Dear Friends,

I am hope you are not cry of the way my typing put words to the eyes of you. I am decide that because the news is hurt my nostrils very ouch this month year, I have been wanted to make laugh with bad of the English using practice (or maybe malpractice). Also seldom but often I must invent words while the fingers slap this keyboard to noggle your hinterbloops until your smiling jumps backward during the Autumn Rainfall Falderal (A.R.F.). In edition butt all sew, I may place words that sound like watt I mean but are knot the write words. So today I am break from nobody’s Bahama Llamas without forcefully project flotation of sinking waterlogged pretzel carriers. You, of all, people. Know what I mean? Isn’t it confusing! When someone punctuates a sentence! Incorrectly even though it is really? A sentence fragment?? And therefore not a sentence? At all??

This instantly although very, very, slowly reminds me of the bad usage. Of commas. Or the forgetting. Of them. For the example, I will bring to your face the intentions of my example that below this typing of total barf-a-roo is crumpling.

Hear now is foopy example of a comma prevention of death of elders:

Let’s eat Grandma!! (Are we to really devour Grandma??)

Let’s eat, Grandma!! (Oh Holy Wow!! C’mon Grandma, let’s stuff face!!)

So as you can see, Grandma’s life was saved by the insertion of a comma into the sentence; because it’s well known that cannibals have always been stopped dead in their tracks by commas while small birds flopped luminously through inverted snack tables made of inferior materials that have often been referred to as pure junk, but what the hey we got them at BugMart for the mere price of $12.37 with tax and why not try them out on those silly birds who obviously don’t even know they’re stuck in this ridiculous run-on sentence which is yet another example of very bad use of sentence structure and therefore slapping impudence in the face of any professor who may be reading this on the subway.

Thank you.

Yew sea, my goal in this small part of my life is two inject poorly amplified participles into the brains of others while they are going working on burned toast while saying things like “hey all these participles are making my face say things I normally wood knot say.” And if I have convinced both of you to slurp loudly while eating a stalk of salary, well of coarse I have accomplished my task of beaming subliminal sectional sofa repair instructions into your daily speech repertoire.

You may thank me someday for this.

I must Finnish this silly scribbling now, as I fear that any further exposure to such garbonkulous yet stinky crabless salad may damage your hematoma. Sew I will clothes with the old saying that I invented many yargons ago but has failed to become a meme:

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

Thank you, and please slide safely through the slimy hallways of life.

Yours with no socks,

Rambledork G. Phlegmfinder

a.k.a. “Herbert The Human Cat”

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?