And I have absolutely no idea why I’m using both bold and italics for no apparent reason!! And enough with the superfluous exclamation points awreddy!!!!!!!

Breathe… breathe…

Yes, yes, I know full well that there’s no free lunch, you don’t get something for nothing, a penny saved is a penny earned, a stitch in time saves nine, and you can’t milk a goat with a Crescent wrench. After all, nobody would be rushing to the farmers market to buy wrench cheese stitched with nine pennies for lunch or nothing. No, these are difficult times, so every free something is either saved or earned, and in time I’m pretty sure we’ll find out that goes for all nine of them. Harvey Ticknoodle would be rather annoyed at all this falderal and its associated fiddle dee dee; therefore I implore you not to implode while trying to get those last molecules of milkshake out of the spark plug sockets.

Please, please quit reaching for my Zagnut. You know how doggoned good those are with coffee… mmmm coffee… cream and sugar please… no… honey. No I didn’t call you Honey. Well OK you’re pretty nice but I’m not that kind of Zagnutarian. I just like honey in my coffee instead of sugar. OK Honey?? And if you don’t believe me, just try a Zagnut with your coffeed honey and cream surprise leverage beverage.

While eating the coffee and drinking the Zagnut, nothing in this world will bother you for the entire 12 microseconds it takes for a hummingbird to sing “Oh What A Beautiful Flower Drink” during the last 12 innings of the World Series. That completely unfamiliar Zagnut aroma flavor will cause a sensory explosion the likes of which you’ll never scream to the Sheriff’s Office. You’ll feel refreshed, and of course you’ll be thoroughly Zagged. Only a Nut would deny this delicious cloud softening cable the chance to tinkle on the tastebud tours of Flampington, Indiana.

Well it’s finally a weekend. Thank goodness. Thought I was gonna have to get silly there for a minute.

Culture Change And A Rented Blanex

Are any of you aware of the indecent carbonation that is rejuvenated at my work place? Oh yes, we are in the midst of a culture change. Our e-mail is changing from the old clothespins-keeping-paper-on-the-line-with-the-pulleys to imaginary cloud based compost deliveries. I’m sure none of you are able to lock your tongue in the freezer; so please bare with me (or remain clothed) while I let off some nonsense in the form of steam.

You see, we really are making a big giant change at work, and it involves those computer things, and I am a Qualified Computer Flunky (QCF), so of course I will be getting many calls and will respond with great vinegar to the poor souls who are being pushed into a Brand New Way (BNW) of computerization, which of course is not a word but what the heck all this technology stuff is imaginary anyway (or so it would seem) and whether one likes it or not this run-on sentence may be somewhat intelligible but is probably poorly punctuated and that of course is absolutely of no concern to the likes of ME.

I rented a Blanex over the weekend. I needed to recover the hammer sand that was purging my swamp hockey. Run, run, run down a salty road to find the tingly science filters living in the boathouse. Do you ever expect the train to stop on time? Nobody sees that far, so just resimplify your twenty three percent milktoast warblers and bark moonly at the wild. You’ll never be stronger for it.

Now that you’ve sampled the goat raisins, you are ready to progress to the next step: wonkling. Wonkling can be very stationary and exquisitely mobile. Use something to do a task, throw it in the air, and use it no more. This is the way of the stationary wonkler. Change lanes abruptly, apply heat to an iron molecule, and shake your hair until the electrons fall off. This is the way of the mobile wonkler.

Please, I beseech of you: Wonkle like you’ve never Wonkled before. That will show them!! If you find yourself hungry, please forget to remember that I find deep fried owl toes a most enjoyable snack while driving heavy whipping cream through the vegetable cemetery. If you do not find yourself at all, a nap may be in order. If you do not fit in either catalog, it’s likely time for you to be shamed by the famous Shrieking Sassafras Santa’s Helper.

And now for the shaming:

Do you use toothpaste for tire repair? Of course not!

Do you slurp fried chicken through a cheese grater?? I hope so!!

Do you walk to school or carry your lunch?? Absolutely!!

Does cat fur remind you of candles made of Jell-O?? If so, you are my kind of pleeb!!

OK, that’s probably quite enough shame for one year or so. Just remember what COULD have happened.

Remove this teleprompter from your jailing list.

Do it today.

And now for a truly delicious version of Bohemian Rhapsody by some of my favorite…um… artists(?)

A Grateful Heart Has No Tonsilitis

Quote

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 (and also my commercial) 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.

So there I was, was walking through the factory the other day, minding my own business, 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?? Are you not aware that many many people and other animals on this planet are much less fortunate than you? I mean c’mon man! Get with the gratitude awreddy.”

My Self agreed that grouch makes ouch. I decided I really ought not allow neither this job nor the news media to remove my ventricles or extinguish my lapis lazuli.  I prayed to the Creation Committee (whoever They are) for help.

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 my cranial dust molecules and perhaps even continue ungrouchifying for another 14 milliseconds. By golly, that may have actually worked. And I only practiced this13 times!  Maybe even more!  I tried hard to not take this crazy world too poisonously. Sure, I am “blessed” with way more work than I can ever get done; so quite often my job is inflamed with large pickles that fly violently in all directions. Therefore and forthwith, I must proclaim that 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!!  No, really… please tell me what it means.

Anyway, I’ve decided to just be happy until I feel grouchy again, and since I am a Computer Flunky I get several opportunities to grouch around like when people take their work computers home and allow their children to surf the web, and then they come crying to me because they can’t get their computer to do anything except try to sell them really cool games like Magic Snackwonder or maybe Jedi Pudding Merchants; or perhaps they are plagued by an 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, fragrant applesauce undergarments.

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. Over and over again.  Perhaps I may even interject a song or two; some that have actually been played on the radio or maybe some I make up, like this one:

 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.”

After such ha ha indivisibilty, I laugh at own my silliness and life is once again refreshing and full of new opportunities to enjoy fruit and perhaps even the occasional flying insect (just walk through our yard with your mouth open).

I’ve learned that if I’m having a bad day, it’s usually just me reacting in a stinky way toward what’s going on between my ears.  Long ago I was also told by people wiser than me that I can start my day over any time I want.

Sometimes I restart my day 479 times or more.

So, how was YOUR week?

Here’s the cartoon… nothing to do with anything except that I’m also grateful I’m a country boy….

 

An Important Notification To Everyone’s Dendrites

Dear Friends,

I hope each and every one of you likes having whatever it is you’re having. I had some earlier and it was pretty darn good. I hope to have some more another time, but for now I’ll be happy to enjoy the “have had” experience.

Did you every notice that when work gives me a thorn in my armpit I write really silly things? I mean, sheesh, what can a person do for a living that requires very little effort but pays a few million dollars? I only want to get one paycheck, and then I’ll go sleep in that Toyota Corolla out there in the garage. But seriously folks, if I don’t work really hard to stay grateful these days, it’s likely I’ll go out of my dust locker. After all, I really am a spoiled American.

So I need to change bottle caps right now to issue this important bulletin:

This is to advise all steam hangers that any further disguising of endocrine lamps will be postulated with electric germ tables on or about September 27, 2024. All related salivation will occur just before lunch has a chance to hit the fan.

This is NOT a drill.

I cannot inflame you strongly enough to cease and desist with the act of emulating small furry granola bars. After all, any irresponsible kazoo impresario will automatically endure greatly exaggerated facial expressions.

Gradually we will consult the prototype monkey bar infusion devices in an attempt to discern extraordinary methods of vegetable and / or marshmallow juice extraction. Until then, please return to your imaginary “safe place” and enjoy the gumdrop flavored caffeinated meat sticks.

If you have any questions about the arrangement of your bedroom furniture, please contact Moller Enterprises in Sedgewicke Valley, New Mexico and they will refund your pajamas with explosion resistant platform shoes.

Sincerely,

Barker G. Finkledust

a.k.a. “Vice President Insaney”

On the other hand, does anyone remember Laurel and Hardy?

Dustflingers Don’t Dunk Donuts (Or Do They??)

Hello Dust Flingers,

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.

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…

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.

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 spagetti in water fountains made by Mattel.

Therefore I beseech unto you:  Please remember that

A) you can pick radishes before they are ripe and they will still be red,

9) Although you can count to it, “eight” is a word… and

@!)  Remember that it is always better to be you than for you to be me.

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”

Now, as Rocket J. Squirrel used to say, “now here’s something we hope you’ll really like!!”

An Open Letter To All Bug Snorters

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.

Please Praznify The Churblazooken

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.

When Silly Jumps Out

Dear Snail Dance Participants,

There was once a time when I would sit for hours on end. Then I would stand up and realize my end was getting numb from sitting so long. This is no way to extract naturally sweetened stapler receptacles from small pink laboratory telephone handsets.

You may well wonder, “what the HECK-A-MA-HOOKEY are you trying to say?? Anyhow??” Then again you may not wonder that well. If you do enjoy going to the Wonder Well, you may have already noticed that this has absolutely nothing to do with the German Chocolate Cake that was left outside to shiver during that last forest fire that never happened in my back yard. On the other hand, you have a small insect crawling carefully away so as not to awaken the dreaded Ritz Cracker Ejection Robot.

Now I know that sometimes I may have been known to write completely silly things. There have also, of course, been other times when I was not known at all. Ah, those were the times… You see, there are things that make us cry, and there are things that make us wish cars would run on jelly beans. I prefer smiling over crying, although crying can be helpful if you need to wash your soul. After the soul washing, however, it’s time to get out the lint brush and get on with life as we know it here on Amplo-Snavorkey (that’s the Crelbian name for Earth, The Cosmic Dirt-Water-And-Air-Blob).

There have been other times when friends at work would receive a very strange Instant Message From Me, And Only A Few Words Would Be Capitalized. For Example, I’ve Been Known To Send Such Crazy Sentences As: “My ears are full of sand again. Can you please pass me the bread wrench?” That one just caused me to laugh at my very own writing, which may be cause for alarm.

No, I must say this about that: it would be much MORE alarming to go through life without laughing at all. Even though I work in a very strange Crayon Shavings Recycling Facility, I’ve determined that I need to keep two things in mind:

A) I must always be grateful I’m working, and that my job is close to home,

34) I must try my best to be happy (or at least pleasant) while I’m also being alive in this plane of existence, and

H2) I must never say I need to keep two things in mind when I really meant more than two.

One thing I’ve learned during my 61 trips around the Sun is that people would really much rather be happy than sad. Therefore, I have tried my best to spread smiling on the walls of peoples toenails (and shoe horns) whenever the dog manure jumps out of the spider webs. Sometimes I tell a joke. Sometimes I make a silly face. Sometimes I dash into the kitchen and whip up some roasted kitty dander with a nice garnish of avocado pit puree. Usually by Sometimes #3 my friends have quietly left the building and I don’t have to worry about them being sad, at least not around me.

So my friends, as you can see, my brain still maintains a goodly amount of chowder dust in the depths of its ammonia flavored barnacle snack bars. Nothing that was written here tonight will ever have anything to do with Cream Of Flamingo Soup or any other nuclear missile lobotomy. All I ask is that if you are interested, please try to smile once in awhile. And if you can do that, please send one (or more) to a friend or even a stranger!

Sincerely Yours,

Hyram C. Gilmore

Captain of the Royal Licorice Cabbage Brigade
———————————————-
OK, now for da cartoon thing.

An Important Corporate Bulletin

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.

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 and 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, call 800-400-0001 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…

Imaginary Florksnibbles

Dear Lumpflatteners,

Please enjoy the clam sandwiches currently available at the Old New Dehli Deli.  You will find the sam clandwiches right next to the Belly Jellies, in the frinkle sauce department of a Kolibbik store near you.

You may qualify for a package of used cheese.  Please do not write to the following address to see if you have entered your name in the North American Bilge Experience (NABE):

Log Turner Contest
24Cx Bugsnot Blvd.
Chiclet, MI  44404

Please call 1-800-555-1212 for the number.  Ask for Phlegm.

Be advised that all nickels will be collected by a rodent during the coming drainy season. Do not worry about any plugged drains, for as we all know if a plain gets drugged there are more than enough socks to prevent the chafing.  Hey!!  What’s that gourd doing with the cat food now??

Now of course you can be happy to know that I have more paper for sale than ever before.  Some of it is useful. If you want some, send $23.70 in dickels and nimes to my pet dirt clump over there in the hedgerow.  Upon receiving the money, I will send you your 43 tons of compressed paper. Please make sure the car is not in the garage that day.

If any of this makes sense to you, make sure you contact your local Hamper Salesman by July 27, 2019 .  There are also community resources on which you can rely, such as the Cribbled Office Of Pie Stashers (COOPS) and the Ceramic Octagon Plucking Society (COPS).  Neither of these entities will run to your aid.  Therefore, if you understand any of
what has been written heretofore, you are basically toast.

Enjoy toast with all your might.  Remember, the toast you crave may be on loan.

Happy Bortinkulars to you, and may the sand never fly into your cereal.

My eyes are lamps,

Kebbic G. Fefflewonk
A.K.A. Harvey Ticknoodle

P.S.:  Thank you for changing the tire leggings last night.  I’m not sure my car would have tolerated another month of “swish – swish KABOOM!!”

Moooo!!!