Electronic Refractions And Mandatory Recycling Procedures

Dearest Traves and Mizzledenters,

In the interest of a more secure planet whose resources have been dwindling at an alarming rate, we must now embark upon an aggressive lotion application program for each and every living organism on this home we call Earth.

Some of you may well ask, “how does one apply lotion to pollywogs and other large mammals?” As a famous president often said, “let me say this about that.” Seriously, if you cannot yet grasp the operational intricacies of the Royal Lotion Brush, then please do not attempt to enter the Cat Coating Laboratory. Cats are not amused when radioactive desserts are substituted for common flashlight banana candles.

Please ask both of your friends whether they can seriously find themselves. You simply never know in this day and age where one can be found. And of course, if one is found then others will be soon to follow. Follow me to the store and I may or may not purchase some electronic bread removal tools. These and other contraceptives can be found floating through the 73rd dimensional portal that was built by the Ancient Dribblers.

I’ve asked our electronic recycling contractors to apply soap to both wheels. Please let me know if any capacity regions require further coagulation. The most effective method of communication for this purpose is very loud yodeling during a thunderstorm. Each yodel should be very melodic as well as crunchy; and the yodeler must be prepared to catch the fresh, warm output of the Danish Donut Ejection Machine.

This procedure is truly vital and must be followed exactly. Some of the more common questions that may or may not arise are:

Do chocolate celery sticks enjoy a separate life cycle?

What color is this wandering balloon whose name is Alfred?

Remember that one time when we were sleeping in the snowbank?

Is this carnival really safe?

When do we get to press the Magic Button?

Are you going to eat that???

Please thank yourselves in advance for your constellations. After all, EVERYBODY is a star.

Happy Wheezing,

Brebbick N. Zemberklang
a.k.a. “Foofie McSnuffington”

Now this has NOTHING to do with ANYTHING but it was fun for me. Hopefully for you too…

A Friendly Letter To Lorveltran

Dear Perglezookeys,

Please don’t spread the word, but as I have already alerted some of my comrades, I have been masticating during lunch. My mandible enjoys this to the point where it is pretty much automatic. Please do be aware, however, that mastication is a pure, wholesome, and reasonably natural process and should not be refreshed in the name of Dondo Frijole. You personally may opt NOT to masticate, but do so only with the precaution that you might be setting yourself up to receive the Hindkick maneuver from your piers. Piers and maybe even docks. If their are two such piers, well that of course would be a paradox.

On the other hand, you may receive the Hand Lick maneuver, which is totally disgusting and miserably ineffective. Your piers may not even want to try it. And of course, if you add an “L” to “piers,” you get “pliers,” and that’s what Herman the Zinc Miner will use to pinch your septum every single time the Three Stooges investigate the Twighlight Zone.

In the early morning night time, I opened the window and several nonfurry checkbook carriers escaped and ran through the intersections. As I saw this, I twinkled my toes and exclaimed, “Holy Photonic Calibration!! There go four of my unused satellite receivers!” If you see them, it’s likely they will be traveling with soup and perhaps even potato cartilage. This flavor based combination will intimidate even the best of all your political capuccino. Why would anyone even attempt to varnish tomatoes is way beyond my constitution.

Clang clang clang go the whistles, enjoying help from Above and Oh my God my socks are draining again. Above refers to a place higher than me, where birds, helicopters, and dragonflies enjoy friendly “Hey let’s watch the Exorcist again” parties. If you happen to be near such a gathering, please run from the wildebeest and leave a trail of Poppin’ Fresh doughnuts so we can find you when it’s time to do the dishes.

Are you trying to annoy me with that cheap imitation of a screen door you call “Lermick??” Well, just so you know, you’ll never make any Cracker Barrel Surprise with that silly rubber spoon you’ve hidden in the sofa cushions. I beseech you, never attempt to wave your antler hammers at my pet goat fish while she’s washing the television. This never happened before, and probably will never happen again. Unless, of course, the bread turns left at the next power pickle.

Someone stole eleven percent of my brain. This makes the chore of even normale typeikng vyery diffiddicult indeeded.n Sol I lleave youoyou noww, bbefoorew I cane nlwo longerers type * at # Alle.’

By buy,

Zeb Rookenzool

Action Figure of Choice,

3003 Ozone Olympics

P.S.: Soon I will buy you some string you can use to persuade insects to do fancy tricks.

Unless your name is Bimbo and you are trying to join a fraternity…

Important Notice: Upcoming Inspections

Note:  This notice has been circulated to everyone who has pockets, pocket books, mailboxes, or ice in their driveway.  Please read carefully and follow the instructions.

My Fellow Associates,

In these uncertain economic times we must strive to defeat the competition both before and after they are finished watching their favorite movies and / or cooking programs. Therefore, it is with great implosion that I urge all of you to apply an exorbitant amount of effort toward our long discontinued standard of excellence.

In striving toward the spirit of this year’s successful yet spiritually degrading development plan, we are rolling out what we believe is an innovative approach to corporate indecency with our new motto: Strength Through Costly Mistakes, or STCM.

To facilitate Phase 1 of this plan, Zelden Bilgehammer of Quality Infusions, Inc. will be arriving soon to inspect the cambernackles. Please ensure that all edible click wrapper standards are well concealed and thoroughly hyphenated before Zelden’s infestation.

During this exercise, please note that cambernackles will heretofore be inspected on the 3rd Tuesday of each week, twice monthly, with liberty and justice for all. This information may be shared freely with any and all individuals whose names rhyme with “lumberjack,” as they would appear when divided by the pertinent day of the month.

For example: on the 1st Tuesday of 2019, the week begins with the letter R. It follows then, that you may share this with people like:

Rudence Cumberjack

Rumby Cambersnorck

Royven Snanderjunk

And of course Roopy Wofflenick.

Note that the inverse modification standard never applies. None of these stick flingers are employed at this time, so sharing the inflammation can only enhance our deprivation protocol.

If you have any questions regarding this modulation, please insert two nickles and eleven dimes. After all, your toaster is probably orange with chrome crumb fenders.

Thank you in advance for your cooperation in this urgent flea popping contest.

Sincerely,

Norvis Pimpleburger
Chief Inspection Officer
Feline Antler Fabrication Dept.

“If you want something done, don’t remove the cat’s antlers.” – Milton Wildpockets

——————————————————————–

On the other hand, we could just make with the jumpin’ jive and swing it!!

Moist Ditches And Windshield Wipers

When work becomes as stressful as a large bowl of salmon scales, I often begin to reminisce about the good old days when lutefisk was worn casually in the shape of a man’s oversized basketball hamper while small, decorative houseflies jump though hoops of blazing oatmeal during halftime at the “Sniff Your Dog’s Crayons” Festival; which is held every 10th Sunday of Jangulary in the beautifully snail infested vegetable drawer of Nyvack, New Applesander.

This of course has nothing to do with messages like:

“I believe I’ll resume sleeping in moist ditches again soon.” Or

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow your windshield wipers for a couple months.”

And of course:

“Now that I’ve reached Mt. Agnes, my next journey will involve training my hair to light up during times of Zombie Invasions.”

All of these communications will be delivered to your screens long before you are able to discern the value of large piles of rusted pine trees. Please don’t attempt to erase this long standing lard hopper entertainment removal procedure. You’ll only end up with way too many roasted pick whistle shavings.

Speaking of whistle spray, I’m hereby reminded of a true (and probably completely false) recounting of our dear Grand Leaf Handler:

Long ago in Grandfather’s beard, a small squid died and stunk for days. All the village Elders offered him fire to drink and hid his remote control. Little children crawled up to see him and chewed off his toes. His own family sent for the Magic Bowl. They filled it with bird runch and mixed in pork, crayon shavings and geek fat. The ceremony began with the first three episodes of “Gilligan’s Island”; and when Grandfather started lusting for Mrs. Howell they fed him the Modongo. Very soon Grandfather blortled and fipped. He asked “What kind of bird runch are you feeding me today? Anyhow?” His family laughed at the snackwonder: “OH! AH! HOO!”, they bribbled. And that is how this Hay-Wy-Ann Island got its name.

I think…

Therefore my friends, dwell not on the nonsensical. Please do not try to extract any logical explanation for silly text that has no rhythm or sense of smelt. Additionally, remember that silliness is not at all similar to boiling marbles in chocolate powder. Lord knows only bicycles can endure that type of topical storm.

Thank you, and may all your blessings fly paper airplanes during important conferences.

Yours In Deep Sleep,

Melbert “Whippy” Goatfinder

And now for the REAL taste test…  I would like a job like what these gents have please.

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.