When the grandsons are here, I often ask them to give me ideas on what to write for “Happy Friday!!!” installments. Well today I got some rather interesting (albeit random) suggestions. So as is the custom when they are here for a visit, I will try to incorporate their silliness into some of my silliness so the silliness is as silly as possible.

Please to endure the bold italics that will be used to highlight their contributions, of which this sentence is not one, nor even part of one, it’s just a random sentence I decided to compose to annoy anyone who is not fond of run-on sentences that just seem to go on and on without any particular reason; with liberty and justice for all.

OK. Time for the real silliness.

When I first asked for a story idea, Gabe told me, “I have ketchup plants growing out of my ears. The ketchup plants in my ears have giraffes biting them, I mean munching them.” So I may (or may not) have answered thusly: “Oh really?? Is this the only way you can try to reach for that imitation toothpaste dispenser?? I’m not sure you understand how purple all those invisible milk molecules can be during a pancake storm. I’ll check back with you in a few weeks to see if you’ve invented any new cheese boppers.”

Gabe left me no choice but to ask his older brother Ollie for some “Happy Friday!!!” fodder. “Ollie,” I said calmly, “do you have any story ideas?” Ollie smirked and then he began to fribble and vossilate while he chortled, “The clan of cats called The Geraldines were on the hunt for mosquitoes the size of a house; so they could cook them over a fire and yell at them for no reason.” “Well alrighty then,” I shrugged, wondering if either of these two grandsons of mine had ever really understood the meaning of using Twinkies for a spare tire.

In very short order their interest shifted back to their video games. “The villagers just keep mining,” Ollie told Gabe. “Yeah, they’re not the smartest aliens in the book,” Gabe replied. Upon asking for more input, a flurry of activity ensued…

Ollie: “My dog just ate all the bread in the house.”

Gabe: “My nose is filled with ketchup.”

Ollie: “The wall is bleeding burger grease.“

Gabe: “It can be anything random it doesn’t have to be funny? Sniggly boo!!”

Ollie: “Here we observe the bear and its natural habitat bathing with fried fish and soup. The moldy chicken nuggets that live in the pantry are raiding the village of onions.”

Gabe: “Turtle.”

At this point, I said, “thank you, and good night.”

A lost document (which should have remained lost)

by Hyram C. Gilmore

     With the wisdom available to us at the present time, it
has been suggested to me that an explanation for our
existence on the planet is in order.  After spending the last
37 years researching this, I have made some true and amazing
conclusions; which I would now like to force each living
being to believe.

     For example, I recently became aware that if you leave
your underpants on long enough, they change color.
Additionally, continued wearing of underpants after this
color change occurs may allow the garment to harbor
unpleasant odors and crusty stuff.  The only way to alleviate
this condition is to place the garment on a flat surface and
cover it with birdseed.  Take this outdoors.  Laugh at the
birds for eating the kaka and weewee particles.

     I am also convinced that yellow things are really
stupid.  Every yellow thing I have spoken to just sits there
with that idiotic yellow way they have.  Yesterday I told a
balloon about how to change an alternator.  The stupid thing
just sat there, sitting there, being right there remaining at
the place where it was!  O obscurity and pickled desk tops!
It's like they don't even WANT to communicate.

     As many of you know, we have been joined together at the
elbows.  Put one in your mouth and the other in your
carbon paper and rotate, as if anyone really cares.  That
should give the neighbors something to sell shoes about.  Of
course, I knew all along that they would choose the wrong
toothbrush if left alone in a crowd.  
     Documentation has proven that Hawaii has been included
in the universe.  You can find it under "H" in the new
edition of Fronkle's Universal Inventory.  Mr. Loofa Noodle
is there, and has been named official Captain of the Battle
Destroyer Flotation Device Cruise Ship Thing:  "Ono-Ahma-
Liki"; which regularly patrols the coast of Oopa-Oopa.  He
and his crew have been on the lookout for fiddler crabs and
their pet hair dryers.  It seems that when the local
fishermen go out on the town, they catch crabs while
fiddling; and the hair dryers cry for chicken pot pies.

     Perhaps the most interesting characteristic about the
Hawaiian Toe Jams is the unique geological constipation.
Large clouds of black dust hover over the natural beauty of
the native insecticide.  Tourists from all over the world
flock around with their chins in a little dress; and sing
about the time I puked all over the dog and he kicked my
rosy red piano.  Palm trees sway in the bathroom when pigs
climb to the top. It is truly a remarkable sight to be dismayed!

     Tropical customs are in full view of retarded garden
tools.  Hula dancers wear the traditional grass shirts which
come in plaid or velvet.  They burn well and are organized
according to battery or solar powder.  Each dance tells a
story just exactly like this:
------------------------------------------------------------
     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 Island got its
name.  
------------------------------------------------------------

     Now, I'm sure you are wondering about the food one
encounters in this area of the planet.  Well, being the
expert you are, let's hear about it!  Don't tell me I have to
eat those dirt things again!  You served those last time, and
they made my cats run for president!  I'll never be ashamed
of my feelings about the time I stuck my hand in that bag of
jello and chicken lips you gave me!

     Last time I was never there, I'm sure I ordered shrimp
on the halfshell.  The cook was in the garage, busily peeling
the breadsticks; when suddenly an overwhelming radio cracked
his head three feet long.  The waiter took photographs of
dead bugs in the air conditioner; but we all knew he sang
great songs of urination.  You see, when you finally learn to
accept that the world is merely a fig in a bucket of lard;
everything else shines dimly through rose colored sandbags.
This can surely cause religious brethren to noisily teach their
children "The Great Spoon Dance."  A glazed look falls upon
the fat silver necklace camouflage device.  With little or no
warning, little pajama people excrete a slimy trail of
really neat toys which are easy to squeeze and maintain.

     Many people have been sticking pens up their noses and
telling me stories.  At first, I thought they were all uncles
of mine; but some of them were not women.  A common bind
between all these folks is that they each have had some sort
of crazy requirement in their past.  The majority of them
used fish for volleyballs; especially when Duane the Root
Seller was nearby.  Others simply wanted their name in print
so they could ring in the New Year with giant fleas.  Jumbo
shrimp.  Military intelligence.  Government efficiency.
OOOOOOO!   TELL THAT OXY-MORON TO GET THE HECK AWAY FROM ME!

     So as you all can see, the truth in this description of
life, the universe, and everything is all that it should be.
If you ever find yourself groping for answers for one of
life's weird stinking disgusting ridiculous and maybe unknown
something of what I just said; it probably was the wrong
number.  Refer to this document often, and you should begin
to hallucinate gladly.  The Universal Truth Fairy will reveal
itself to you; and teach you how to make the best doggoned
macaroni and cheese in the whole world.

     Always remember to worship the little rocks in your
driveway.  This will change nothing in your spiritual life;
but it will make you feel better about squishing their little
faces every time you go for a drive.  Remember that
everything has feelings.  If you have neglected to wish your
toilet "Happy Birthday", now would be a good time to begin.
You'll also begin to discover who your real friends are.

     Many who have discovered the "Righteous Path of Really
True Enlightment Obtained Only From This Here Doo-Dad" are
selling their nose hairs.  They have finally come to realize
that our solar system is really a small pile of dried flies
waiting for a ride on the bus.  Never would I suggest that
the reader adopt this as the only truth known.  However, if
youse jerks doubt anything that has been written here, I will
hire professional laughter addicts to come to your spider's
funeral.

     After all, EVERYONE knows that wiggling a blue car seat
in front of surgical instruments causes trees to vomit!  My
fingernails are actually flashlights which send encrypted
messages to Wognord of the Skoldern Galaxy, Sector 23vx!  You
can pick green radishes and they will still be red.  Snails
invented rock 'n roll.  Cantaloupes will replace ball
bearings in the New World order.  ALL THESE THINGS ARE IN
PRINT RIGHT HERE, SO THEY MUST BE TRUE!!

     If you don't believe, shame yourself daily and call me
in the morning.  I'll be right here, waiting for those purple
cornstalks to sing me another song.  Until then, Peace, Love,
Dove and Harry Kirshner.  May cat barf cling to your enemies.
Tell Mom I forgot to wipe by accident again.  Slip sideways
through the deep canyons of Life; and remember that it's
better to be you than for you to be me, and although you can 
count to it, eight is a word. Finally, I leave you a small yodel
that only Randall the Moisture Merchant can abbreviate:

GIVE TRUTH AND HAPPINESS TO ALL YOU MEET, THEY MIGHT LIKE IT.

So there we were, enjoying a Facetime session with our grandsons, when Ollie’s face fiffled away so he could point the camera at a spider that was scrambling to safety on top of a bucket. “No!! NO!! Leave him alone!!” Ollie shouted at his brother Gabe. Not sure how one can tell the gender of a spider, but anyway that led me to go to the YouTube and find a video of The Who singing their famous arachnid song, “Boris The Spider;” and I found a cute video so I shared the link to our daughter’s phone so she could maybe show it to the grandsons later which of course gave me the ability to make a long overdue run-on sentence that I often like to stick into a story somewhere for really no good reason.

Yes.

Since we are all on lock down due to this terrible virus, we have not seen our grandsons in person for at least 2, maybe 3 moons now. That’s a long time for gentle people like us!! Fridays were often the day they’d come to visit, and they’d stay till Sunday evening. They know that I write “Happy Friday!!!” every week; and when they’re here I ask them what they’d like me to write for them. Since Gabe was off and about doing Gabe things, after coming inside from showing us the spider I asked Ollie what tonight’s story should be about.

“Let’s see,” he pondered, “we’ve already covered the cows that migrated to the moon.”

“Yes,” I said, “we did that one a while ago.”

“I dunno…” Ollie’s well seemed a bit dry. The Facetime call was the 2^nd for today, and it was getting time to say bye-bye; so I just threw out a suggestion.

“How about Boris The Spider?” I asked.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Boris The Spider,” Ollie replied with a smile.

Of course, I don’t think I can really improve on The Who’s rendition of the song. I mean hey, spiders are very important creatures, this I know. But still, when I find Boris or any other spider on me (and it’s always by surprise), my first reaction is to do a very animated running dance. And the bigger the spider is, the more I freak out. I’m what you might call a spider wimp I think. I’m sure the spider is way more frightened of me than I am of her (or him), but I’m sorry, when a creepy crawly spider is walking around on me, it’s just time for the shake shake holy moly dance!

Over the years, my respect for spiders has grown considerably. I normally try to catch them if they are in the house. Any that are larger than a pencil eraser are caught with the old drinking glass and piece of paper trick. I shoo them into the glass and put a piece of paper over the top to trap them until they can be released outside. Smaller ones… believe it or not… I can actually pick up the smaller ones. Sometimes. If I have the nerve. Which is sometimes. OK they still freak me out even if they’re tiny; but yes, I can actually cradle one in my hand if they’re small enough. However, I still have a bit of killer instinct at times, and yes, if a spider comes out of nowhere there must might be some smooshing (please, don’t tell Mother Nature).

Boris The Spider has always been one of my favorite songs by The Who. I went looking around for a creative video that fit the song, and I found this one. Same one I sent to our daughter’s phone. Hope you like it. But remember, spiders are people too. Be nice to them.

OK so they’re not people. They’re spiders!! Just be nice. We need them!!

Dear Mom (Nature),

Please turn off the cooler in time for Hallowe’en. Supposed to freeze again tonight, and according to The Weather People, there’s a possibility of rain and maybe even snow on Hallowe’en. This does not amuse me. I would much prefer 60 degrees with some sunshine until the sun goes down when the evening approaches sunset; which usually happens right after the sun goes down in the evening when the darkness begins so we can go trick-or-treating with the grandkids and not have to freeze our bazookeys off while they get lots of nice candy and we get to shiver and avoid moisture as it falls from the sky in an effort to moisten our nether regions while we conjure up a nice, scary run-on sentence.

Thank you.,

Me, A Name I call Myself.

——————————–

Dear Home Owners,

When we bring the grandkids to your home, please toss in some extra chocolate for us older folks. We really like chocolate. I know the old saying, “variety is the spice of life,” but I’m pretty sure that refers to a variety of chocolaty yummy things that may or may not have nuts and other confectionery remarkables. Also, since I am retiring in a few months, feel free to summon me just after the kids leave your house with their goodies and offer me nice surprises like $20 bills and perhaps a few gift certificates to local stores. I promise not to threaten to stomp your flower beds or try to teach your pets to speak German like I did last year.

Thank you,

A Very Humble Freckle Faced Old Fart

——————————–

Dear Kids,

Thank GOD for all of youse youngsters!! How else would we get the opportunity to slosh around in rain and snow and watch youse kids smile bigly as you get all the neat treats from all these houses? Oh what?? Yes, I did see that cool witch costume that lady wore when she came to the door. Wait… say what?? The guy in the brick house has skulls on his lawn that are all lit up?? Way cool. Do what now?? Oh… I saw that smashed pumpkin back there, yeah… not sure why anyone would want to do that. Pardon me?? Wow, yeah!! You got quite a haul of goodies there.

So hey kids, you know what? Youse are the reason for the season, when it comes right down to it. Thank you for showing us “adults” how to have fun during any kind of weather. Actually, thank you all just for being who you are. We are very fortunate to have you with us here on this planet.

Thank you,

Some Mooshy Old Geezer

P.S.: Got any chocolate?

Because I’m old enough to remember when the Beatles came to the U.S. on the Mayflower, I’m also able to remember that 1969 was a pretty big year. So many really BIG things in the news! As with any other year, some of the news was pretty horrible. I’d rather not mention those stories if you don’t mind; these days I really need to maintain a positive attitude. Instead, some of the more positive stories were things like the Apollo 11 moon landing, and the New York Mets winning the World Series. Oh and yeah, and there was a pretty big music festival called Woodstock.

During that summer I was 15, and of course I was paying close attention to the counterculture and the world of popular music. My interest in all such happenings actually sprouted several years earlier, when my grandparents gave me an 8 transistor radio for my 8^th birthday (1962). Radio provided a gateway to the world at large; and I kept that thing on with great regularity. God bless our mother, she always made sure I had a working 9 volt battery.

We were definitely a media driven family. By that I mean that the TV was always on; and when it wasn’t, there was the radio. We also had subscriptions to Time and Life magazines; so we had plenty of opportunities to keep up with current events. The 60s saw our country in some upheaval due to numerous protests. Large crowds were marching for causes like peace, civil rights, gender equality, and environmental concerns. Music of the day was evolving from doo wop to rock ‘n roll to psychedelic sounds. My mind was being strongly influenced by all of it.

And I was by no means alone.

From where I and many of my peers stood, a lot of what the crap that was going on in the world made absolutely no sense. Pollution was destroying our air, water and soils. Also, strong dependence on the use of poisonous chemicals for pest and weed control was harming Mother Nature. War was killing children and other living things. And to be “successful,” you needed to be a Caucasian male. So protests and marches were staged as efforts to raise consciousness and hopefully change things for the better.

Some progress was made; but unfortunately greed, ignorance, and intolerance seem to have gained some ground over the last few years. Mother Nature is still being treated very badly; and those interested in maintaining the status quo are sparing no effort to prevent meaningful action that could save our planet. Racial intolerance and gender inequality still rob our souls of the peace and love our Creators intended for us.

So today’s headlines are abuzz with reminders that fifty years ago today, some 400,000 people were gathered for “3 Days Of Peace, Love, and Music.” The promoters were in no way prepared for the number of people who would arrive at what quickly became a free event for those who didn’t have tickets. Sanitation issues, scarce availability of food and water, and many other difficulties plagued the event; yet no violence erupted, and only 2 people died (one of an overdose, one killed accidentally by a tractor). Nearly a half million people gathered and showed the world that peace and love, in spite of adverse conditions, were indeed possible. There are still many children of the 60’s who cling to the belief that living in peace and love is more than just a dream. It’s a necessity.

As Joni Mitchell’s famous song proclaims, “we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.”

Something has gone afoul over the years. My body somehow seems to be in some sort of rebellion against activity!! And the rebellion seems to be getting more and more vociferous as time passes. This probably has been happening gradually over the years, but seems like it’s a bit more frequent these days. Might be due to becoming a sexagenarian 5 years ago. Five years!! Sheesh!! By the way, if any of youse “youngstahs” are reading: no, a sexagenarian is not a person of a generic gender. What?? You knew that??

Oh.

So there I was, minding my own business, 5 years ago, turning 60, and thinking, “wow, this is kinda weird!! My brain says I’m in my 30s but my body is not looking that way at all!! And what the HECK is all this hair growing in my ears?? And the balding… sheesh, is the hair migrating or something?? And my joints seem to think they need to report with a ** POP ** every time I move!! And sometimes it hurts me awreddy!!”

Yes, my brain thing said exactly those things.

Now I’m 65. Sheesh again!!! I hear my ankles pop when I get out of bed. My hip hurts and I don’t know why. I lifted something that wasn’t even heavy, and my wrist has pain like someone ran it through with a giant ice pick. I go to bed, maybe take some aspirin, and feel fine in the morning. Then I go to do something else that never bothered me and something else says ouch now!! My Beautiful Girlfriend (the one who let me marry her 45 years ago) has similar happiness too. We suffer together, and offer each other consolation and pain relievers.

This should not happen to gentle people like us!!

Sixty five years old… wow. You know what that means, right?? Yep… I was 15 when Woodstock was happening. Oh, you didn’t think about that one? Well the 50^th anniversary of that awesome event comes next week. So… 65… you know what that means, right?? Yep… pretty soon I’ll be dialing M for Medicare. Holding off till I’m 66 since my employer provides coverage until I retire. And wow… 65… as I tell all the “kids” (people much younger than me): I can clearly remember when The Beatles came to America on the Mayflower!! It was pretty doggoned exciting really.

Well, yes, I’m getting old now. I’m staying grateful though; I’m still physically able to do what I did when I was 30. Sometimes it takes longer, and sometimes it hurts. Sometimes both. But I don’t have to look far to realize that there are many, many souls on this planet that are way worse off than me. I’m blessed to be able to say I’m a very fortunate person.

Now it’s getting late outside, and I’ll be going to bed soon. Tomorrow is another day that I’m sure will be full of more snap, crackle, and pop adventures. That’s right friends, my body is starting to sound like a big bowl of Kellogg’s Rice Crispies.

No added milk required!!

Being old isn’t so bad… just hope I don’t end up like The Old Man Of The Mountain…

We love to feed the birds; and have… um… lemme see… five feeders. Two for the hummingbirds, one suet feeder for the woodpeckers (and whoever else shows up), one filled with thistle seed for the finches, and one full of mixed seeds for everybody else. All except the mixed seeds feeder require visitors to land and feed directly on the feeder. The mixed seeds are a different story.

Almost all birds will visit the seeds feeder at one time or another. Some, like rose breasted grosbeaks, are dainty and perch on the little ledge to get their meals. They just nibble out of the little tray and then will find a nugget of choice and fly away with it. Others, like blue jays, will toss seeds out of the feeder until they find what they want. We call blue jays the “punk rockers” of birds because of their flamboyant plumage and mannerisms. They and others like starlings and grackles used to annoy us greatly with their dumping of the seeds; but then we realized that they give all the ground feeding birds a nice smorgasbord from which to choose.

Only one problem with all that seed on the ground. It attracts mammals. Bunnies, squirrels, and even raccoons will stop at the base of the feeder and get their fill. That can be cute if they all behave themselves, but until we took several “anti-squirrel” measures, we’d often come home to a feeder that was full in the morning but emptied to the ground by afternoon. Thankfully, that’s no longer a problem.

There’s one “cute” little critter species, however, that has become quite an annoyance.

Chipmunks.

They’re cute alright. Kinda colorful markings too. But if you are married and your wife has an interest in raising flowers in the vicinity of the bird feeder, they can become quite a nuisance. They love to burrow, you see. And too often, the soft soil of my Beautiful Girlfriend’s flower bed is very accommodating to their tunneling habits. Only problem with that is: plants don’t like having their roots exposed to the air. So my Sweet Lovely Bride will toil and place her plants just so, only to have some of them die because of burrowing rascal rodents.

It’s very obvious that these little dirt monkeys are the culprits. They pop out of nowhere when we’re walking near the flower beds; and then we see the little hole from which they zoom in and out. Their activities have not made my Amazing Love very happy at all; and she has resorted to calling them foul names. “Why the *@#! do they dig in my *@#!ing flower beds??” she asked not too long ago. Being the dutiful hubby I am, I looked it up on the interwebs, then conveyed what should have been an obvious answer: they like seeds.

We’ve been feeding birds for many moons, but the chipmunk problem is relatively recent. There are predators that keep them in check; and we’ve been raising whole families of those for many moons too. They’re called kitty cats. Our cats have always been allowed outside; and for almost all of her 21 ½ years our beautiful calico, Never Anne, would keep their numbers down. That baby killed pretty much anything that moved!!

Well, Nevvie is gone to the Big Kitty Cat Playground In The Sky. We do have Freddy the Freeloader; he’s our one and only kitty now (we’ve often had several at a time). Freddy was a feral who adopted us; and although he knows how to hunt, he seems to have become rather fat and lazy these days. It’s very possible he’s spoiled. Our family does not use poison baits, so since Freddy wasn’t bringing us any dead chipmunks, I started waging war on them with more humane methods. Stomping their tunnels – they just dig again. Flooding with water – lasts a little longer but pretty much the same result as stomping.

Then finally the light came on. The water seemed to work alright, I just needed to add a little something to it. Something like used kitty litter!! The clumping kind works very well for this. So I filled a plastic bucket with water, then started dumping in the kitty droppings. Let it set for a couple days so it gets nice and stinky. Stir it with a stick, taste it to make sure it’s… NO!!! NO TASTING!!! GACK!!

You can probably guess the next step. Chipmunks do NOT like kitty cat stinkwater. Gee, I wonder why?? So my new and improved control method is to douse the offending burrows with Kitty Kaka And Wee Wee Nasty Juice Mixture Surprise. Hey… maybe I should bottle it and start marketing the stuff!! Anyway, for good measure, I make sure some of the solids go down the hole too. Very effective!! This might gross some of you out, but please keep in mind that we don’t eat what grows in the flower beds. And if there’s any fresh stinkwater application, I make sure to warn my Honey Pie so she can remember to wear gloves while doing her garden work.

Feel free to use this recipe at your house. One thing to keep in mind though: mosquitoes do not seem to care what kind of water they lay eggs in. That’s right kids, I’ve actually seen mosquito larvae in the stinkwater bucket!! After seeing that, I make sure to check regularly; and dump all the water before the larvae can mature. God only knows what nasty diseases such creatures would carry if they hatch out of such nastiness!!

We still have chipmunks stuffing their faces at the base of the bird feeder; but at least they’re not messing up my Baby’s flowerbed. They don’t look anything like the ones that Disney made famous in cartoons. Here are those two chipmunks who are famous for their shenanigans.

Well it’s the Friday before the Last Weekend Of Vacation and although I probably should be crying and rolling on the floor with great sadness and ickety-boo, I am instead writing a run-on sentence that is intended to sing great songs of satisfaction that my vacation went pretty darn well because nobody was injured and I ate more than enough and even got some garden work done and there were a couple of times when I forgot what day it was and my blood pressure got the best reading in many moons.

Say what??

YES!! My blood pressure was mantivulously excellent when I checked it the other day. And “mantivulously” is not even a word!! To those of you who don’t have high blood pressure, this may seem like no big deal. For me, a reading of 116 / 83 is pretty doggoned fantabulous. And there’s another word that isn’t a word!! My Beautiful Honey Pie has often told me, “Kenny, when you retire, your blood pressure will drop!!” I’m not quite retired, but almost… and having 10 days off in a row pretty much feels like what I figure retirement will be (except I have money).

So here I am on the 5^th of July, roasting in the heat of the upstairs where my office is, listening to all the explosives being touched off in the distance, hoping nobody put firecrackers in Uncle Zermle’s nostrils like last year, wondering why all these run-on sentences and make-a-believe words keep flying out of my fingers and onto the screen via the keyboard, and oh yes, where the HECK do people get all the money for all these “up in smoke” kaboomy devices?? Anyhow?? OK, I admit that I have been known to purchase fireworks in the past. Now they are legal in Michigan, and many people are taking advantage of that. Some even have displays that look pretty professional! But I’ll be glad when it’s over… I treasure the peace and quiet over the kabooms and rocket skreechings.

Well I hope all of you had a bribbulous 4^th of July, and that you still have all your fingers and have suffered comparatively little hearing loss. I still have 2.125 days of vacation left, so I’m a gonna go ni-night now to celebrate.

Yew no, even inn this day of spell checkers and grandma checkers, lots of writing is on display awl over the place that is just plane inn correct. Weather it’s the youse of the wrong word ore sum thing is spelt badly, computers wheel only help yew two a certain egg stent, and then hay, ewe gist half two no how to spell and yews proper grandma. Shore, the spell checker will help yew often. Butt if you use words that our inn the diction aerie, and their all sew spelled write, the spell checker thinks everything is honky donkey.

Oh and hay, don’t four get about punctuation!! Gist ask my lovely girlfriend wife person: eye used two get total lee up set when eye saw apostrophes used badly. Yew no, like when sum won uses one to make a word plural; witch is knot watt an apostrophe is four at awl.

Egg sample: “Open 12 – 8 Monday’s through Friday’s”

Oh golly that makes me crazy. OK maybe craziER. Their should bee know apostrophe inn such play says.

ANYWAY… enough of such soap boxing (I never really enjoyed boxing soap anyhow). On with the topic at hand, “Sines of the Thymes.,” like the tight Al says. Sum of the sines yew sea these days are gist plane funny. Haven’t seen won in a long while, butt one of my favorites over the years has been:

“BANANAS .49 CENTS PER POUND”

First of all, how can they make any money if they only sell bananas for not quite ½ cent per pound ??? Second of all, are the farmers giving away bananas and paying for the freight??? Yes, eye no they are two lay Z right the price correctly. Probably they mean $.49 (49 cents) butt it steel looks pretty funny.

On the other hand, yew have the very expensive beer sines, like:

“BUD LIGHT $1899 A CASE”

Wholly carp eye say two yew, who kin a ford two bye a case of beer for $1899 or watt ever?? That’s all most the prize of a cheep car!! Well OK knot much of a car for that kind of money these daze. Butt yew no what eye mean.

My most favorite egg sample of a goofy sine came to me from Comedy Heaven sum years ago, when I had to go to Plumbs for a few groceries. Thanks two mod urn technology, eye was a bull two get a pretty good pitcher of it sew I could Cher it with awl of yew:

Is that two cool or watt?? Knot only was cheese on sale for a pretty good price, butt yew kin all sew use them to patch yore roof!! Eye confess, I’ve never herd of shingles made of cheese bee four. Their they were though, so I bought one pack of pepper jack and one pack of Swiss. When I got them home I figured, watt the heck and I tried some.

THEY TASTED JUST LIKE CHEESE!!! No shingle flavor at all!!!

Knot shore how many rains they could take though… they looked pretty floppy. Don’t think I could really walk on them either.

Well, I wheel bee on the lookout for moor funny spellings and word miss usage. Eye reel E love thee ability two snap a photo when eye find a funny sine. And of coarse, I’m steel a bit chagrinned when eye sea something in print that I’m pretty shore sum won checked with the spell checker but is steal a mess. Oh well… that’s my anal retentive spelling and grandma snootiness four yew.

In the meantime, pleas have a lovely day and eye shore hope you don’t fall for those $1899 beer “sale” prices or the .49 cents per pound bananas.

Crazy, yes?

So there I was, minding my own business, thinking seriously of what kind of seriousness I was going to be serious about, not really sure if I wanted to be serious enough to remove www.kakahead.com from my domain universe and just have that garden thing; but then people told me they really like “Happy Friday!!!” so I put it on the garden website thing and then I thought to myself, “Hey, you self person!  For why you are now put ha ha on the garden website thing? Don’t they are supposed to be a separate something from each other…” and then my mind drifted into a much longer run-on sentence as I dreamed of eating hard smoked eels and singing great songs of corporate dysfunction.

As I was singing, I tried to juggle the two websites, and I, the Computer Geek Boy of My Workplace Factory Thing, who is supposed to know better than to fiddle about with clicking button things (please forgive my technical explanations); proceeded to break both websites dead in a most kaputt manner.  It was very easy.  All I had to do was click a few things and say OK, and suddenly nothing in my two website world was OK anymore.  I was even more pleased when I realized that I had not ever in my living life backed up the databases for either website.  I was very proud of myself indeed, and celebrated by spraying Extract of Bug Antlers on my Computer Monitor Device and of course I also began to wonder Why I was Capitalizing Words that really Shouldn’t Be Capitalized.

So.  Here I am now, rebuilding the kakahead thing (and feeling a bit like a kakahead if you know what I mean); and although I have all my stories still here on my computer,  I am most encrusted with my completely indivisible saturation.  That means, of course, that I am flogging myself with imaginary dust hammers and other implements of construction; as I feel very silly to have perpetrated such a Blarvookian Snerglepop.

I’m very sorry if I saddened any of my friends in the “Happy Friday!!!” kaka readership ranks. I hope you will forgive me and send large amounts of crash to my pet radish who I effectively call “Mr. Crab Crackers.”  He and only he will be responsible for collecting the amplified bread worms that I’m sure so many of you activate with your toasters each and every day of The Great Snack Festival; which of course occurs each Tuesday night when the moon is sailing through the Monkey Head Jones Conservation District.

The morel of the story, then, is that I will keep www.kakahead.com and also rebuild the garden website thing.  Thank you very much to all my friends (some of whom I’ve never actually met).  Bless you all and may the Great Spirit keep you safe and free from indigestion.

Here now is something that makes me stop and sniff the liverwurst.  See you next week kids!!